Nothing More to Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was catching up with an old friend the other day when she asked the inevitable question about my ex.

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Well, actually, I have,” I replied and proceeded to give her a brief synopsis of the encounter this past April.

“I would have yelled in his face,” she shared, her tone and body language suggesting residual anger. “How did you resist?”

I thought about it for a moment. On that day, I had no desire to approach him, much less confront him. All I wanted was for him to go away. But it’s more complex than that, as a particular post starting brewing soon after. Apparently, I didn’t want to talk to him there but I still had more to say.

One of the most painful aspects of a tsunami divorce is that its abruptness takes away any opportunity for discourse. I remember feeling so angry and so impotent at my voice being stolen.

In my early attempts at reaching him, I still believed that I would receive a response. Fear and anger fought for top billing in my mind. The following email was sent less than 24 hours after I received the text:

I’ve been mentally composing this for hours to try to not make it sound too angry. Coming home to a “dear John” letter and finding that you had cleared out while I was away fueled my fire again. I just keep thinking that your last employer got a sit down meeting when you quit while I got a text. You have been telling me, through words and actions, that it was okay & then this? You say you want to be supportive, but I can’t see that right now. I can’t think of a more painful way to do this. I can’t believe you stranded me across the country with this news, with no money, and the responsibility of the dogs. I may well bounce back, but this has shattered me to the core. I gave you time & opportunity before – why do it like this? I would like to think that your love & respect for me would override your cowardice. Please show me that respect now by talking to me – it is time to stop hiding.

You will need to come back soon from wherever you are so that we can disentangle our lives. As much as you may want to shirk responsibilities, we have a house, etc. that we need to make decisions about and I guess we need to file paperwork. I don’t know my plans yet, but can’t stay in the home we built together.

Days passed. Phone calls and emails were not returned. I was starting to understand that they never would. As the depths of the betrayals became clear, my anger grew. I entertained fantasies of tying him down and screaming at him; I wanted to force him to face the pain he created. I sent another email, copying what I thought was his girlfriend.

Uganda is an interesting choice.

You were right about two things: you are a coward and you certainly did let me down.

You can never run away from who you are or the knowledge of what you have done. Even Africa is not far enough.

I wonder how long it will take Amanda to see you for what you are?

You have taken away 16 years of my life, my dogs (true innocents whose lives are now completely changed), my home, my financial security, and what I thought was a wonderful marriage. You stole my youth, my innocence, my love. You hurt me in the ways in which you knew I was the most vulnerable. I refuse to let you have any more.

At least I can be at peace with who I am and the decisions that I have made.

I will not attempt to contact you again unless I find out this week that I have contracted an STD from you. That would be one more thing to weigh on your conscience.

Your betrayal and lies have pierced me to the core. I have never felt such pain, such sadness, such anger. The one I trusted and adored deceived and abandoned me.

I held back in that message. I expressed a sanitized version of my pain and anger. It wasn’t enough. The words I needed to say still ate away at me. Awake at 3:00 a.m., I composed another message, part of which is included below.

You were right.

You were right. I will never understand. I will never understand how you could be so cruel to someone you once loved. How you could repeatedly lie, even to direct questions for many months and years. How you could say goodbye at the airport, knowing it was for good, yet telling me that the week would go quickly and we would see each other soon. How you could continue to act like everything was okay (making plans for the future, sending loving texts, saying you missed me, having sex, even putting your $#&^%^@ dirty clothes in the basket before you left town), all the while knowing what you had done, were doing, and were planning to do. How you could betray my trust: financially, sexually, and in every other way. How you could make me feel sorry for you (sick in Brazil?) while you were *^$#*%@  your girlfriend all the while and spending thousands of dollars from OUR account? How you could continue to lie in your text (talk to you in a few days) and letter (I didn’t drain the account) to string me along as long as possible. Every piece I find out is a knife right through the gut (and trust me, I have found out quite a lot)…. You not only stole my present, you robbed me of my past: I can no longer look back on any of our relationship with any degree of fondness. Was any of it real? I don’t want to understand what you have done because in order to understand I would have to be deceitful and despicable too. I could never do the things you did.

…You are wrong to think that you can run away from your past – the house of cards has collapsed and it will follow you. You are wrong to think that this will make you happy. You were wrong thinking that I would continue to fall for your lies. You are wrong thinking that you can block out what you have done – it takes more than shutting me out of your e-mail. You were wrong to block out your feelings that led to this. You were wrong to think that you could handle this on your own. You were wrong to abandon our dogs in the basement and me across the country with no money to return. You were wrong to destroy 16 years with a *%#@($#  text message. You were wrong to steal money from our accounts – I guess fraud alert doesn’t work when it is from within the home. You were wrong to ask me not to contact your work; I certainly don’t owe you any favors. You were wrong to have sex with me, exposing me to unknown risks. You were wrong to seek my sympathy. You were wrong to pretend, to lie, to hide. You were wrong to do this to me.

I feel raped. Violated. Dirty. You have shamed me with your lies and your deeds. I was living with and loving an illusion, carefully crafted to take advantage of my trust. What did I do to deserve this treatment? Love too much, trust too much? The level of cruelty you have shown is astounding. The only word for it is “mindf***” – from kindness to cruelty, protection to persecution, connection to abandonment. There are no words that adequately describe the vileness of your actions. Everything you have touched is poisoned.

You know what’s sad? I still find myself wanting to share things with you.

We were such a good team, a good partnership. Unfortunately, a marriage takes two to make it work and only one to destroy it. You certainly destroyed it, and in the process, destroyed part of me. I will never be able to love or trust as innocently again. You stole that from me.

You cannot rest easy. Your creditors will find you. The IRS will find you. From what I have seen, the law may even find you. You cannot run from your health issues – did you even get your lab results? You won’t have health insurance soon. How long will your employers put up with your deceptions? They won’t like creditors, lawyers, law enforcement calling them. You better hope Amanda stays put – it seems as though you are going to be rather dependent upon her soon. I wonder what lies you have told her? You have no one else to support you – you have pushed them all away and betrayed their trust. You are alone.

Are you still interested in the devil and angel tattoo? Make sure to leave off the angel – we know who you’ve been listening to.

I felt somewhat better after sending it. I was able to express my anger and pain, but the problem was that I didn’t know if he ever read it. As the court cases (bigamy and divorce) approached, I held on to the thought that I would get a chance to take the stand and speak to him as a captive audience. When neither case allowed that to happen, I felt cheated again. Perhaps that was one of the core reasons why I chose to write and share my story. Even if he wouldn’t listen, others would.

By the time I was finishing the book, I was ready to write to him again, this time from a place of more compassion born from time and perspective.  Since I did not have an email address (nor did I actually want to attempt to contact him directly ever again), I included the letter in the book.

…I still have such a difficult time reconciling what happened to the man I loved. I wish you would have gotten help years ago. I would have joined the fight with you. Instead, I’ve been forced to fight against you. I wish I would have noticed how far you had strayed. I wish I had managed my anxiety better. I wish we could have worked together on our marriage the way we worked together on everything else. The results have been so tragic.

None of that matters now. We’re here. Wishes won’t change that.

You have brought me the greatest joys and the greatest sorrows in life, but I am not dependent upon you for either. I am responsible for my own happiness in life; I choose to make my life meaningful and joyful, regardless of the hell you dragged me through. I refuse to be defined by or limited by your choices; I am only limited by myself. July was my rebirth. But it was a terrible delivery.

I really hope that, wherever you are, you’re okay. I hope that you are making choices that do not harm you or anyone else around you. I hope that you are taking responsibility for the harm you’ve done. I hope that you are shedding whatever demons overshadowed you and that your true self is able to see the sun again.

…Your actions shocked and hurt me more than you can probably imagine. I’ve changed. Possibly so much that you wouldn’t even know me now. Your choices pruned me back to the core, but I have been able to grow new branches from the wounds. Life is beautiful.

I hope that you have been able to find beauty in your life and that you can help bring it to others.

With that letter, I thought I was done. Until I saw him this past spring. WIth my upcoming nuptials on the horizon,  I realized that I still had more to say. I wrote the controversial post, A Letter to My Ex On the Eve of My Wedding for the Huffington Post.

And then I was done. That last letter was the final catharsis, releasing him from me. I no longer feel as though my voice has been stolen. I no longer feel the need to be heard by him. I have said what I needed to say and I no longer care if it has been received. I am at peace now.

I have nothing more to say.

 

Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m in the midst of pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming moving and settling in to the new home. Those damned paint chips have been turned into almost a dozen gallons of paint that now cover the walls (marking our territory as Brock would say; Tiger has been busy marking his territory outside the home while his parents handle the inside). The kitchen is largely unpacked and the garage is staged with boxes ready to follow the carpet cleaner’s into the rest of the house. Even the man cave is taking shape and looking smart.

I’m exhausted. The last time I did a wedding/move/remodel at once, I was 22. I sure ain’t no spring chicken anymore, as evidenced by the blisters on my hands and the creaks in my back.

But I’m happy. Even more so than at 22 when I was beginning my first marriage in my first home. I’m more grateful for what I have, knowing how easy it is to lose everything. I’m more at peace, after living through my fears. I’m more focused on the relationships that will be nurtured within the home than on the home itself (the days of waiting to complete a project before inviting friends over is a thing of the past). It feels so good to start to send out roots again. This is settling in the best way possible.

Since my swollen hands and befuddled brain won’t allow me to string together too many cohesive sentences (seriously, how do new parents function with this little sleep every night? mad respect but also a little scared that there are that many new parent zombies shuffling around!), I provide you with a post about the loss of shared memories. It’s a timely post for me now that I’m cultivating a new shared past (and reconnecting with friends from childhood!) which softens the blow of losing the other.

 

Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

 

Several years ago, my then husband and I were on the interstate heading out to our weekly Costco run. The roads were packed and traffic was doing that infuriating start-stop thing where we averaged about .87 mph. I took that opportunity to share the information from an article I had read that applied the theory of fluid dynamics to traffic congestion (disclaimer for those new to the site: I am a geek). I was excited about the research, animated. I used the cars around us to demonstrate the ideas in the article. He thought I was bit nuts. From that point forward, every time we were stuck in traffic, he would make a joke about “damn fluid dynamics.” It became part of our shared past.

Traffic Congestion

I am an only child and I have lost contact will all of my childhood friends. My ex was the only person in my peer group that spanned across the decades of my life. I do not miss him, but I do miss the shared past. I now have entire mental storerooms of jokes and remembrances and no one to share them with. It’s a strange feeling, memories bubbling to the surface and just sitting, lonely at the forefront of my mind rather than being released through a conjoined history and recollection.  It’s an isolating feeling, a bit like being alone in a foreign country; no one else speaks the language of my marriage.

I am building a new shared past with my current partner, but, by definition, it takes time to build a history,a shared past from which to pull forth shared memories.

But for now, when I am stuck in traffic, I think of fluid dynamics and smile alone.

There’s No Place Like Home:)

Posted on by stilllearning2b

…and nothing like the fatigue from moving and painting all day!

photo-301

Directions: First Close, Then Open

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Those are the directions on the housewarming gift I’m leaving for Brock this morning. In a few hours we close on the new house. Needless to say, there hasn’t been much sleeping ’round these parts the last few nights.

I’m excited. So damn excited. I’m starting to let myself believe that this is actually going to happen. We received pictures of the repairs on the screened in porch from the seller yesterday. Hard to believe that I could be on that porch soon.

I’m anxious. There is still so much that can go wrong. I don’t want to count the proverbial chickens. Or any real ones, for that matter.

I’m left out. Since the note is in his name only (thanks to the parting gift of a foreclosure from my ex), he will be attending the proceedings this morning without me (I’m using my personal days for the wedding this year).  It’s a strange feeling. It’s “our” house, yet in some very real ways, it’s not mine. I’m still trying to be okay with that.

After the chaos and lack of anchorage the past four years, this house means stability. Roots. Safety. I can finally unpack. Not just boxes, but my life. In some ways, I’ve been in storage waiting for the right time.

Now is the right time.

So, in a few hours, during which I’ll be teaching similar figures while dressed in a Superman shirt (it’s superhero day at school), Brock will be signing papers that close on a house and open a new chapter in our lives. May this home and this chapter be filled with lots of love, laughter and friends. And no chickens.

Goal Post

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was packing my file drawers just now and came across the above pages, now worn and sun bleached. I remembered writing a post about it about a year and half ago. Perspective is so funny – those goals seemed so distant then and now even the old post feels ancient, especially with the completion of the book over a year in the past. The me of the old post would never have imagined doing radio and TV spots. She thought marathons were only for crazy people (I’m not sure I’ve changed my mind on this…more like I’ve become crazy!) And, the me of the old post was not yet thinking marriage or house; she was still settling in to cohabitation and a general calming down of life.  I like these reminders of where I was and where I am. They help me stay on track for where (and who) I want to be. They remind of the importance of setting goals but also the importance of being willing to alter them, with pink marker if necessary, as life and plans change.

Now, without further ado, the original post from April 2012:

The previous post reminded me of my goal sheet that I typed just a few weeks after my ex left.  I went looking for it, and found it in my folder labeled, “July disasster.”  When I wrote these goals, I was still mired in the yuck of the day to day, but I wanted to put my dreams out there.  I posted this list above the folding card table in my friend’s bonus room that was to be my office for the next year.  It kept me focused on the future and the gifts in my present on those days when I felt like giving up.  The list now makes me smile.  It shows me how far I have come and reminds me of where I was.

There are two items on the list that remain unchecked. The first, complete a book, was a bit ambitious for a year (or even three), but it is an ongoing project.  The other, volunteer at an animal rescue organization was chosen because of my gratitude towards those who helped to find homes for my dogs.  I don’t feel strong enough yet to face this one, but I will.

Some of the other goals seem so minimal in retrospect.  Go on a date – I went on 7-8 dates a week for a few months (months I dubbed, “Match Madness”).  Or, learn to cook one gluten-free meal – I now do that multiple times a week and am a recipe resource for others.

Some of the goals make me thankful for where I am and why I am here.  I was originally going to move to the NW; I could not imagine a life in the same town where I had spent my married years.  Just months before I was going to leave, I met my now boyfriend.  There was enough potential there that I decided to commit to staying in the area for a year (once I found a job) to see how things progressed.  It has now been two years, and I couldn’t be happier.

Other goals have been incorporated into my current life.  I still set goals to run races (I’ve just raised the bar a bit), I still intentionally seek out new friends, I continue to find ways to act of character, and I still make sure to take weekend trips.  The last goal has become my favorite: find a way to laugh each and every day.

I no longer have goals posted above my desk.  I have internalized them, using them as a daily reminder to be thankful and hopeful.