I’ve been meaning to come back with a BANG! but waiting for inspiration and opportunity to coincide hasn’t gotten me very far, so I’m just going to come back with a hiya. Until I locate the USB cord for my camera, don’t expect any new photos from Chez Moi.
So. The last year. Let me explain.
No. There is too much. Let me sum up.
I spent two months last summer in the booby hatch where I learned that a great many things in my life at home that I had gotten used to were also seriously warped and disturbing to people who weren’t living with it. Off I went into the wonderful real world, fresh and excited, with a bit of confidence that hadn’t been there before, and finally realizing my own value and talents. And that shifted the dynamic at home, so things got worse. So we went into counseling, then some unfortunate stuff not involving the relationship happened and things got even worse and by the time the snow stopped coming things were so bad that our counselor fired us because we were getting worse rather than better.
I was back to being severely depressed and he shut down so completely that we almost never spoke. Finally, instead of trying to figure out what was wrong with me so I could give him what he wanted, I asked myself what I wanted. And the answer is that I want something that I can never get from him. If I am going to be alone and desperately lonely, I would rather be that way because there is no one else in the house than because there is someone else in the house who won’t engage with me and literally leaves the room when I walk in. So Lucy and Tiki and I moved into a one-bedroom apartment nearby.
It’s been tough. Tiki has been sick and I’ve had a beastly case of tendonitis and there’s the boxes and chaos and piles of crap lying around and never knowing where anything is that goes along with moving. But it’s all good. I can take care of myself. I can pump my own gas and take out my own garbage and walk my own dogs and, well, everything. I’ve been doing it since I was 17 after all.
I am about 95% unpacked now. I’ve given away about ten boxes of clothes and books and knick-knacks and I don’t remember what-all and it turns out that my completely unspecial compact disc collection is worth $130 at the used record store. I have relocated all my important documents and recreated my filing system, and I am making significant progress in getting my money de-commingled from Mr D’s money.
The bottom line is that all of this is really good news. I was desperately unhappy and I had 15 years of proof that it was never going to get any better no mater what I did, because absolutely none of our problems had anything to do with me. I wish I had been healthy enough to figure this out sooner. I’m very angry about all the years I wasted learning that lesson. This has shaken my faith in my own intuition a LOT, but I keep reminding myself that it’s extraordinarily reliable and the only reason it wasn’t working this time (or rather that I chose to ignore it when it was working) is that I so badly wanted it to be wrong.
I’m not thinking much about the scary future. I have divorce-related business I have to tend to and I have a lot to make up at work and responsibilities to my canine family and I need time for the impact of this huge change to sink in and time to reconnect with all the friends I’ve neglected. And find the USB cable to my camera and my IRA statements and figure out how to buy groceries for one person instead of for an army of big eaters (or one big eater and one person with an eating disorder). And figure out how to pill Tiki without splattering peanut butter or whatever all over the place.