Lessons in Annihilation
Divorce is surprising. It’s so fucking surprising in so many ways. I really thought I knew who I was and what my place in life was…boy was I wrong. So wrong in fact that I’m beginning to wonder if I ever really knew who I was to begin with. I had such great plans laid out ahead of me….back to school, maybe moving to a new state with maybe a new job…all that got screwed when he decided he didn’t want me anymore. People have said “he ruined your life”, to which I laugh and say of course he didn’t- he simply changed my plan.
I’ve had a million revelations since I moved out 6 months ago. The biggest of which I had this morning while driving to work, listening to my Ipod. It won’t shock you, but it got me right in the gut. I’m not the mean heartless girl I have always thought I was.
My whole life I’ve been touted as kind of a mouthy bitch, and it was a title I wore proudly like a team logo. I was a mouthy bitch, and you’d better not cross me or you would catch the brunt of my strength. I had a quick wit and a sharp tongue that could put someone in their place faster than you can say bad motherfucker. I could talk myself out of anything, and I prided myself on being that brash chick that didn’t take shit from anyone.
In the midst of this whole mess with my marriage, it seems a third party got involved. The timing of her arrival is something I have my thoughts on but cannot clarify, so I’m left with my assumptions. Fine. I’m fine with trusting my instincts. I think I know what went down. What surprised me the most about it all is that I didn’t go ape shit crazy, hair pulling, put her goddamn teeth on the curb mad. I just didn’t. I cried. I cussed. I lost all faith I had in love. I wrote some horrible things about her but never published them. Why I didn’t publish them? I took a deep breath and grew up.
I had some words with them both, and I stand by what I said 150%. Just because I’m not beating her to a bloody pulp doesn’t mean I’m backing down from my stance. Hell no. I’m not *that* girl. The girl I am, however, is an adult. And adults handle shit differently (well, the intelligent ones do anyway). I have had moments of true pity for them both. I’ve felt sorry and at times even compassion. BIZARRE. This is not me. I don’t take shit. I bring shit.
But I don’t want to bring anything anymore. I want to be free of it all- the drama, the anger, the pity-all of it. It’s not what I need in my life. I’ve found what I need and that is me. I am starting to remember who I was all along and how great I was (am) to begin with. Where did I get so lost? What happened? How did I let someone else determine my happiness?
It won’t happen again. This annihilation of my life, this total devastation of character, it’s done. The me that got lost is back, but slightly better as a result of her journey. I’m still a mouthy bitch, mind you, but it seems under it all I have a pretty amazing and forgiving heart and a gentler soul than I knew existed within me. I’m proud of how I have handled things. I have taken the highest road imaginable throughout this ordeal. I took all the pain and anger and hurt and I used it to become a better person. How ya like dem apples? I mean really, who knew a divorce could make me a better person?
I still get mad, and some days are harder than others. I don’t suppose that goes away for a long time. But I’ve learned to adapt. My new mantra in life is “let it go”. Don’t hold onto the things that give you any emotion other than pure joy. Life is so short and so beautiful. Hold the good inside but let the ugly just go.
I think sometimes people think I’m crazy for not being chasing her down and scratching her face off. I’ve wanted to, and the urge occasionally rises within me to do so, but it simmers down pretty quickly. I don’t feel like my hard earned energy is best spent there. I’d rather use it to flirt, laugh, dance, and kiss. These are the good things. My mean girl days are over….unless you fuck with my kids. But that’s a whole other post. For now, she is at peace. And for the record, the song that prompted my revelation? Seether by Verucca Salt.
Laughter
For a while there I honestly never thought it would happen again. I had nothing in me that saw humor or light. I saw dark, grey, endless skies with no hope of blue or peaceful in them. I can look back and call those days very bleak. The hardest time of my life and I care not to ever return to them. But, just as everyone said I would, I grew from them. I hardened my core and built the walls necessary to protect myself from hurt. This was good for me. Some might even call it healthy.
But slowly, the giggles returned. Small at first, mostly grins and the occasional chuckle. Finally seeing the funny in life became easier. The laughter started coming more often, and it was beautiful. My amazing friends drew it out of me in ways I had forgotten your closest friends can….driving around with Leslie, blaring gangsta rap as loud as we could at 12:30 in Derby, KS. Laughing our asses off because we knew all the words and because hey, we’re white girls blaring Dre in DERBY FUCKING KS. Heather, making me cry from laughter at the sheer amount of food she and I can consume in one sitting (seriously people, we can fucking put it down). Missy, who had me doubled over from laughing so hard as she shared her loud, drunken fantasy with me. Shelley, who I know now shares my taste in more than clothing and make-up (I will never recover from that night, Shel- STILL laughing about it). Grace who successfully renamed male body parts with me. I mean, really. How can you not laugh when you’re amongst greatness like this?
I have found whimsy at work again. I laugh so hard there lately I can hardly contain myself. These folks I spend all day 5 days a week with who know me better than most and who, for the most part, get me as a person. Have no expectations of me beyond who I am. Who know me well enough to steer clear of me on *those* days. Shanae, who will “dance off” with me as we walk toward one another (she always wins). JoJo, my walking partner and the chick who is going through it all with me and who gets how fucked up it all is but can still find something to laugh at each day. And Miss Janet, who I’m pretty sure IS me when I grow up. I laugh with them. It is fantastic just how much I laugh with them.
I talked to my big brother and sister-in-law last night and we had one another in stitches. They have shared in my situation and support me in the best way they can…by making me laugh and by making me see that I what I have gone through is, in many ways, hysterical. When I roll my eyes at life, I know they are rolling theirs harder. Is there anything quite as satisfying as a shared, simultaneous eye roll at life? Hell no. That’s the shit right there, ya’ll.
My gut has never felt better than it does now- with all the happy surrounding me these days. My anger is subsiding. My happy is returning and reminding me just who I am. I am starting to catch a glimpse of how life can be and what is out there for me to cherish. It’s beautiful and disarming at times. I had forgotten, ya know? 7 months of sad and anger and fear can make the world a pretty fucked up place to be. But it’s coming back. I’m coming back. It’s getting easier and easier to breathe again. I’m not 100%, but I’m also not where I was a few months back. We do heal eventually. I am learning this. I am proof of this. My peals of laughter daily are proof of this. My smile? It’s back.
Trifecta
I have three ways I can go. Three different approaches. Three different “people” I can listen to and believe. How do I know which one is right?
My head. She is a tough mother fucker. She calls them like she sees them. Sometimes a bit too rational. At times a bit arrogant. Mostly she is there to tell me the truth. The hard cold truth. The facts. No emotion attached, no what-ifs, just exactly what she sees and how to interpret it. She is intelligent and sharp. I kinda dig my head.
My heart? Oh my girlish heart. She yearns for the warmth and passion that she knows resides in us all. She is consistently searching for the good in everyone, whether or not they deserve it. She wants things to be happy and bright and never sad. She is a romantic buried underneath a hard shell. She sees what she wants to see versus what she should see. I love my heart. She is guarded heavily now, but she’s slowly chipping away at the gate. She wants to come back out and play.
My gut is achingly accurate. She sees things happen and analyzes them and makes a choice. It is either this or that and here is how I came to that realization. She is a realist. She feels things deep within that my head and my heart don’t allow me to feel. She alerts me when I am making a bad choice or believing something that I know to not be true. She tells me with a tug, right in my belly that comes with a dull ache of regret. I know immediately when I am making a poor decision because of her. I fight with her a lot, I try to rationalize her into oblivion but she always wins. She is a stubborn old broad that I respect wholeheartedly, even if I disagree with her as often as possible.
So who do I trust of these three glorious parts of me? This is my quandary.
Literally on Paper
My dear friend Jerrod from The Yellow Factor tagged me in this little game. And while I wholly cherish an opportunity to actually put pen to paper, it also reminds me just how god fucking awful my penmanship is. Don’t judge me, fair readers. I am an intelligent person who holds 2 college degrees. My writing looks like I am 8. Instructions are below, all to be done in written format.
1. What’s your name/your Blogger name?
2. What’s your blog’s name/URL?
3. Write “the quick fox jumps over the lazy dog”.
4. Favorite quote?
5. Your Favorite song?
6. Your favorite band/singers?
7. Anything else you want to say?
8. Tag 3-5 other people
So there. I am every bit as bipolar with my written words as I am with my typed ones. Aly? CL? Jules? Your turn, you fabulous hot ladies. Thanks Jerrod. A nice break from my norm.
Mama Law
It begins with an accelerated pulse. Immediate. Fierce. Startling. I can feel the prickle beneath my flesh and it never ceases to surprise me. What surprises me is how fast it comes on- it is instant and completely out of my control. Next is the breathing. Rapid, chest heaving, and it begins to feel as if there will never be enough air to fill my lungs. This will go on for several minutes. Then comes the part I dread- the madness. The anger and irrational, murderous thoughts. That part? Yeah, it hangs on for the better part of a day.
I suppose the best way to describe it would be to try to describe the feeling you get when you’re about to vomit. You can’t stop it- no matter what “tried and true” methods you have heard or personally tried. It’s there. It encapsulates you. It takes over your entire body as a whole. You become one with that anger. At least when you vomit, it’s over eventually. Not with the anger. It tends to linger. Longer than it needs to. Longer than is healthy.
I have never known any emotion so strong as my anger these days. Overwhelming would be putting it mildly. It wraps itself around my soul and refuses to let go and it frightens me. I think, “this must be how crazy people feel” and I empathize with them. I think thoughts that I never knew I could think. I imagine things, play out scenarios in my mind. None of which are helpful. None are pleasant. There are days I truly feel as if I am losing it. Like I am one statement taken out of context away from a fist fight. One word, one misconstrued word or emotion away from inflicting real pain on someone. Anyone. It doesn’t even matter who anymore. My targets are so vast that no one, other than my children, is safe. In my tiny little violent world, I take everyone down. Because that is the kind of anger I am feeling. Fuck the world. Fuck everyone’s feelings. Fuck being nice and considerate. I want blood. I want someone, anyone, to feel the way I feel. I need someone else to feel like they have been made a fool of like I have. And I really don’t give a shit at what cost.
This is my internal struggle. I am fighting demons from a part of my heart that I never knew existed and it’s terrifying. I am smart enough to recognize this and I know this part, this stage, goes away. But I am in it right now and it is ugly. I have never felt so ugly in my soul as I do today. I feel no peace, no calm. Only madness. Only raw, gutted anger. I need this part to end. Tell me it ends.
Mama Law
So it seems you can learn a lot from your kid on a snow day. It was bitterly cold today, too cold to play outside for more than a few minutes at a time. Bundled as tightly and as warmly as I could possibly get them, I took my children out to run around in the waist deep snow for about 15 minutes. Their laughter and shrieks were contagious if nothing else. Today I laughed hard and out loud. It was wonderful.
We came back inside, removed the layers of cold wet clothing and sat down for some lunch. I asked my 5 year old son some questions about school. Small talk. And then he said this about one of his friends, “Mommy Micah is mean to me.” I turned to him and asked how he was mean. “He tells jokes and tells me I am bad”, he said, with his big blue eyes full of sadness. My heart hurt immediately. This a part of parenting that I have not been looking forward to. The mean kids. The bullies. The kids who talk smack.
I told him next time Micah was mean to him that he should tell Micah to leave him alone, and walk away. I asked if he wanted me to talk to his teacher- the very thing I used to beg my Mom never to do when I was the object of a bully’s affection. “No Mommy, don’t tell her” he said, shaking his head back and forth. I rubbed his back, stroked his soft hair and told him how amazing he is. How many good friends he has and how the mean ones don’t matter. I said all the right things to him.
To myself? Ummmm yeah Micah, you little BITCH. Step off my good, sweet, innocent, loving child or I will straight up ruin your life. I had an instant mama bear urge to find Micah and choke his dumb ass into submission. It was an almost scary feeling of utter protection and necessity. I had to really calm myself down. And this visceral reaction, this immediate need to find and maim Micah was over him telling my kid he was “bad”. What the fuck am I going to do when some dumb teenage tart messes with my daughter? What if one of them gets into a real fight? I need to start my anxiety meds like now. And move somewhere with looser gun laws.
I never knew how strong that reaction would be. How the need to protect our children could be so guttural, so imbedded into us. I really want to slap Micah across his what I am sure is ugly face. To tell him if he messes with my kid again that I will find him and haunt his dreams forever. Do not make my baby feel bad, son. I’ll fuck you up for real. *Ahem*
I am a grown ass woman of almost 36 and these feelings are real. Maybe it’s my heightened state of FUCK YOU at the current stage of my life, but whatever. Watch your back, Micah. You’ve been warned.
20 Questions
As I go along, day to day in this new life I have been given to live, I have discovered that I have a lot of questions. Not big important questions to most, I suppose. To me they seem enormous. I find new ones each day. Things I have been forced to think about that I never dreamed I would have to. Don’t misunderstand, I think asking yourself questions is important. I guess to really know oneself you kind of have to, right? You have to ask the things that scare the shit out of you. The stuff that keeps you up at night. The stuff that hurts. Real hurt. That dull ache in the pit of your stomach that says life is hard and pain is real.
My questions range from small and insignificant to big and headache inducing. Some make me laugh. Some make me take something to help me sleep. Some make me cry. Some make me drink (ok they ALL make me drink but that is neither here not there). My questions are….
How will I ever trust in love again? How will I ever feel like marriage and forever are real things and not just fairy tale made up bullshit that we feed our children and ourselves to make it better than what it really is? How do I ever look my beautiful daughter in the eye and tell her to lose herself in love? To fall head over feet? How can I promise her something so out of the realm of what I now believe in?
How do I find a way to look at myself like I used to? I remember looking in the mirror and thinking “Damn, this is working. I look good, I am invincible”. I hear something else now. I hear sad. I hear regret. I hear pain. I miss the other way. I miss the confidence that love gave me, the sense of being loved no matter where I was or how I looked. I miss the security of love. I miss that constant state of happy.
How do I talk to people now? Instead of we I am me. When I tell a story now I have to catch myself- it can’t be an “us” story anymore. When I tell those stories I get the look. You know it. The pity look. The “how sad you must be” look, with the tilted head and sorrowful gaze. Fuck that look. I don’t want it. I don’t want your pity. What has happened to me sucks and is awful but that is for me to call, not you. Unless you are a close friend, save it. Because of this, I have had to change how I talk to people. How’s that for some shit?
How do I talk to people who are newly in love and so blissfully happy? I can’t. I don’t have the compassion that I once had. I don’t look at them and think “how wonderful” I think “whatever- don’t get too comfortable”. And I hate this about myself. I hate that one thing can rob my ability to love new love. I fucking hate it. I hate how one situation, one measly thing can change me altogether as a person. Change my outlook on life. Change my ideals. Change my perceptions of people in general.
How do I manage on my own? Let me rephrase. I can and will “manage” on my own. But all it will be is “manage”. It won’t be much else for a while. I think managing is pretty fucking stellar given my life as it currently stands. “Manage” is perfectly fine for now. But I am struggling with the little things. Assembling my sons toys (seriously WTF is up with toys? They all come in no less than 1000 pieces nowadays). Taking a shower while a one year old and a five year old entertain themselves- how do I keep them alive for 10 minutes while I bathe? Making dinner while a baby screams and a kid yells at the top of his lungs. Getting them to and from school. Dressing them. Getting them sleep at night. Taking care of them if they’re sick. Doing it all by myself. It’s fucking hard, people. Serious props to all the single parents.
How do I have a social life? Will anyone ever want to date a 35 *ahem* almost 36 year old with 2 kids? Is that something anyone actually desires in life? And god forbid I do meet someone, will they ever be able to love my kids with the ferocity that I do? Will anyone ever be good enough for both me and them? How do I protect them from hurt in this situation? How do I know who is safe with them?
How do I establish who I am on my own? I have been part of a couple for so long that now I am forced to redefine myself as a person. I know that sounds trite, but it’s so very true. Who am I if not part of us? This part is getting easier. I am slowly finding my true self again. And guess what ya’ll? She’s pissed. I’m a little angry these days. But I recognize it, I control it. But it is there. All part of the process, people.
Like all things that end we must mourn them. I am mourning the loss of my former life. I was sad. And still have days that I feel so broken that I just want to die. But it is shifting to the next stage- anger. I’m losing my temper and it’s happening fast. I pity the fool who says the wrong thing to me for a while. I do. And I issue a blanket apology to anyone who I wrongfully lash out at. What’s up next? Is it bargaining? I ain’t bargaining for shit. Not me. Not this girl. Disbelief? Trust, I believe what’s happened to me. There’s no disbelief anymore. Eventually it fades to acceptance, right? I look forward to acceptance. To not having so many goddamn questions anymore. I yearn for the day I just live. I just go about my life and there are no speed bumps or detours or sudden drops. I just want that. No more questions. No answers. Just…..quiet. Peace. Contentment.
