I’m in one of those moods tonight. Regretful. Disappointed in myself.
I had previously thought I was smarter than this, so much smarter than situations like this. Surely, smarter than getting myself into a a loveless marriage.
I’m trying so hard to move on, but it seems the more I try letting go the emotions that overwhelm me, the more stuff I find needing to be sorted through. It feels like I’m sifting through almost a decade of memories, deciding which to keep, which to toss and questioning the validity of all of them. I drive past the corner we used to meet up on, for walks around this small town, and wonder if he was ever real with me. No, I don’t think so, not really. My grandmother always said, “fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Well, shame on me for giving him a second chance all these years ago now, but thank God (literally) for getting my son and I out when He did.
Half of the battle has already been fought, but we are in this odd, grey zone where we are still, technically married. I haven’t worn my wedding set in over three weeks now, but I still check for it at least twice a day. The indentation of where it was is all but gone. I hope when this is all said and done, and a judge slams his or her gavel down, finalizing our divorce, the hurt feelings will fade. I hope I feel as free as I’m thinking I will feel. I hope another ton of bricks is lifted off my shoulders, just as the first ton was when we signed the temporary divorce decree and parenting plan.
As more time in this limbo passes, I realize I should have spent a lot more time listening, a lot more time actually seeing what was happening right in front of me. The signs of this and so much more were right there.
I mean, right there. Tonight, that’s the hardest part.