The Long Tail at the End of Impossible Decisions

Still processing the divorce, over a year and a half later. Everything went fine, there is no outward reason why I would be experiencing this. Not only from my marriage but from my group - my "covid coven", and a community that despite our great differences, I felt strangely close to. So it seems to come in a package, all the feelings and memories tangled together. It was like I went in thinking I was divorcing a person and ended up divorcing several families and an entire community. 

The other night my daughter talked a little bit about her loneliness. I said I understand, you lost your pack. She said we both did. It was the first time she had ever felt like she was part of a real family. It was the first time in a very long time I had people who I felt really got me, and who formed a support network. It was bound to end, I could see it coming a mile away. I should have written down predictions, because they all eventually came true. But I still see something and think of calling B & D, I still want them to come over on the full moon, I am lonely without them. I'm not lonely from being alone. I love being alone. I miss them. I need my sisters. You can't recreate that. 

As I've said before getting into the marriage was the right thing to do. I felt as if I were directed. He felt like home. I adored his family and felt safer with them than I did with my own family. I did love him, and in ways I still do. Not in a romantic way, that is long, long gone, but I still see the good person at the core of him, even though as always, in the end, I was being used. It seems like I make myself so easy to use. I try to be everything, to anticipate every need, to be perfect, to make myself quiet, and in the end, I disappear. 

My brain is jumping all over the place. Why am I listening to Lizzo on obsessive repeat? "You could have had a bad bitch, non-committal. Helped you with your career, just a little." As silly as it sounds coming from me, I feel that. I have so much to give and I want to give it, but it's probably going to end up on the floor.  Why am I convinced that my partner can't possibly, actually, love me? When I stop and force myself to really think about it, this is so far outside the realm of possibility it's like there is an inner voice standing there, just behind the curtain, arms crossed, saying "you knew this already. Everyone knows this. Love is not here for you. It's for everyone but you. You will die alone so get used to it." In church they used to say God loved everyone. Every single person who ever lived and ever will live. I knew in my heart that this was not true, because I was a person, but I was not included in this group. I simply knew there was not enough to go around, and I was on the outside. 

I'm restless, looking for something that will knock me out. I keep looking toward the medicine cabinet - I keep looking for some invisible bottle of pinot shiraz, and being annoyed for a split second that it is not there. I keep getting annoyed with myself for being afraid to write that, afraid of judgement and afraid of gaslighting. You don't know what you're talking about. Well, I never claimed that I did. All I know is that this is what I keep feeling. There is no law against talking about it. I make myself tea instead and try to mix strong flavors, that push me a little outside of my comfort zone. Something that will remind me that I am still alive. 

It's 11:40 pm. The dishes are done and I'm moving on to the laundry. If I write in tandem with chores, I'm not actually taking time out to write. I'm doing chores. Also, writing actually hurts these days. My eyesight seems like it is continuing to decline, and I strain my eyes and neck while trying to find the right angle and the computer where I can actually see the words I'm typing. It's super annoying. I'm worried that it will continue declining even after the new prescription. 

I think one of the scary things is that I am starting to notice areas where I am hiding myself to make me more palatable to what I think he wants. I am starting to watch carefully for any sign of irritation. I interpret things he does and says as annoyance, or resentment at me taking too much of his time. Then I get angry with myself for being too sensitive.  I just need to stop being so fucking needy. I want to forget all of this caution and just feel, but I am terrified of dropping my guard. 

Back to the marriage. It's a weird, weird kind of grief, for something that I am glad is gone. I love living in my own space. I still throw things on the floor and just leave them there sometimes just because there is  no one to criticize me. I jump into the swimming pool with my cloths on because there is no one to call me crazy and ask me if I'm acting this way because I'm on my period. I am incredibly grateful to be a divorced single mom instead of a married single mom. At least everyone knows where I stand and I am not having to compensate for an expectation that there is support that does not actually exist. It is a more honest way to live. But it is a sad way to live, too. I was thinking about my extended family, my nieces and nephew. They are great kids, despite being raised by a rabid Trump supporter. I miss them. The oldest was the first baby that I held that didn't cry. She looked at me with those enormous, deep brown eyes and caught her breath in excitement at seeing a new person. It almost ripped my heart open, the thought that maybe I'm ok enough for this baby. Maybe I'm not as much of a mess as I had thought. Last time I saw them they all ran to me and hugged me. I was overwhelmed. I've stepped back from their lives now, and won't ever be a part of them again, not in the same way. I have to remain mostly invisible. I'm having trouble articulating why that hurts. 

Watching my daughter grow up as a kid in a divorced household breaks my heart. Yes, it is better than seeing her mother continue to put up with being a doormat. She doesn't know that, though. Splitting up of the family is probably the worst thing a kid can imagine. She did not know what the reason was because I hid everything from her. It has taken a huge toll on her, and I'm starting to see evidence of anxiety and depression. A friend of mine describes persistent illnesses as "having a long tail." I feel like some decisions have a long tail on them - the repercussions drag out for years, decades, lifetimes. Raising her to be resilient and able to love seems like an almost impossible task. I am terrified of all the ways I could screw this up, most of the time. I am just terrified. 

I've stepped back from my former work and community in the same way. When I made the decision to leave I did not realize quite the extent to which I would have to leave. That this would mean a loss of friendships and I would no longer be welcomed in the community. That hurts. 

That's enough for now. It's late.