Life After Divorce

{August 14, 2009}   Whiplash

Ok kiddies… we are coming down to the wire.  Only 16 more days until the lease expires.  I am packing up and moving as much as I can this weekend.  I am SO over this.  I always thought to myself, “If I ever move out, I am filing for divorce right away and we will be done in 60 days!”  Well, as I am sure happens with most break-ups, life gets in the way. 

You see, once you are out of the horrible day in/day out situation, you don’t think about it as much.  At least for me.  There is such a quiet freedom in being able to do what you want without judgment or need for justification.  Without the daily misery… I am free to just be me!  I enjoyed my quiet times and for the first few months, my social calendar was full!  So many people invited me out to take my mind off it.

But there were calls.  And texts.  Oh… the texts.  All day long.  All night long.  Never an adult conversation.  Always either whining/crying or screaming.  Ugh.  In February, the stress got to me and I landed in the hospital ending in emergency surgery.  After a month of recovery, I was feeling better.

Then in June, I got sick again.  Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, they are calling it.  (Basically, my nerves in my digestive tract are just too sensitive and closely tied with anxiety – Hooray.)  Now I am feeling better.  I rented a storage unit and start packing and all that jazz.  This weekend will be my big move.  I am hoping that I can get it all together and be out.

But now that we are rolling to a close, I am not the only one feeling it.  For months, Steve has been “so sad.”  Trying to convince me to come back and in the same breath pushing me farther away.  I know he is bipolar, but sheesh.  Then last week he started vacillating between “Denial” and “Uber Pissed”  Now the good times are mostly forgotten.

Sample texts:

“I hope you are sterile”

“File for divorce and get it over with you quitter” (I’d rather be a quitter than a cheater)

“Wish u would have never married me.”

Damn.  Can you feel the love?  I sure can! 

Here’s the deal.  I don’t feel sorry for you.  YOU put me through hell for years.  YOU couldn’t give a shit about me or my emotional (or physical) well- being.  YOU laughed in my face when I told you I was hurting.  YOU pushed me aside as if I didn’t matter and just did whatever the hell you wanted to do.  I asked you to go to counseling for FIVE YEARS and you wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Until I walked out. 

Until I didn’t come back.

Until you finally realized that I was a great thing, and that I did EVERYTHING for you.

NOW you want to go to counseling.  NOW you want to talk about love.  NOW I am interesting.  Guess what?  Too.  Effing.  Late.






And all of the nastiness in the world won’t make it so.  I have been sent on so many emotional guilt trips that I will take ALL of my loyal readers to Fiji with me on the frequent flier miles!

It isn’t worth it.  Not the stress to my health, my psyche, or my sanity.  You can say all of the ridiculous things you want about ME walking out and “ruining your chance at having a family.”  No.  That was YOUR choice for years, when you decided to tell me I would be a horrible mother (lie). When you told me that we would never have children (right.. not together, we won’t).  When you told me that what I wanted wasn’t important.

But it is important to me.  That is why I left.

So take yourself on down the road to whatever and whomever you want.  I don’t care.  You told me once that you would “find a really PRETTY woman next time”.  Good luck with that.  I hope that you mature a little before you ruin someone else’s life and steal their youth.

Suck it.  I’m out.


Your Soon-to-be-Ex-Wife


{November 5, 2008}   Girls, Girls, Girls

Unfortunately, this post is NOT about my rabid love affair with Motley Crue.  Wait, I never had a love affair with Motley Crue.  [shudder]

This is about one of the dirty little secrets they don’t print in the “Welcome to Bipolar Land” pamphlet.  Well, maybe they do, but I always skim the pamphlets and go straight for the pictures.  I mean, come on… if it were really important, do you think they would put it into a pamphlet?  No, what I am talking about is a little more than the risky behavior of which some bipolar people partake.  I am talking about girls.

Now I have mentioned before my husband’s gravitation towards the opposite sex.  He’s kind of a dog.  But not a cool dog, like a lab.  More like a rabid horn-dog.  In Jabba the Hut’s body.  Once the bipolar news was broken, he seemed to explode into the stereotypes associated with the disorder.  There was no more holding back.

About this time, he became familiar with Yahoo Messenger and the adjoining chat rooms.  Since he wasn’t going to work, he would stay up all night playing on the internet.  I, of course, had to continue my normal bedtime routine so that I could support our family.  But, I wasn’t used to sleeping alone, so I would often wake up in the middle of the night disoriented since he was not in bed.  I would wander downstairs and find him chatting with “people” online, or worse, on the phone.  Typically, whomever he was talking to was quickly closed out or hung up on so that I would not see/hear the content of the conversation.  I would like to take a moment to point out that I am in no way, shape, or form, an idiot.  Sure, it might seem that way from the things I have put up with, but I really am not. I can definitely put 2 + 2 together.

So, I did what any good wife would do – Spy.  I will tell you, if the CIA is looking for a good agent, they should really give me a call.  I became a world class sleuth to figure out what he was up to.  I would check the internet history [shudder], chat archives, phone records, etc.  I was completely disgusted at what I would find.  One morning, I woke up a little earlier than normal and actually walked in on the bastard having phone sex with someone.  I was livid.  He is SO lucky that he is twice my size, or I might be writing this blog from the Texas State Penitentiary System.  Not really.  Yeah really.

This is about the time I start hearing, “What??? WHAT??? Leave him!  Leave him!!”  Believe me.  I have heard it.  I have heard it from the little voice in my own brain.  But the caring, compassionate person in me said, “He is sick.  He is having problems.  He isn’t working.  Where would he go?”  I thought I was doing the right thing – trying to support him both emotionally and financially.  But it was a major blow to my ego.  My self-esteem, which wasn’t great to begin with, went right out the window.  And I was trapped.  I was miserable.  I couldn’t imagine that someone I loved SO much… and had done EVERYTHING for would do something like this.  Especially after the last time

Unfortunately, this behavior continued for years.  Every time I would walk into the room, he would hang up on whoever he was talking to.  The cell phone bills were outrageous (anywhere from $300 – $1100 per month – which I had to pay for).  My heart was shattered.  I know now that I had fallen into the pit of despair with no chance of Carey Elwes coming to rescue me.

I have no evidence to say he actually ever slept with anyone during this time.  It doesn’t matter.  The phone and internet relationships were enough to kill off most of the feelings I had for him and destroy my self-esteem.  I felt trapped.  I don’t know why I felt trapped, as I had all the leverage, but I did.  I was told that it was my fault that he had to seek out these other women.  My fault for not spending enough time with him.  Yeah, asshole… because I am asleep.  Or at work.  Trying to support us.  Trying to keep us from becoming homeless.  Trying to keep my own sanity when those around me are losing theirs.  I felt useless.  Unloved and miserable.  Nothing will ever change that.

{September 11, 2008}   I Trust You Completely…

Ok, so reading my posts, you are probably thinking that I am insane, or a glutton for punishment for continuing this relationship.  Please remember that I am looking back after 10 years and have a lot of bitterness about the whole thing.  There were many good times (I guess?) and it felt right at the time… sort of…

December 1998

After the monogomy conversation, and a really good month together (for the most part), I remember telling myself… I finally trust this guy.  It was a good feeling.  I felt like we were moving forward past any milestone I ever had in a relationship, up to that point.

One night, I was hanging out at home and got a call from Steve.  I hadn’t seen him in a few days, but had been talking to him on the phone, so I thought everything was cool.  The conversation went something like this:

       Me:  Hello?

      Steve:  Hey.  How are you?

      Me:  Pretty good.  What’s up?

     Steve: (sounding nervous) I have something I need to talk to you about…

     Me: [thinking – Oh Shit… what now?!?!] Um… ok…

     Steve:  I don’t know how to say it.  I don’t know if I was mad at you for the Darryl thing… or just a jerk… but I did something that I am not proud of and I need to tell you about it…

     Me:  [silence – horrible crushing feeling in the pit of my stomach]

     Steve:  I met someone online and… I don’t know why… I slept with someone else. [crying]  I feel terrible about it.  I can’t believe I did it…

     Me:  Sonofabitchmotherfucker&&)(*)(*&^% ^#@^!*@#&#@!*^&!@#)#&@!  I can’t believe you did this to me.  NO.  This is unacceptable.  You are not going to spring this shit on me over the phone like a coward.  I will be there in 30 minutes and you will look me in the eye and tell me what you did.

I was completely crushed.  I was numb.  Sonofabitch!  Just when I was really ready to trust someone…

I hopped in my car and flew over there.  I am not sure why I was so intent on the face to face confrontation.  It seemed very important at the time.  I don’t know why I didn’t tell him to go fuck himself and be done with him forever.  It seems like the logical thing to do.  But, I am not always a logical person under pressure.

I made him tell me everything, even as painful as it was to hear.  I wanted to know who she was, if he was going to see her again, why he did it.  He was crying, and so was I.  It was terrible.  He was begging my forgiveness, of which I had none.  But somewhere in my mind… I couldn’t end it.  It seemed like he would be winning and could go screw the whore as much as he wanted.  I was an idiot.   I wouldn’t let him touch me for a long time.  I was shaken, numb, and just plain speechless.  For whatever reason my 22-year old brain could come up with – I stayed.  More out of spite than love, I am afraid.

It took me a long time to get past what he had done.  In fact, to be honest, I am still not over it.  It was a major betrayal, and he has suffered dearly for it over the years.  I will admit that I have used that in a lot of fights.  It has become the basis for my insecurity.  It would have been so easy just to leave… but I didn’t.  I stayed.

I am a douche…

et cetera