Its been a little while since I’ve written here, which is somewhat ironic since a lot of things have happened in the past month. First and foremost, the name of this blog–Divorcing a Narcissist–became something of a reality on January 8th, 2019. Nearly 26 months after this nightmare began, a piece of it ended in a rather anti-climactic fashion. A text from the lawyer, by the way, your divorce was final today.
You don’t say?
I felt as if there should have been fireworks, a celebration, something. Instead, it was a text I received on the way home from taking a friend to pick up her car. She stopped at my house and we whooped and hollered, and it was somewhat poetic that she was there as she has been there from the beginning. The day shit went down, she was there. The day it legally ended: she was there.
I celebrated with another dear friend who purchased me a shot of fireball and also cheered and congratulated me. Later, I chose to visit The Plumber, where I basically forced him to have the end-of-our-relationship conversation that he has so successfully avoided for weeks. There was a also a mortifying Throw Yourself at the Person You Just Broke Up With moment as well as the realization that I officially ended two unions in one day, one with humiliating fanfare. But that is neither here nor there.
What else? I paid off a surprising amount of debt (thank you, marital settlement that was pitiful and yet, at least it was something.) I set myself up with investments, my investments, not connected to PC in any way. I have an appointment set to make a will (how very adult) and I now officially own my car, independently of both PC and the bank. I bit the bullet and went back on a medication that may make me fat but was a lovely salve on the open wound we refer to as anxiety.
I also, with great fervor, started and finished what will be Charlotte Fox’s next book. Its raw and rough and needs a hellish amount of work but…it is the first time, ever, that a story has flown from me with such power and knowledge that I knew where it was going. I knew how it was going to end and I knew the main character because of course, she is me. She is herself (her name is Kate) but she is also me.
Somewhere, in the messy mix of all of these events, something has been rejuvenated. I cannot credit just one thing…I think in situations like mine, in life, its never just one thing. Its never oh I went on meds and now life is awesome or I’m finally divorced from that psychopath so now life is gonna be great. The truth is, medication may wire my brain differently but my problems and my gut reactions are still there. Being divorced from PC is highly freeing, but he is still there. I still have to deal with him and his fucking ridiculous nonsense. Therapy may give me tools but without the mental wellness drugs provide I can’t effectively use them. That being said…
The majority of the changes in me in the past month or so can be attributed to my therapist. Truly, she should have a medal of honor. I was talking with one of my oldest friends recently, a late night conversation via text that hit all the touchstones: mental health, failed relationships, love, and dogs. She commented that she thought she needed a different therapist and I agreed. I’m not really sure how anyone gets through life successfully (with or without a traumatic event) without it.
She forces me to dig deep, acknowledge my weaknesses, own my mistakes. She makes me come to the conclusions she could easily tell me, things she can probably spot just by looking but are invisible to me. She champions my successes with spirit of a girlfriend and while she always remains professional she says “fuck” a lot and that makes her highly relatable.
So where are we going with this? For starters, the things that everyone has been telling me for two years are in fact true.
- It will get easier
- When you learn to ignore and not engage with PC, it will get easier.
- The tide will eventually turn. Things will not always be this way. It will get easier.
- When you learn these lessons life is trying to teach you…it will get easier.
- Its going to be a marathon, not a sprint. But it will get easier.
That last one, in particular. I think this is a huge life lesson that has been especially crafted for me. Its no secret that I am impatient. I remember in January of 2017, that I was told I needed to wait five agonizing weeks for a court date that would allow me to seek asylum from PC in the form of sole occupancy of our marital home. I was devastated at the 5 week wait, and even more devastated when it was rescheduled not once, but twice to the point that the matter became obsolete.
I remember hearing a random stranger talk about how it was “about 3 years before the divorce and 5 years until he stopped being a dick” and thinking, no no no no. I recall many nights, many thoughts, and many verbalizations of I cannot keep doing this. This has to stop. This must end. And yet, it continued on.
But guess what? It got easier. Not easy-like-Sunday-morning-easy, but easier. Maybe it was meds. Or therapy. Or time. Or finalizations. Or karma (I hear Trollup is dealing with the same shit I dealt with…drunken disasters, control issues, fights. Sorry, not sorry. Actually, I am sorry. I thought it would feel satisfying, validating…and it does. But there’s nothing good about someone else being in a shitty relationship, especially one that my kids are around. But that’s a story for another day.) Or as I said above, a delicate balance of all of those ingredients.
But its what I want to say to The Plumber, who no matter what, will always be my friend. I see him in the midst of the worst and I want to tell him, I know I sound like a broken record, but it will get better. My sweet friend of the little black heart who’s divorce is just getting going in the courtroom. I want to pound it into her head it will get easier. She won’t believe me, even seeing me now, just like I did not believe others. But fuck, its really true.
It gets easier.