And if old acquaintance (or estranged wives) be forgot ...

Dear Reader,

It's been so long since I've typed I hardly know where to start.  I could be polite and ask how you are but needless to say I'm not in the best emotional place right now.

I've been dealing with depression for years.  It's a huge cause of the breakup of my marriage.  There, I said it.  And that makes me angry.  Well, angry may not be the right word.  It makes me downright pissed.  Yeah, I said that too.  It's not fair.  It's not fair that I have to feel this way and it's not fair that that jerk couldn't understand and didn't have the patience, understanding or interest to stick with me.  Yes, it lasted for awhile. And yes, he picked up a lot of slack while it was happening.  But then, that was it.  I couldn't do anything right.  If I tried to get help and wasn't getting better fast enough, I wasn't trying to get better.  If I tried to get help and some improvements seemed too fast, then it was obviously a small enough problem and I was wrong to not get help sooner.  See, no winning.

I don't know what to do.  I'm so angry that I can't seem to get the life I want back.  I'm so angry that I don't know what to do to make things better.  I know that's what I want.  I want my marriage and I want my family back.  Do I have that?  No.  And over the last day and a half, I've started to think that it's not going to happen.  Why do I think that?  Hard to say.  Lots of reasons that add up.  Common sense.  Falling into an emotional canyon and losing hope?  Falling into an emotional canyon and deciding that optimism without cause is just stupidity.  Whatever the reason, I can't seem to stop crying.  Last night I even threw up a bit because I had gotten so worked up from the sobbing.

He spent the day as he wanted.  He went running, went out to help a friend/colleague, and then was home with the family.  And by family I mean our children and their babysitter.  The new happy family four-some as I've been calling them.  I resent that.  I resent him.  I resent her.  He says that that's not the case and that there's nothing like that happening.  In some moments, I've believed him.  Now, I'm just tired of ignoring every instinct that says that I'm really living in some Lifetime movie and just being laughed at behind my back.    How did this happen?  How did my life get here?

I know that life isn't fair for most people but how did things come to suck this much?  I could only keep realizing that 2012 has sucked incredibly and I have no realistic reason to believe that 2013 would suck any less.  My other rock bottom moment?  I went grocery shopping last night and I couldn't stop thinking that I was Shelley Long in Irreconcilable Differences.  I was fat and alone and bitter.  And if you recall that gem of a movie, even when that grocery shopping trip pulled her out of her funk, her life didn't really improve.  She lost weight, wrote a hit book and got a bad 80s haircut but she was still alone.  I'd say that I was on track to become a cat lady but I hate cats so I can't even look forward to that companionship.  Yes, I adore my kids, but they love their dad and they love their babysitter.  Even if they love me, I'm feeling destined to just be that "other place" they go.  The person they have to take care of as adults and the person they have to remember to not say things in front of about their dad and stepmother.  I can only hope I bounce out of this enough to be able to function again and not be stared at when I actually leave the house but I'm not entirely sure when or how that is going to happen.

I just hate this.  I fucking hate this and I just don't know what to do.  

And I'm back

Hello again, dear reader.  I've been away from the computer because I've been a bit of a mess and in a bit of a funk.  Perhaps, that means I should have been here.  I suspect therapists would say that but I wasn't talking to one so that's just speculation on my part.

The routine continues to develop and I continue to try to navigate my way around Single Mother Land.  There are good days and bad days but I had those when I was in Two Parent Home Land.  The "mess" is often as I react to being the only parent in the room and the "funk" is deciding where I am and where I'm going.  Doesn't that sound like a melodramatic philosophical crisis?  Or is that just stage 1 of a midlife crisis?  Hmmmm ....

Hubby and I are ok, I guess.  We get along pretty well.  Some spats, but seriously, we're separated.  I doubt we would be in this state if we didn't have spats.  Let's be realistic.  The spats are often about parenting style but, again, that's hardly earth-shattering.  I may be the parent with less patience but I'm also the more lenient parent.  And if that approach is different from Hubby's then, by his definition, I'm wrong.  He may be getting a bit about those dictatorial stances but that's a relative distinction.  I keep telling Big Little Kid that in a few years she'll appreciate having me as an ally.  But I digress.

I'm not really sure where Hubby and I are going.  We talk as much as before - actually, I'd say we talk more than we did during certain stretches of the cohabitation portion of our marriage.  We probably see each other more now.  Maybe not more in terms of quantity (although that's debatable) but definitely more in terms of family quality.  I just worry that we're learning to live separately and establishing that as our new normal.  I don't know that we're getting the chance to miss each other.  Well, I miss him.  What I meant to say is that I don't know that he's getting the chance to miss me.  But then again, that gives him even less time to be around anyone else.  Ugh.  Dear reader, do you see what I mean about the mess and the funk?!?  More ughs.  I hate feeling so whiny. It's like I'm a tween (but who can spell and speak in more than 140 character chunks) or in a Lifetime movie of the week (but preferably without the washed up career).

But of course, it is nice to get to sit on my red couch watching DWTS, Glee or Revenge without comments from the peanut gallery ....

More on the perception of time ...

I can remember a conversation with my mother when she was in her early 40s, maybe just turned 40.  She was doing or saying something that did not strike college-aged me as appropriate for a 40-something year old grown up.  Then she told me that she didn't feel her age -- that inside, she felt like she was still in her 20s.  I laughed at her.  And, well, we all know what a bitch karma can be.

Now, I get it.  I get what she meant.  I don't feel my age.  I still feel like the little girl moving into her first apartment.  I jump at noises, think I'm managing to sneak something when I get a bottle of wine or any yummy dessert from the grocery store bakery, and feel luxuriously independent when drinking on the sofa.  Every day at work it's as if it were my first day and I'm starting from scratch when it comes to things like intelligence and competence and attire.  Most of all, I feel like a little girl when I'm around other adults.  Even around people my age, or, gasp!, younger - it always seems like they are grown up and have it all together, and I'm just playing house.  I look at my beautiful Little Kids and am struck with terror and momentary shock that I am the dominant female protector and role model in their lives.  I can't pinpoint how I old I feel like I am, but it's definitely not how old I really am.

One of the most common moments during which this confusion pops up is around the opposite sex (as in male, not as in getting some).  Everyday I travel in an elevator, see lots of guys going to and from work or meetings, and everyday I just think, wow, these people are grown up.  I must appear like a gray-haired 12 year old.  Of course, when married, this wasn't a huge deal.  Yes, I felt uncomfortable at times around "grown ups" but no biggie.  Now?  It feels more like a biggie.  Or at least a mediumie.

The other day, my attorney was talking with me about some details in the separation agreement - also known in my mind as The Agreement - which we're trying to finalize.  Some items have been left for mutual agreement at a future time.  She commented that this approach wouldn't be advisable for a longer-term, more permanent agreement, but it's where we are now.  Her other comment was that future mutual agreement wasn't good in the long-term since so many things get more complicated when other people enter the picture.  Other people as in the trollops Hubby would take up with.  I suppose that would include anyone I got involved with but that's not feeling likely.  Yes, some of that stems from insecurity and a less than desirable (no pun intended) sense of self-esteem, but it primarily comes from the worry of who would want to take up with a divorced, gray-haired 12 year old with kids?  And if someone did, what kind of person would that be?  Would I want to be with that person?  Could I even agree with that person on a movie choice?  What college would that kind of person cheer for?  This is a problem.

I keep seeing commercials for various internet matching sites - the standards (you know who they are), the speciality groups (old people, people of various faiths, people who like to farm or be near pastures and outdoor animals) - is there one for younger people trapped in older bodies?  Would this be something like FreakyFriday.com (the Jodie Foster version, not the remake) or perhaps something like 13GoingOn30.com (that wouldn't be a bad world - Jennifer Garner is lovely and Pat Benatar can provide good life advice) ... But I don't see those commercials so I'm at a loss.  Hopefully it won't come to that but if it does, Gentle Reader, I'm sure it'll be hee-larious in a train wreck kind of way.

Time

Ah gentle reader, I think I must be getting old.  Either that or single life has an unexpected consequence.  I have just completely lost track of time.  I go to bed later, I wake up later (regardless of whether I have to go to work or not!  eek!), I keep grocery shopping at 10:00 pm,  and I am forever losing track of the day of the week.  This is not good.  Little Kids will be here next week and Big Little Kid has homework.  This could be problematic ....

In other news (and in part because I stayed up late last night), the last toy cubby shelf has been completed.  Yes, I got a bit too excited with the hammer and the oh-so-sophisticated prefab material was a bit ... ahhh .... busted in spots but oh well.  Toys can go on there.  Yay me!

Tonight does feel a bit random.  Many apologies.  But I think I'm out of it a bit.  Probably time to sit in my comfy reading chair and pick up a book.  No need for suspense, I'm sure I'll share a review!  Until then, good night.  Or is it good morning.  Oh, screw it, good day!

I think I married Sybil ...

Presumably testosterone alone doesn't cause the mood swings that estrogen seems to inspire, so maybe we're looking at some type of multiple personality issue.  In no way do I mean to make light of mental illness.  On the contrary, my depression and I became quite close over the years.  But I am at a loss to explain things otherwise.

Yesterday, Hubby was, well, a poop.  I know that he's stressed at work, and hey, being a single parent is no fun, but still, he was a poop.  In fact, he's often a poop.  Having some distance (well, about a three minute drive's worth of distance), I'm beginning to see that he can be a poop a lot.  This is a problem.  He's been reciting the litany of my faults for some time - and many of those are legitimate gripes - but it's becoming more and more clear to me that he's a poop.  He takes his stress out on others, primarily me, by being short and terse and downright unpleasant.  This was last night.  We had minimal interaction but what there was was indeed downright unpleasant.  Tonight, I was in a foul mood upon arriving at the house (the cause is another story altogether) but he seemed sincerely concerned that something was bothering me and he wanted to help.  This is why I think I may have married Sybil.  He's either sweet and concerned, or he's a poop.  One or the other.  And I never know which one to expect.  It's exhausting.

When we were still seeing the couples therapist (before realizing that those sessions were a waste of time and often a step backwards), she had asked us to think about what we each wanted from the other.  My thoughts on this topic were all fairly vague and tended to be more about me and how he made me feel.  Now, I think I can start making that concrete list.  Item number 1:  stop being a poop.  Item number 2:  lose the poop personality and stick with the sweet one.  Item number 3:  stop making me use the word poop.  I know I started using it in place of other preferable words because of the Little Kids, but still, stop making me use the word poop.  It makes me feel ridiculous.  So, item number 4:  stop making me feel ridiculous.

Now, off to pick up some trashy romance novels.  The guys there may act like poops but then they realize it and make up for it.  Maybe those books should be required reading for men.  Or boys.  No need for the poopness to develop fully before teaching them to get their acts together.

Cooking in Limboland

I'm not sure which is worse - knowing that your marriage is over or wondering if it is.  There is no doubt that knowing things are over and watching the clock to see when a divorce can be finalized would be horrible (well, it would be horrible for someone who doesn't want his or her marriage to end).  However, wondering can be torture.  You wonder while you're "working on things" and then you have the pain of physical separation but you still have the wondering.  Hubby has accused me many times of (a) only doing as much as required to get what I want and (b) only making an effort when I feel that I can get what I want.  In other words, if I don't things thing will work out, then I stop trying.  I'm fatalistic.  Or so he says.

Well, here's my argument that he's full of crap.  Our house (as in, the marital home, to use lawyer speak) has a combination wall oven/microwave.  A really dumb idea.  Of course it came with the house and we didn't choose this stupid appliance but we're stuck with it nonetheless.  My hostility stems from the fact that if one component part breaks, you're likely stuck having to replace the whole damn thing.  And, as you've probably guessed, that's exactly what happened.  The weak link in this unit is the microwave and yep, the microwave just made a popping sound and promptly died.  No opportunity for CPR or a doctor's visit.  Just death.  Fortunately for Hubby, I was there when it happened so there can be no charge of sabotage but it's annoying nonetheless.

You may be asking, "He's in the house.  Isn't this Hubby's problem?" and you would be right.  However, I know that it would create big financial hardship off the bat ("Too bad.  Hubby made his bed and now he can lie in it no matter how cheap the sheets will have to be") and I'm trying not to be that much of a shrew.  Plus, it's still my house too (at least on paper) and - here's where I'm not being fatalistic - it may be my residence again as well.  (And he was saying this before the microwave's untimely demise - and he has no extrasensory abilities - so he can't just be saying that as a means of lessening the hit to his checkbook.)

This has prompted some joint shopping this weekend.  And, I can't believe I'm going to say this, there were moments when it was fun, pleasant and, dare I say, downright couple-like.  He even commented on the same thing so I wasn't imagining it.  Of course he was snappish and jackasslike this evening but I guess it's still something.

Other People

No, I don't mean other people as in dating them.  My problem is other people finding out.  It's not like it's a secret but it certainly can be awkward -- both in face-to-face interactions and in simply filling out papers.  Tonight I took Big Little Kid to her first Girl Scout meeting.  I was (and am) so excited. She didn't follow me in love of dance class but I'm hoping she enjoys this.  Her best friend's mom is one of the troop leaders and, for a number of reasons (not the least of which being I'm sure the Little Kids would spill the beans anyway), we had to tell her what was going on.  Well, not we per se, more like the Hubby.  She was sweet as always so that was really only a problem in terms of my nerves, but when it came time to fill out paperwork, that was upsetting.  To be separated, you have to live under different roofs.  And obviously we are.  But damn if having to put that new address in writing doesn't stab me in the heart nearly every time.  Ugh.

Gradually, we are going to (and have to) tell people.  While tonight's face-to-face interaction turned out okay, I met with a friend the other day and I wanted to just sink into the ground.  Or sink her into the ground.  Yes, I need help and support but it's such a delicate balance between that and pitying and smothering.  Again, I say, ugh.  I have to make such an effort to assure those folks that I'm fine, everything's okay, silver lining, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I suppose if I do it enough, I might convince myself of it, but it is exhausting and usually more than I feel like dealing with.  Yep, one more time ... ugh.