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.

Emotional Curveball

I keep thinking that I'm standing on solid ground, and then BAM! I get blindsided by a horrible, punched in the gut, feeling.

My house is a hard place to be. I don't have exclusive use yet, and therefore don't feel safe, but also because it's "us". Everything here is "us". We chose everything together, everything has a story behind it. I've had a love/hate relationship with our bedroom. When this all started I thought that I would never sleep there again, then I got comfortable with it, and then the sucker-punch. I just walked in to look around for a few minutes tonight and all of the hate melted away, and I remembered my Richie. I remembered the first night that we slept in this house. Victoria was a baby in the pack-n-play and Tristan slept on his little Sesame Street air mattress. We only had our bed set up, and although we didn't have two pennies to rub together we were happy, and so proud to be homeowners. And I remembered all of those nights when I would crawl in bed next to him and settle into the spot on his chest where I fit like a puzzle piece. He would say, "I love you baby" and I would fall asleep listening to his heart beat.

It's just unreal.

Where was I when he changed? Why didn't I know? Why didn't he tell me?

I don't miss him now. Really. I see him in a completely different way now, and his appearance, and his attitude make me physically ill. But I miss my Richie. I don't wish for him to come back, because that's just wasted energy, but I miss him from time to time.

I just wish that I would have had some warning, or had some clear signs. Something more than, "Something is off, but I can't put my finger on it and I have no proof".

I just wish that my brain would process it fully, and these moments would end.

Panic attacks and other divorce related things.

There are nights when my chest gets tight, and I can't breathe, and I feel like my legs won't carry me upstairs to my bed.

There are days when I just want to throw in the towel, ask him what he wants from me. What else could I possibly give?

Throwing in the towel is just too tempting. I can't take being kicked while I'm down one more time. I can't take another abusive phone call, or another appointment with my lawyer. I can't take one more minute of staying strong for the kids, and I can't take another exhausting tantrum that I'm left to man alone.

I just want to run.

Skanks, tramps and dirty hos for $500 please, Alex.

I know where my husband went...to another woman's bed. A dirty, unattractive, uneducated, pot smoking woman who doesn't have a car or a place of her own.

Oh dear. Have I said too much?

And I don't miss him. It was as if a switch was thrown. Maybe it was the same one that was thrown that took him from family man to piece of trash. He told me finally, and a thousand pounds lifted off of my shoulders.

I am clean, and the majority of my life is stretched out in front of me.

The only thing that hurts me--my kids and wanting only the best for them. They live in this bubble where life is beautiful and moms and dads stay together. That bubble is about to be popped. That kills me.

And now there is no turning back. The bubble is done for because I wouldn't take him back if he were the last man on earth.

What goes up must come down...

The kids and I left town for 9 days, and I was doing wonderful. On the ride home I fell apart...completely. Then when I got home I had court the next day. That day was horrible. I took 500 steps back emotionally.

The night before I slept in my old bed at my old house. I layed there and realized that the last time I had slept there was the night before my wedding. A small blow.

My dad took me to a coney island across the street from the court house the next day because we were early. I remember feeling like I was floating down the sidewalk, almost like I wasn't really there. I of course couldn't eat or drink anything, because...ya know...I was on my way to have (at least) the next 5 months of my life, and my children's well being, dictated by a judge who sees my situation a million times a year, and has probably become numb to the searing pain that divorce causes.

And then something happened that I didn't expect. Richie for the most part has disgusted me this last month. When I have looked at him I've seen a horrible monster. But on Monday I was sitting on a court bench waiting, and when he stepped off the elevator he stole my heart. He had gotten a hair cut and looked just like he did on our wedding day. I could have folded like a cheap suit, and I really wanted to...but I didn't, because I'm stubborn and prideful. I can't let him know that he's destroyed me. Well that's a lie, I have told him that before, but now the only way to survive is to be a bitch. Things are too far gone to let him know that I'm still capable of crumbling.

Everything moved so fast and I was completely snowed over. I agreed to things that I usually wouldn't, because quite honestly I was checked out. When I needed to be checked in the most, I was checked out. The one thing that I do remember? When the judge spoke my children's names. I did crumble for a few minutes. I whimpered.

I cried most of the way home. My poor dad.

Then I crumpled up in my old bedroom and I sobbed. The kind of cry that shakes your body, and gives you a headache.

Where did he go? Where is my husband?

This is not the person that I dated, or married. This isn't the person that held my hand as I gave birth to our sweet babies, and this definitely isn't the man that baptized me. I wish that someone could make this make sense. Where is MY Richie? This Richie that blindsided me with the worst pain of my life is not MY Richie.

I cried the rest of the day. It felt like the day that he served me divorce papers all over again. I cried for the man who's smile could fix anything, the man that I would lay next to at night. I cried for those kisses and hugs that I will never have again. But most of all I cried for all of the future hopes and memories that died overnight. No more Christmas mornings as a family, no more family dinners, no more trips...nothing. I'll never lure him home from work early with my chicken and dumplings again. I'll never bake him a birthday cake. And the absolute worst? There will never be another baby that draws it's first breath because we loved each other.

If this isn't the worst feeling in the world, then I hope I never know what is.