Rants of a Lunatic

I'm a cliche.

That's what I'm thinking right now. As I sit here in what must be the seventh or eighth day in my latest bout with depression.

The bouts that seem to be coming more and more often as I grow older. Or does it just feel that way.

It's humiliating to type. I hate. HATE. feeling out of control. I hate admitting my weaknesses.

I'm hoping that just writing it down this time will turn it around, and like so many times before, tomorrow I'll wake up and feel like my normal self. Stable and in control. Emotions in check with reality.

But right now, I'm coming out of a day of raw emotion and pain and into a day of mind numbing fog and isolation.

Frustrated beyond belief that I thought this was under control once with diet and exercise, and yet it reared it's ugly head. Frustrated again because after an extremely humiliating and weepy visit to my local clinic that up until now, only my husband and best friend knew about, I thought the medication they gave me was working.

Yet for the last week, I've felt less and less like talking. Or working. Or mothering. Or cleaning up. Or bothering to get dressed. And yesterday, emotion so raw and painful that it physically hurt. Every second was a battle to get through. Today is a fog of numbness, I imagine the brain's way of compensating for the rawness of yesterday.

"What is it? What are you thinking about that upsets you like this?" my husband asks helplessly. Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain depression to someone who has never really had it...there's nothing wrong, but EVERYTHING IS WRONG.

The racing thoughts. The problems that felt normal yesterday that feel completely insurmountable today. The overall feeling of doom and self-loathing. The endless spiral of "I am so fucked up" that makes you feel even more fucked up that makes you feel even more fucked up. The desperate mental searching for an end to the pain, anything to alleviate it, even a little.

And today I felt like crawling under the covers and telling everyone to fuck off. I hate myself like this. I hate me today. Somewhere on some level, the normal me is watching and is horrified at this version of herself. She feels sorry for everyone in her life. She is disgusted at herself for not being able to cook, work, and mother her children. Round and round and round we go.

But this is all I have today. I left my house today, and it took everything in my being to do it. Being self-employed is the greatest blessing and curse when you suffer from depression. I can hide if I need to, but really, I shouldn't be hiding. Every step I force myself to make is one step back to normalcy.

I'm trying to think of this as illness so I'm not so hard on myself and can deal accordingly. Then the guilt of all the illnesses I ALREADY BATTLE besides depression...the Meniere's, the anxiety, the autoimmune disorders...and the "I am so fucked up" starts again.

I feel guilt hitting the publish button on this post. I feel that everyone wants to hear about the happy hum and I should leave it at that. I'm a story somewhere in la la land that will cheer them up, and here I come along and fuck that up too with my negativity. SEE HOW THIS WORKS.

And then I choose not to hit publish for the 80th time since I've begun this blog. Except this time. Because I'm tired of isolation. I'm just. so. tired.

Please just let me wake up *me* tomorrow.

The Happy Hum

I don't have long to write because life has taken me on so many new and exciting journeys in the last several months, I don't have a whole lot of time to self-indulge and write about it.

But the weather has changed and like it does every season, this change makes me nostalgic. Recently, I began musing to my husband "remember when we..." and he finally looked at me and said, "why are you so nostalgic all of a sudden?"

And then it dawned on me that it was summer, and really just beginning to FEEL like summer. And summer is when my life changed forever, 3 years ago. July 18th to be exact.

That is the night that I walked into a small music venue with my bestie, having just declared myself Done With Men and Single Forever. It was that night that his friend hit on us and asked us to join his group of friends. That night that I scanned the faces that I now know as his buddies, and found myself drawn to the shy one sitting furthest away. That's the night that he asked me who I lived with, expecting my answer to be "roommate" or maybe even "boyfriend", and I held my breath, answered "my three kids", and waited for the hasty retreat that I was used to (or maybe the even dumber response I had from one moron who actually lifted my shirt up to see my belly).

That is the night that we talked until our voices ached, exchanged numbers, and he vowed to take me out for the short time he was in the country. The night I went to get breakfast food with my bestie afterwards, looked at her with my head in my hands and said "Amy, he's 27 and drives a Corvette WHAT THE FUCK am I thinking?" as he sent me a text while driving away, telling me goodnight.

And now, life is life. There is no big excitement, no staying up all night talking, just what I like to describe as the Happy Hum. Maybe I don't get butterflies in my stomach everytime I look at him, because most of that time we're either solving problems, discussing the kids, cleaning up dog poop, etc. Ordinary life. But every single day, I thank the universe that he is my husband, my partner, my absolute soul mate, and that I found him. My needs are all met, and if they aren't, I can bring that to his attention and he ACTUALLY ADDRESSES IT. Things are exactly the way that they are supposed to be. This is what marriage SHOULD feel like. I feel equal, I feel heard, I feel loved and cherished and supported and valued.

Then there are the evenings that we are discussing plans for the future, our goals and hopes and dreams, which we do quite often. We look into each others eyes with the knowledge of what we have and how lucky we are to have it. And it hits me how much we are actually on the same page and I do get chills and butterflies all over again.

Nostalgia is my way of respecting what brought us here to the present, which is where I am the happiest. I love to think of those nights, picturing him attempting to memorize my kids' names, but watching it in my mind with the knowledge that those names are now his children too. It blows my mind.

As the summer goes on and starts to change to fall, I'm sure the wave of nostalgia from just a year ago will begin to hit me as well. September 10 will be our 1 year wedding anniversary. I think of us sitting in a dark movie theater in September 2010, looking at my iphone, and choosing the date 9-10-11 based on visitation schedules and birthdays, and it makes me giggle.


I don't want to say that my life began 3 years ago, because everything that happened up until that point brought me to exactly where I needed to be to have my Mr. Wonderful. I'm so grateful to now be living in the Happy Hum that I never knew existed. It has wiped away all of my fears and anxieties that I brought into this marriage.

Equally I see my kids enjoying the Happy Hum as well, and I can't help but wonder what would have become of them if they never got to experience it. What happened 3 years ago, July 18th, was just as important to their futures as it was to mine...if not more important. They not only adore their stepdad, but they bask in the stability of our relationship, and our happiness. They share in it just as a family should.

And with that, back to the Happy Hum.

For Tracey

Many people who read this blog found me through one of my best friends, but most likely it was Tracey's blog that brought you here.

So most of you know Tracey's story, and I don't really want to re-hash it, because we don't really like to re-live it.

If you don't know, I can tell you that a little over two years ago, I was holding Tracey in my arms at a 5K event as she fell apart. I had just become engaged two weeks prior and was at the happiest point in my life yet. I looked at Tracey huddled up in my arms, pale as a ghost, a completely raw and open wound of a human being after finding out that the two closest people in her life had betrayed her, that her reality for the past year or more had not been reality at all. I held her as she sobbed and I was so. fucking. scared. How do you get past that? How do I console her and reassure her that it would all be ok, because to be honest, I wasn't sure that it would be?

When my Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor, we had lots of people come to us and say "I know so and so who survived a brain tumor, this way...". It gave us hope, it gave us a direction to look.

But when this happened to Tracey, everyone around her was basically like me, mouth agape, this just doesn't happen. I don't know the course to recovery because I don't know of anyone to go through this.

I did the best I could and told her that it *would* all be ok. I didn't go through anything like her situation, but at the time it was the worst thing I could think of and I did survive...not only survive but my life was so much better off now. I clung to that and that was my mantra to her over the next two years.

There was a man by her side at that time who supported Tracey and stood by her, even through the darkest times of anyone's life. When I first met him (and this is his FAVORITE story about me), I waved my finger in his face and told him to back off, let her heal, leave her alone. I underestimated them both.

M was exactly what Tracey needed. Had M backed off, I truly believe that Tracey never would have been able to trust another man again for the rest of her life. Her story was different from mine. She was able to heal and grow and learn and thrive again, but she also needed proof that there was still good in life...that there are men that can be trusted and value morals and honesty as much as she does. She needed M to heal; his unwavering devotion, his unwillingness to let go of what they have - he was living proof that not all human beings were capable of such hurtful actions.

Tracey and I like to use the hashtag #twinlives when we are texting about our situations. Like me, she is marrying a man with no biological children of his own, an independent bachelor who likes his space and alone time yet for some crazy reason is dead set on joining this nutty, chaotic life of three kids and a busy work schedule no matter how hard we tried to push them away. We had the same transitions, I usually about a year ahead of her. How many times have we sent texts to each other "HOW DID YOU HANDLE THIS"! I call her my Yoda, because even though I am already married, she has got this shit down. She knows how to focus on the good, process and release the bad, "bubble" herself and her family.

8 months ago on my own wedding day, I cried alone because I missed my friends so much. Tracey had written to me that she didn't think she could be any happier for me even if it were herself getting married. This week as we prepare for her wedding, I feel the exact same way.

Not many know what it is like to pick yourself up and rise from the rubble of a disaster with three young children by your side, looking to you for guidance when all you really want to do is lay down and give in to the pain. Then to have the courage to take the step forward, not having any idea where you are going, knowing that the three little faces at your side need for this to be the right direction. Then to one day, after much time has gone by, look up and realize that you somehow managed to not only find your way out, but you've made it to paradise. The way it should be, the way it was supposed to be but never was. To realize that there is now another hand holding onto the little ones, and they are beaming up at him with the same respect and trust they have for you. That you both know exactly where you are now headed, together.

If my wedding day wasn't the perfect metaphor for that feeling, I don't know what else could be. I was a witness to Tracey's own devastation, I watched her fall and get back up again with her babies in tow. I watched her analyze every situation with her children's best interest as her only factor of reasoning, their happiness the only factor of moving forward. And here they will all stand together this Saturday, together, happy, but just one step in the journey of the rest of their lives together. And I am so honored to be there to see the resolution, the happy "beginning".

I'm terrible with words, I am. There are really no words I could think of to describe the feeling and fulfillment of watching someone you love secure their own happiness after not knowing how they would get through, and also knowing firsthand how that feels. But I know that no words are needed, she is my best friend and she knows I know.

*Cheers*, to Tracey and M.

Perspective in a Timeline

Recently my Facebook page switched over to the new "timeline" format. At first I hated it as I hate all change, but then I realized that with just the click of a button, I could look back at what I imprinted in time with previous status updates, pictures, etc. I decided to check it out from the beginning, which just so happened to be 2008- the same month that my ex moved out for good.

My Facebook page is mostly used for business reasons now, but back then I had a feed linked from my twitter account, which was pretty personal.

I have a general memory of my life after he left. I remember that it was hard. I remember primal screaming in the closet at the sight of his clothes still there and collapsing on the floor in a heap of pain. I remember that my youngest child, 2o months old, was difficult at the time, probably sensing my own pain. I remember being so anxious that I couldn't relax my muscles, even through a massage. I remember not sleeping and being comforted by the distraction of tv at night so I couldn't hear my own thoughts. I remember having trouble setting boundaries with my ex husband.

But to see the words of those moments, the translation from situation to writing, even in tiny little 140 character thoughts, well, it brought it all back.

I read pages and pages of tweets like a novel, seeing it all happen again in my head. Most of it I had blocked out, whether that was for survival or lack of sleep or anxiety medication, I'm not sure. But to see me back there living it was jarring. I didn't write much about my feelings on the divorce, because I hadn't told many about it. I wrote about my toddler, who at five is now so angelic and sweet that I don't recognize her in my writing, screaming constantly. She screamed to be picked up, then when I picked her up, she screamed to be put down. She screamed to eat, then threw her food on the floor. She refused to sleep, would climb from her crib everytime I put her in, and would eventually fall asleep standing up screaming against a door or a wall, at 3 or 4 in the morning. If she did fall asleep, it was temporary...it was like she could sense me heading to bed and would wake up...you guessed it...screaming.

I wrote about how I was sure there was something wrong with her, and took her to the doctor...nothing wrong.

I wrote about one night, I was the tooth fairy for my oldest, and everytime I tried to sneak the tooth away and slip a dollar in, he would stir. After midnight, I was so desperate that I was ready to wake him and tell him the tooth fairy was a lie and just hand him his dollar. I finally slipped the dollar under and the minute I crept from his room...you guessed it...the toddler, screaming.

Aside from my toddler's issues, I wrote about my crazy work schedule. My ex left me weeks before the busiest time of the year, and it just so happens, turned out to be my busiest season to date. I wrote of editing photos until 3 or 4 am, photo after photo of happy families, crushed by the dissolution of mine, the failure I felt I was both to myself and my children in not being able to make mine stay together. (oh if I could have only seen into the future then)

I wrote about my son's 4th grade teacher, who did not understand my child one bit, and was negative to me on a weekly basis. Emails of "he's just terrible. I can't control him." Which I had NEVER heard from a teacher before and have never heard again since. I wrote of meetings with the principal, desperate for a resolution so that I would have one less thing to worry about.

I wrote about all three of my kids sharing illness after illness after illness. And not just colds, no. I was thrown up on in the middle of the night constantly. They had strep back to back. They had flu. They had a mystery bug that made them have insanely high fevers. My youngest spent time in the hospital for pneumonia. My middle child got an ear infection so bad that we had to rush to the ER in the middle of the night.

I wrote about my already difficult toddler being on breathing meds and steroids for her pneumonia, and her behavior elevating to cracked out status. Throwing things at my head, walking in a room and screaming at me not to sit there.

I wrote of shuttling children to dance practices, soccer practices, gymnastics, guitar lessons, PTA functions, birthday parties, and friends houses, hosting slumber parties at our house...all alone.

I wrote about my sick beagle, who had epilepsy so bad that she would have seizures that made her lose her bowels, bladder, and stomach, and then after dragging her out of that mess I would have to hold her down so she wouldn't attack anyone during her twilight times of recovery for a period afterwards.

I wrote of one friend, because that was all I had at the time.

I wrote of nights out alone...but just once a week, because that was the only time my ex was relieving me of parenting duty--Wednesdays for a few hours. Other than that, it was all me, doing all of the above.

I wrote about my ex showing up with cupcakes for the kids, then leaving me the mess to clean up and the sugared up kids. On a regular basis.

I wrote about attempting to buy groceries with three kids in tow every week, one usually screaming and escaping from the seatbelted cart, one usually begging for everything he saw, and one who once spent an entire trip lifting up my dress to look at my underwear, over and over.

And those were just the things that I wrote about.

What surprises me the most when I read back over that time are three things:

1-I had a pretty good attitude about it all back then, all my writing is done with humor and a smile, only a few times does the pain crack through. You see me making a valiant effort to enjoy the little moments with my children in between the painful ones. And I do remember telling myself that the logistics of it all weren't nearly as awful as living with a lying husband who makes you sick to be near.

I'm not that person anymore. The PTSD of that time period has made me harder, slightly more negative (as a defense mechanism).

2-The most unbelievable thing to me is that the worst was yet to come. I tweeted about one man during that entire ordeal, and it was my father. My father, who lived 1/2 a mile away, and would drop everything to come over and stay with children so I could take one to the ER, or run to the grocery store to get milk or diapers, or would bring me dinner when I just couldn't make it happen. My father who would meet the tyrant toddler and I for lunch every week so that I could cry on his shoulder. My father, who would be diagnosed with a brain stem tumor in January of 2009, just 5 months after my husband left. He is alive, but let's be honest, I lost my father in March of that year after the surgery destroyed all of his motor functions, and his after care destroyed what was left of his brain. I couldn't bring myself to read any of those tweets. For some reason, I seem to remember every second of those months.

3-I honestly don't know how I survived it all. I don't know how I'm alive. It is a grand testament to how much I care for my children, and to the new friends I made who came to my side and didn't leave, even when I was a horrible person to be around, and to the family like my mom, brother, and sister-in-law who took me under their care at the moments when I just couldn't take anymore.

As depressing as this all sounds, hold it up next to what I have today. Yes, I have a pain in the ass ex husband who hasn't paid me child support in months, trashes me to everyone we know, won't sign papers to end the legal battles, and shows hatred to me in front of our kids. But otherwise?

The reality is, I have a true partner now. No matter what happens, what kid gets sick in the middle of the night, what crisis comes up, I have a partner I can rely on to not only be right next to me helping me figure it all out, but with his arm around my shoulder with loving encouragement and support: something I never had before, ever. I have someone I can trust without hesitation or reservation. I have three kids who are happy, social, thriving, excelling. I have the resources now to spend time with each of them and nourish our bonds. I have a true co-parent who shares the same values and ideals with me.

I have the family in the pictures, for real this time.

It will make me think twice before I whine about my schedule, my legal battle, my ex husband.

Because my life is awesome now. And without seeing the depths and darkness of the bottom I may have never recognized the beauty and light of the top.

Survival

I apologize for leaving the "story" hanging, but after that horrible lawyer meeting I just didn't feel like revisiting that entire evening in writing; it upset me enough to send me into a two week funk and the worst episode of Meniere's (vertigo) I've had yet.

I'll say this, my husband came to support me, didn't say a word through the entire thing. We let my lawyer do most of the talking, but my ex did address me directly several times, and even though I shook from head to toe through the entire meeting, I had clear answers for him, and he was stumped. My husband actually said he was impressed with how well I handled what was thrown at me (like my ex saying my son needed to be with him more considering the way my son has been behaving at home, which is a whole different blog post). My ex was livid, shocked that I was unwilling to come down to his offer, and left angry. I was actually worried for my own safety, and so glad my husband was there...I pictured him waiting for me outside the meeting. I don't know why, because he has never harmed me in any way, but he was so angry that it scared me.

Since the meeting he has sent over another low offer, and I countered and was rejected. So as of right now, we have a hearing for a temporary order set up in 2 weeks, in which I will have to go before the court and testify, and listen to my ex testify against me.

This is just one aspect of crisis in my life right now, and the only one I can discuss here. I will just say this: nothing, NOTHING could have ever prepared my husband and I for bringing him in as a stepfather to three kids with a dad they are close with. Nothing could have prepared me for the stressful dynamics that occur when three children are your only children, but you are not their only father. Nothing could prepare me for the unbelievable stress that comes with every aspect of blending this family, as smoothly as we thought it was going and would be. I feel constantly torn---I don't know what is best for everyone, and I don't know if that is the same thing for everyone, and I feel like it is all on my shoulders to decide.

Life is an ebb and flow, I do realize that happiness and smooth sailing is never guaranteed. I have no doubts that I will turn this around, and I spend every day right now trying to figure out how to do that. Knowing that I've done it before and can do it again is just about the only thing keeping me sane. I am lucky to be surrounded by the most amazing friends anyone could ask for, and one in particular who is no stranger to crisis, and is my touchstone during times like this. She reminds me to do what I can every day to care for myself, and get myself better so that I can be there for those who need me, like my husband and my children. There have been days lately when the most I can do for myself is get showered and dressed, and some of those days, that has been in late afternoon. My doctor has me on additional anxiety medication which is helping with the vertigo most of the time. I haven't worked out in 3 weeks, which is the longest I've gone in several years. I'm trying to practice what I preach and eat nurturing, healthy foods that won't make me feel worse but perhaps better. On days when I feel like I can take it, I turn on the cheesy pop music of my youth and listen to it. My husband, who is also struggling right now, and I try to watch as much funny tv as we can.

It took me 3 days to muster up the emotion to finish this post. My court date is set for March 8, and I am in survival mode until then. My husband and I have a small vacation planned for spring break, just the two of us and our dog, to try and strengthen our relationship so that we can better face this situation, all of it. I'm hoping that with further stress management and this little break, the vertigo will dissipate and I can once again return to my saving grace-exercise. Until then I will focus on doing what I can each day.

The Re-Divorce

I'm sitting in my health class, staring at my desk, listening to my teacher drone on and on about something health related that neither I nor he cares a lick about.

I have recently turned thirteen years old. My life up until this point has been easy; my family was tight, I had a happy childhood, and the worst problem I've known is being a poor, invisible nerd dressed in plaid jumpers my Grammy made for me, in a middle school full of Cavarrici's and Guess. I wear thick glasses, I have not yet figured out how to control my frizzy curls, and I have silver braces across my teeth.

But recently, there has been some sort of strange and unspoken upheaval in my life. My mother began losing weight, stopped doing anything, and just sits and looks miserable most of the time. I recently overheard a conversation between my Dad and his best friend, and I hear the word for the first time that will eventually become an ongoing theme in my life: depression.

I have just recently been informed, with almost no explanation, that my brother and I will be moving in with my grandparents. My grandmother will now take me to school everyday. I won't be seeing my mother for quite some time, because she needs a break to get better-from what, I'm still unsure of.

As I sit in health class, I feel what is now becoming a familiar squeeze in my stomach. I realize that I am going to be sick soon. I will the sickness to please, please just wait until the bell rings so that I can make it to the restroom without attracting any attention, but my stomach is stubborn and I realize that it won't wait. Why, WHY does my last name have to start with a D, which landed me in the front row of this and many other classes? Why can't I have a cool Polish last name that starts with a Z, like my friend Steven, and be in the back row every period? I am already ridiculously uncool. Now I must stand up and walk out of class, from the front row. Hopefully the teacher will realize what is happening, because he is an adult, and adults are supposed to understand us kids. I am a straight-A student, never uttered a word in class or put up any kind of trouble; he will know that if I am leaving, that I MUST leave, and he won't embarrass me further. I put all of my faith in this, and I rise to my feet.

The teacher stops teaching immediately, freezes mid-gesture, and everyone in the class has their eyes on me, including him.

I turn, and as calmly as I can, defy him anyways, walk through ten rows of desks, and once I reach the back of the room, look back at him. He is absolutely stupified and still frozen, mid-gesture. I don't think he even knows my name to call out to stop me. It is as if he and the entire classroom of 40ish kids have realized for the first time that I even exist, and why the hell is she leaving mid-lecture? Has this quiet, mousy girl been sitting here all along, planning a riot? Should we all follow her out of the classroom?

I then look directly at my teacher, hoping that by doing this I am blocking everyone else from seeing me, and put my hand up to my mouth. It finally dawns on him, and he finishes his sentence. I turn and race out of the classroom, mortified, and if for a second I thought I would make it to the bathroom, that chance is gone now.

I am running down the hall when it happens, sick all over my Grammy's plaid jumper. THIRTEEN! I scream at myself in my head. YOU ARE TOO OLD FOR THIS.

My mother picks me up from school, it is the first I've seen of her in several days. She is the same, maybe thinner even, and doesn't even seem to notice that I'm sick. We pick my brother up from school and she takes us to Arby's for dinner, even though I have just vomited at school. I try to fill her in on the mortification of my day, but I hold back almost all of it, because she already seems so fragile, and I don't want to make it worse by having her worry about me.

This pattern continues for six weeks or so. It's strange to only me that I can't seem to get rid of this stomach bug, because everyone else is so worried about my mom that I am the only one to notice that I'm sick just about every week. Not just my stomach, but fever and chills, and body aches.

Eventually, my mom's depression passes, and we move back home and life returns to semi-normal.

It is only when I am nearly thirty-two years old and writhing in stomach pain while my husband moves his things out that I realize that I have learned to internalize my stress to the point that it has no choice but to present itself physically.

It's like clockwork now. A situation presents itself that is so overwhelming that I just can't take it, and my stomach begins to cramp and feels like knives are penetrating it, and my body temp shoots up to 100 degrees. Every muscle in my body tenses up so that I am literally in a ball.

The past two weeks have been that kind of overwhelming. The child support issue seemed to compound upon itself and branch out into new and ridiculous shit storms that threatened pretty much everything and everyone that I love. The conflict that I despise so much has been a part of my every day. I tried to disappear into a ball in my bed, but then I remembered the story from earlier, and how my mother was so caught up in her depression that she couldn't even see me, just like everyone at school, and I hung onto my children for dear life....they would not suffer because I am suffering.

Today, at 5pm, my husband and I will drive together to my lawyer's office and sit across from my ex husband for a meeting. We will be telling him at this meeting exactly how much I will be filing for in child support-which is almost triple what he is currently paying me and double what he has offered. I haven't sat in a room with my ex husband since almost 3 years ago, when he sat across from me in my office and cried because he couldn't afford child support. I was weak then, and I agreed to the tiny amount, and two weeks later he afforded himself a week-long fun trip to NYC.

There is stress. So much stress. The stress of standing up for myself when I so prefer being invisible. The stress of wondering if this will cause him to alienate my children from me, considering the power I already see him with over my 13 year old son. The stress of wondering what- not if - but what he will do to retaliate; file for 50/50 custody? take us to court? tell every mutual friend of ours what a C word I am? put my children in a car and disappear with them? All of the above? The stress of possible conflict between my new husband and my ex husband; will my ex say something to upset my husband or vice versa, and a shouting match break out? So much resentment between the two of them on so many levels, will having them in the same room involved in the same discussion bring all of that to the surface, and what will the repercussions be?

I just want this meeting to be the end of this chapter in my life. I want the child support money for my children to have what they need from both me AND their father. I want to go back to not thinking about my ex except for when I'm forced to face him at soccer games and school events. I want the fevers and stomach pains to go away, and to get back to exercise and eating and life. I want to be able to concentrate on my children and give them the attention that they need. I want to stop feeling like I am getting divorced all over again.

Please, let this meeting be The End.

Wednesday

I'm standing in the kitchen, in a bathrobe, and suddenly realize I am leaning on the counter for support or I will fall, and that I have been staring at the same spot out the window for the past 5 minutes.

It's quiet today. My five year old is home, playing happily in the living room with makeup and toys and singing to herself. My husband is in his office working. I should be working. But I am not, because it is too quiet, and I feel it bubbling, about to boil over.

My husband, who is taking a break from his work, walks into the kitchen and finds me there, staring, still in my bathrobe at 12:30pm. I meet his eyes, waiting to see disgust or question or puzzlement. But my eyes are met with recognition, with sadness, with helplessness.

"What can I do for you?" he asks as he pulls me into his arms.

I look up at him and wish I had an answer. He has done everything he can, this wonderful man who adopted so much baggage by choosing me as his wife. He has held me and told me it will be ok. He paid for the lawyer that I could not afford on my own. He reassured me when I questioned myself. He believes in me, in my goodness, and knows that I tend to believe and stress over what others say about me.

"I wish I weren't like this. So weak and pathetic." As I speak, I remember back to all the hardships I have been through-my dad's surgery, my divorce and all leading up to it, my parents' divorce. I remember friends and even strangers commenting to me how strong I am. I realize now, as I stand here in my bathrobe, that I am ridiculously weak....not strong at all. Not even close. When the going gets tough...I can't function. If being strong means just continuing to be alive everyday, then sure, call me strong.

He kisses me softly, and releases me back to my leaning. I continue to stare out the window, unable to move, because moving would not only hurt, but it would interrupt the battle raging in my head. Am I asking for too much support? What do I actually need? Am I being money hungry? Did I do the right thing? I know I'm not a C word or a bitch, but am I wrong? Does he have a point? Should these rules apply to him? Should I have at least tried to work it out first?

I answer myself with common sense. My common sense is in control in all of my actions. I let the lawyer file the petition and send my ex the waiver. I cooperate with everything that I know is right. But my thoughts: they are at war.

The next morning, the texts and emails begin to flood in. He has been contacted by my lawyer, and he is freaking out, combative and irrational. I am awoken to emails from the lawyer saying that he has been calling, that he wants a transcript of our conversations, that he will be hiring his own lawyer, that he'll be seeking joint custody. My texts are a barrage of guilt and threats and It's Not Fair's.

I want to answer every text. I want to EXPLAIN why I had to resort to this. He thinks I am being greedy and immature. I want to tell him that I have spent the last 3 years waiting for him to contribute his financial half. That I cannot go by his promises anymore, only his actions. That if he had been paying his half of everything like he had promised before, things would be different now. That it's not fair to me to have to beg and plead for him to pay me for his children all the time.

But I don't. I refer him to my lawyer, and then I sit on my feelings and my answers. And this causes me great stress, and turmoil, and I end up back in my bathrobe...this time curled up in the fetal position on our outdoor couch, which I now feel guilty for having.

I wonder about my best friend, whom I have watched endure a similar situation for the past couple of years. I text her and ask, how in the hell did you do this? How do you not answer when your intentions and integrity are attacked? But I already know the answer, because I watched her put her head down and protect herself as best she could. But I'm even more in awe of it now that I am living it.

So I come here to write, in my bathrobe. I realize that most who will read this are friends or friends of friends and will get it. But I want my voice to be heard somewhere. So I release these answers to the universe and hope that maybe someday they will reach his head and his heart.

I AM NOT A BITCH. I am the mother of your three children, and they are my whole world and purpose for everything in life. EVERYTHING.
I AM NOT A C WORD.
I have paid for everything, you have paid for almost nothing, despite your promises to do so in the beginning.
I am not ok with splitting expenses because you promised to do the same thing last time, and you did not follow through. Actions speak louder.
You not having money is your own problem and your own foolish choices. You are insanely irresponsible with money. Cigarettes and happy hours and lunches and dinners out are your priority, not paying the bills for your kids. And you know it.
Having them 50/50 would mean you either pick them up from school on Wednesdays and Thursdays (and every other friday), or having them in daycare. How do you plan to pay for that, if you don't think you can afford child support???
And by the way, NO WAY IN HELL I'M LETTING YOU HAVE THEM 50% OF THE TIME. I spend enough time undoing your brainwashing and damage as it is.



Back to sitting on my hands and waiting for this nightmare to be over.