I am insanely happy.

I love my life.

God has blessed me. He lifted me up out of a situation that wasn't good for me. It's not my worry anymore.

And I am so glad.

I've come a long way.

I've had a rough night. I'm hormonal, and I also made the mistake of finally reading the recommended parenting schedule of the 16th district court. It pissed me off! It still boggles my mind that I, a good woman who probably did too much for her husband, was...a) cheated on b) cast aside for "the dirty tramp" AND c) must now share a large portion of her children's lives and time with above mentioned idiot and "the dirty tramp". I'm pissed that there could be a possibility that every other year I may not even see my children on Christmas. I'm pissed that I will have to go two weeks in a row during the summer without them.

It's just unreal that an individual can make such a selfish decision and others are just left to deal with it.

Then I came home, went upstairs to grab some pjs, and had an absolute meltdown. It was a good one. I hadn't had one in awhile...I was due. It was a throw-myself-on-the-bed-that-I-haven't-slept-in-since-he-left-and-sob sort of a meltdown. I just kept thinking, "He was JUST here. My life was JUST normal. I JUST spent everyday with my kids, never having to worry about kissing them goodbye and hoping that they are properly cared for". And it's strange that I thought this because being "married" to him seems like a life time ago.

What the bloody hell?! No, really. Let's back this train up, because for the 4,847th time HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!

And then I pulled myself together, got dressed, reminded myself that no, at the present time there is no one waiting for me. There is no one there to make that bed worth it. And while we're on the topic, for the love of Pete it would be great to be hit on by a guy that isn't 18 or 40!! Seriously, I do believe that there is a large demographic missing there...like, my age group.

Then I realized that I was really tired, and I had a headache, and that I just wasted a huge chunk of time throwing a fit. I don't know how I rode this roller coaster for months. I don't know how I physically, or emotionally, survived fits like these 10-20 times a day. How on earth did I survive those first months, weeks, days, or even hours? There were times when I distinctly remember begging God to get me through the hour. "Just let my heart keep beating until 4", for example.

I'm so thankful that I'm through the thick of it, and outbursts like these are spacing out. I've come a long way. At least I have distance traveled on my side.

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

I hope he finds his way back.

Not to me. Oh, no, no. I know that some day, for some reason, he'll be knocked to his knees. Whether it's a break up, or a death, or an illness, it will happen. When it does, I hope he finds his way back to Christ.

While sitting in court today, I noticed that he looks broken. He looks lost. Maybe it was just me hoping that he is, but whether or not he thinks he's lost...he is. He's lost in the worst way, in a way that even I couldn't hope for. He's wandered away from God and his Son in a very serious way. When that day comes when he crumbles, I hope that he's smart enough to find Him again. As much as I dislike Richie, and the task of ever forgiving him seems daunting, I'm afraid for him.

As horrible as this experience has been for me, it has bred positives. I am closer to Christ than I ever have been in my life, I'm closer to my children, and I know that I'm not alone. Even on my darkest day, I am never alone.

I have stood absolutely humbled by just how great people can be. In a world where it seems like there aren't any good people left, I've found them. People I have never met are praying for me. And thank God they are, because there have been moments when I couldn't physically stand. There were moments, days, and even weeks when I was convinced that my heart would give out, or I would just stop breathing. Breathing was actually hard. There have been times when I have felt the prayers. I honestly believe that in those moments there must have been a large number praying at once, because I was picked up and put on solid ground.

I hope that one day he will know what true love is. I pray that he will find Christ again, and that my children will share heaven with their Dad one day. As the father of my children I love him too much to wish anything less.

Letting go a little bit at a time.

Since Richie threw all of my belongings in the living room, and I had to put it all back, I thought that I may as well go through it. I found a lot of things that were way too big, which was nice. I also found a lot of things that I was holding onto because they meant something to me.

There were a lot of shirts that I kept. There were a couple of halter tops from the summer we dated. The one with the glittery palm tree on it (I know, I know...I was 19) I wore to the craft fair up north. We walked around and bought matching hemp necklaces, and then we went to the harbor and climbed out on a pile of rocks. It was really nothing special, but for some reason it was special to me. I'm sure that it was because that was one of the first times that I took him to some of my favorite places. Places that represented my childhood, and my amazing grandparents, one of my little heavens. Then there was the black and white one that I wore to the Detroit fireworks. We weren't even dating then, just together all the time. I don't know why, but almost every detail of that day sticks out in my head. There are a lot of pictures of us together that night. I'm beaming in all of them. Then there was a tshirt that Richie had made for me. I always hated it, and it never fit right, but he went and had it made especially for me...there was thought behind it. Those ones went into the garage sale pile.

Then there were some things that I kept. There was the shirt that I was wearing the day that I met Richie. He never wanted me to get rid of it. For some reason he made me hang onto the shoes that I was wearing that day as well. There was the shirt that I wore in my 11th grade picture. I had just gotten braces, and wouldn't show my teeth when I smiled. Richie stood behind the photographer and got me to give him a real smile. There was also the sweater that Richie wore in his senior pictures. There was also a zip up sweatshirt that Richie got me for my birthday after Tristan was born. I found it on the clearance rack at Meijer and loved it. We were so broke I couldn't even buy it. So he got it for my birthday. All of these things I set aside. I'll put them in a rubbermaid, and I'll save them for the kids. I want them to have some tangible proof of our life together. Maybe that seems stupid, but maybe one day it will be a comfort to Victoria to put on the shirt that her mom was wearing when she met her dad. Maybe Tristan will wear the same sweater in his senior pictures. I want them to see that even when I was most angry and hurt, I loved their dad anyway and our memory still meant something to me. I want them to know that my marriage meant the world to me...every second. Even the hardships were special to me.

But as I kept sorting through I started to get angry again. I found all of the clothes that were wearing out, and saw that I went without a lot. I realized that 90% of the things hanging in my closet came from the clearance rack. I like to save a buck, but sometimes I didn't have a choice because he would blow half of his paycheck on something that he wanted, and I was left with nothing. Maybe I loved him so much I chose not to see some things. Maybe I didn't want to watch him slowly drift away. Maybe I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that there was always something else that was more important than me.

The stupid things that I held onto say that he loved me...at some point. The memories prove it. Part of me wants to wipe those memories out of my mind completely, and then the other part of me wants to remember forever.

Angry, pity party, repeat.

I feel like I've spent all this time mourning something that maybe didn't exist. Was it all a lie? Could it all have been a lie? When did he stop meaning it and start faking it? Or was he just good at faking it, and always did?

I know that I'm pretty hung up on wanting to know when it changed. I'm not a stupid person, I'm very perceptive. I was always especially perceptive when it came to Richie. I knew when something was bothering him before he did. Where was I when the huge white elephant walked in and sat down in the middle of the room?

He was always supposed to be there waiting for me. He vowed to. And I don't just mean our wedding vows. "I'll never leave you", "I would never cheat on you"...that's what I heard whenever I worried. I feel like a paranoid freak. If my own husband, and the father of my babies, could railroad me like this then anyone could.

I'm not in love with him anymore, I'm in love with our memories.

I just want to know how I can dislike him as much as I do, and still miss our dark bedroom, and laying in his arms. I just want to be back in that place that was warm and dark, just so that I can breathe for a few minutes. I want to be back in that place where I felt secure, and loved, and attractive. A time when breathing came naturally, and my biggest concern was what I would be making for dinner.

Man Hating Hag

I don't know where to go from here. I feel so lost.

I'm back in school, I'm job hunting...those are the easy things. But what do I do once the kids are in bed and things are dark and quiet. It's that time of the day when it feels like someone is heaping piles of dirt on top of my coffin. That sounds terribly dramatic, but really. I feel like I'm suffocating.

I've been splashing around in my Pity Pool all week. I feel bad for myself, I do. I didn't deserve this. I was a good wife. I don't deserve having to share a home with him. My children don't deserve any of it.

I live to put the kids to bed so that I can break down and get it out of the way. Then I can't wait for the sun to rise, because all I do is lay and think. When I wake up I'll be tired, and just as stressed as when I went to bed, but at least it will be light out and I'll be with the living. I don't really feel like I'm living, but it's a clever illusion when I drift about with other human beings. Happy ones. People who don't seem to have a care in the world.

If I go on Facebook one more time and read about someones bad hair day, or bad traffic during their morning commute, I may explode. That's the other part of all this...rage, anger, and being bitter. I promised myself the day that the papers were left in my screen door that I wouldn't let myself become one of those man hating hags who never finds happiness in anything because I'm stuck in the past, but this week I've been flying around on a broomstick. Everyone, and everything, sets me off.

I'm going to be meeting with my lawyer this week to prepare for court on Monday and chances are good that I will throw myself on his floor and have a fit.

I want out and I want my life back.