Why do one punch when two punches will have a better chance of hitting it’s target?

I realise I may well be playing the world’s smallest violin in this particular series of posts.

But dude, I need to get this shit out of my head.

Part of me has been unwilling to write/post about this because I am consumed with who reads this blog and what they will think.

I took that entire situation under advisement and I have come back with a resounding “yeah, fuck ’em …” this is my story.

I get to create the scenes and the characters, if you do not want to read it or disagree, then please sir, may I show you the door?  Or the conveniently located “click away” button.

I may well regret things I say here today, later today or tomorrow morning.  This is how I feel at the moment.

I have always used this blog as a place to put things.

That no longer belong in my head.

I do not do well with bottling things up inside of me.  I can feel the cracks forming …. its time to just “blech” it here.

I realise that for some people who read this they are going to be thinking “Geez Louise that was ages ago, move on..” and that is fine for them to think.  Totally fine.

Unfortunately in my head things move at a different pace and time, and right now I have a lot of stuff that needs to come out.  I do not know how long I will need to “move on” and if my moving on appears too slow for your timetable, I wish to apologise that I cannot stick to your time table.

Not on this.

I am not planning on having a divorce pity party, but this shit has been simmering inside and it is starting to spill over the edges.

Today is one of the days I give in to this slimy shitty monster that seems to consume me on every level.  One of my many problems is that I get stuck in the detail.  A word, the way it is phrased, the way it is used.  Cuts.  Brutally.

>>>>>>>>>>>>> Being divorced from.

I realise this is semantics.  But semantics are important.

I did not do the divorcing.  I did not agree with the divorcing.  The divorcing was foisted on me.

I went through all the phases of denial, disbelief, cry to your mom on the phone, see if there is a chance that alcohol consumed in vast quantities will actually kill you, and every other way I thought could or would work to move into the acceptance mode and out of the “what the fuck just happened there?”

I was wrong.  None of the other ideas worked when one of the parties has made a decision.

We are not talking about choosing a paint colour for the en-suite we are talking about dismantling a life of twenty years and change.

I am still not sure which was the part that cut me the deepest.

Actually I kn0w. I just like to appear deep and soulful as if I have to bring up the memory.

There was the”I want a divorce” speech monologue, which actually did not have much in it, other than a killer fucking punch line.

Talk about stopping the world turning on it’s axis stuff.

Yes, very “show stopping” …. there was not too much in it of content.  But when you have an opening line like that, everything else becomes unnecessary.

Once that sunk in I could literally feel my teeth aching individually in my gums.

I am not sure when the next “big” announcement arrived, and I really cannot recall the exact situation, but the main thrust of it was: “I wanted to ask for a divorce last year, but then you had that mix up with your medication, and I thought I would leave it to see how it went……”

The key line here that carries the punch is “I wanted to ask for a divorce last year………” sorry, what again?

So not only have I been rebounding for the last few days/weeks with your big announcement but now you tell me that you have been THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR A FUCKING YEAR!!!

Listen I am seldom surprised.

The problem with anxiety disorder is that you are always thinking of every outcome and then every permutation, and then living through each of them.  The result is when I see a kangaroo steal a banana from a flower seller, and hop over a fence, part of me is thinking, yep, I saw that happening.

BEING DIVORCED FROM is really no fucking picnic when it comes to processing the information and trying to deal with it, so your fucking head does not explode.

Let me tell you when your other half tells you that he has thinking about this for a year —- an entire fucking year — and then you add that to the reasons who your head could fucking pop, it is a wonder that you managed to actually survive that moment.  Or that day.  Or appear normal in front of the kids.

It was a devastating blow.  I am not sure if it was meant to cripple and maim, but power to the people, that shit did massive massive damage.

I wonder about these things.

How someone feels when they drop a bomb, and whether they feel the same intensity of aftershock that you feel when you heard the information for the first time?

I must confess this particular “nugget” of : I was going to do this last year, but when the chemist fucked up your meds,  I thought I would wait it out and see if you got any better to remain married to…… was quite a lot to take on board.

I can tell you there is just no way you can be prepared for the blast of that information.

There is just no way to cushion the impact, when you have already been beaten and fucking mauled.

I am not suggesting that it might have been best if he just kept that shit bag to himself, but I am suggesting that that piece of information did nothing for me what so ever.

I wasn’t like “well, its great you gave this another year buddy, thanks man …..” or any other similar thinking.  I just kept going YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS A YEAR AGO ……. A FUCKING YEAR!!!! AGO!

I still use the label to describe myself “I was divorced from…” it conjures up a lot of emotion of not being good enough, not having worth, being the one that did something wrong, being the responsible party who could not hold this shit together.

>>>>>>>>>>>>> Being divorced from.

I know it is not a helpful title, and I know that I should discard it and not give it any more power over me.

I know that.

I know. That.

I. Know. That.

It unfortunately does not stop it denting my self esteem, my sense of self and how I value and view myself.  And having it run around in my head, bouncing off the edges – especially when I have suffered some emotional blow is debilitating.

I know it is not a helpful title.

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Shit about divorce that you forget is coming …. this might be part one of a whole fucking series …. so brace yourself

I cannot explain the profound effect that this divorce has had on me.

It has changed something about me.  I appear to have lost my muchness.

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Initially I got caught up in the spreadsheet nature of this divorce.

Who would take what and who would get left with what.

Why Kennith wanting to take the red carpet would prove to be so upsetting.  And a thousand other things which now appear minuscule, but at the time it felt like my life was being wrenched apart

I often listen the The Script, and this line from one of their songs always resonates with me “I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing, just prayin’ to a god that I don’t believe in. ‘Cause I got time while she got freedom, ’cause when a heart breaks, no, it don’t break even.”

{swapping the he for her and so on….}

I am not “over” this divorce.   I keep thinking I am.  Or I have got over the worst of it.  But there are too many reminders that I am still struggling with this fucking beast.

It is actually like time makes it worse.  Time softens the edges of the things you thought you would cut your wrists on, but brings the things that you feel are going to crush you into sharp focus.

I think time reveals things you did not realise you needed to factor into this thing called divorce.

And then you are put into a situation and faced with something that makes you realise that you are not coping.  You have a semblance of coping, you might even look like you are skipping down the hill with the Trapp Family close at your heels.

But then something will come and remind you that this shit is not over.  Not by a long shot mate!

My most harrowing day of the year, was a wedding I attended in February.

It is a cousin of Kennith’s.

I have always had a close relationship with Thelma, her husband and her children.  During the relationship and after the relationship, I would stay over there often, pop in to see them and it was all really great.  I easily saw them socially once a month and Thelma and I taught many bottles of wine a lesson in what an hostage drama would look like.

Thelma and Zef had planned a Vow Renewal Ceremony and I was feeling very nervous about the day.

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Everyone was going to be in the same room, there was going to be this awkwardness (mine, I figured no one else would give a continental).

I really wanted it to be a wonderful day for Thelma and Zef, but I wanted to get through it without any more bleeding than I felt was probably going to occur.  On my part.

I took my partner W with and I had the three children with me.

The venue was the One and Only which is gorgeous.  The weather was on the side of baking, but everything was beautiful.

I could not quite put my finger on it what it was that I was so nervous about.

Maybe it was the thought of having to be introduced to Kennith’s partner ……. yeh, I am not ready for that.  Excuse me whilst I go and cower in the toilets.  See how much of a grown up I can be?

By the time I got there I had already worked myself up into a bit of a lather.  You know the moment when you are just one missing button from a full scale melt-down.  Like that.

Then it hit me.  And it hit me.  And then it just continued to hit me for what seemed like a very long time – I knew what the thing was that I was “fearing” the most.

I had been axed as a family member.  Through no fault of my own.

Kennith’s extended family was there and to be honest few, if any of them had reached out to me when Kennith asked for a divorce and he moved out.  And it really hurt. And this would be the first time I was seeing many of them.

I just disappeared.  Instantly from everyone’s consciousness.

I had (more often times than not) been the instigator in getting everyone together and making sure we kept regular contact with Kennith’s family.

I was now at a function that had clearly demarcated lines of “family” and “not family.”

It started with his family being together on one side and the other rabble being close to the bar.  I realised as I walked in to the room, that though I would naturally walk over to “the family” and say “hello” this was not going to happen.

In short Kennith was the MC so his partner was sitting with the “family.”  I sometimes think I have steel gonads, but not even I would venture into this without some sort of head injury.

I got that “cotton ball sort of feeling in your throat” as I summed up what was happening, and it just made me feel uneasy.  And there was no way I was going to drift over there and swan around saying “helllooooooo” to everyone.

It did not help when Kennith came over and told me the kids should sit in a certain section of the “ceremony area” where the “family” was sitting.  And I would be in the “other section…”

And so this “family” thing persisted for the balance of the evening.

Eventually I tried to “rise above” just fucking “rise above this shit” but these people were “my family” for the last 20 fucking years.  Then in one swoop, none of my doing, I get kicked off the “table.”

I do not have a big family – so it was nice to get a larger family from Kennith’s side to bulk up the numbers where mine sort of fell flat.

The evening proved to be excruciating.  I could have happily gone to sit in the bathroom and spent the evening crying.

Instead I took a stab at looking like I was having the best time imaginable.  I did my utmost to do 5 glasses of soda water for every 1 glass of wine, or I was pretty sure this evening was going to end in me having a “moment…”

One of the nicest and sweetest things that was Kennith’s grandmother’s husband – Kennith grandmother had passed away a few years back – came and asked to dance with me.  So for a song we danced together, I probably stood on his feet the majority of the time, but it was really such a sweet gesture.

Divorce.

Being excommunicated from “the family” and this really horrible feeling of not knowing where you stand is just shit.

I had spent years developing some of these relationships and “poof” there I was, not quite being invited to the family photograph.

I know I am not expressing myself correctly.

I think if I was drinking wine and not hot chocolate I probably may be able to word this better – with some really descriptive words and probably a bit more fucks than I am using right now.

It is this profound sense of rejection that the day represented for me.  And the realisation of what I thought I felt, to what was in actual fact reality.

This sense that all the time and energy I put into these relationships for the better part of my adult life have disintegrated into nothing.  Gone.  And I could basically just fuck off, but to leave the children because they were family.

The message is clear.  This is not my family.  These people do not give a flying fek about me.

Which of course makes me start to wonder, what the hell was it that went on for two decades there?

During a divorce you worry and fret about a lot of things, but the family you will lose usually does not come into the equation.  Or maybe it does, and I just did not buy the right “What to expect ….. when you are getting divorced from” book.

Yeah, so there is that.

Right now I am in a “just fuck it all frame of mind…”  I ap0logise for the frequent use of the word FUCK moving forward.  I don’t actually, but I want to sound like a courteous host.

When you try to shove your life into boxes …..

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Packing up a house easily rates as one of my least favourite past times.

I have been able to get out of it for the last 4 – 5 moves. I pretty much outsourced all packing and unpacking and went with the philosophy that I did not matter where something was unpacked as long as that I was not that someone doing the unpacking.

Unfortunately this time around it needed a lot of sorting and then packing.

The sorting became where all the time was spent.  I had little flashes of “Hoarders” as I rummaged through boxes with old diaries and paperwork, and tried to make the choice of whether to keep or to toss.

I did get a bit more brutal as the hours ticked by.

I spent a lot of time sorting out the garage – the garage had become the storage place of “all the shit we did not know what do do with” and there was quite a lot of stuff to sort through.

There were a lot of boxes that I had not opened since I had moved into this house.

A large part of the interior of the house was painted early last year and I had packed up all the pictures, books and ornaments .  I had to open each box and go through them to see what to keep, and what to toss – the packing was done to get the items out of the way of the painters, and there was no thinking in terms of what would go where and to which type of storage.

Here is the part I did not expect to find.

The life that Kennith and I had.

I found photographs, cards, letters and various other remnants of our life together.

I found the memories of our life in boxes.  In the garage.

Much of it I had forgotten – as you do.  I am not sure if it is just me, but the problem with Divorce – other than it sucking maggot dick, is that it focuses all your attention on the end part.

The part where he says “I want a divorce” and where you do not hear him and carry on talking about the dog.  Until he has to repeat himself and then you start realising that we are not talking about the dog.

My entire being has been trapped in that moment.  From that moment until this moment. That is where I have lived for the last two years or so.

I have existed in THIS space.

I saw photographs in the boxes that reminded me that we had a rich and gorgeous life.

We were happy people, with a lot of interests and things that drove us.  We did stuff, we went away for weekends, we spoke about all sort of things – we did things together, we showed dogs and we loved our dogs.

We had a life.

We had a happy life.

We had a life that was packed with memories.  And stuff.  And things.

I had forgotten it all, because I have been trapped in THIS.

This that is happening RIGHT NOW.

I won’t lie to you.  Moving out of my home, so that Kennith can move in and live with the children is my equivalent of bobbing.

I am not drowning. I am not furiously trying to kick my legs to stay afloat. I am just bobbing.

On the surface.  Face up, the rest of me under the water.

My ability to swim, to try to get anywhere has just evaporated.

I just bob and remain afloat.

Every now and then I get a mouthful of sea water and need to really cough up a lung to breath.  For the most part my eyes are red, and I am weary to the bone.  Tired and cold.

I desperately want people to circle around me and give me support.

I desperately want everyone to go away and just leave me alone.

I want to be with people so I do not feel so alone, so worried, so scared and such a desperate mess.

I want to not see anyone so that I can feel alone, worried and scared without having to give the impression of a “stiff upper lip.”  I want to be my desperate mess without people asking me why my makeup is smudged and my eyes are so red.

Hayfever.  I say. {I don’t suffer from hayfever, but if you give a half way plausible response, most people are happy to leave it at that}

I cannot describe how painful this packing is.  This move is.

I daily question my decision making.  I daily wake up feeling like shit before the day has even started. I heave myself out of bed.

Get vertical.  All you have to do is get vertical, everything else will follow.

I promise you — just get vertical.

I try and fill the hole with marshmallow easter eggs – 20 does not fill the hole, but it does make you feel violently ill a bit later.

I daily feel a panic attack coming on, which I manage to divert by going to lie on my bed and fall into a deep coma like sleep – or just sit and stare into space.

I find car parks are the best for this – no one bothers you and no one comes to ask you anything, you can sit in your car and just zone out.

I know what depression feels like – for me depression has always been a chemical issue.

It would not matter what is happening in my life, when depression came along, I could have just discovered the only true living unicorn who farted glitter and it would still make me feel flat …. absolutely flat.

This is a bit like depression …. but this is more despair, this is more brutal sadness, confusion and worry.

Nothing makes sense, everything feels like it is a right old fcuk up.

I am going through the motions of packing and getting my life ready to move out – to move away from my children.

There is nothing good happening here.

The problem is I am upset.  I take out my being upset and my confusion on the children, which is not exactly the image I wanted to leave with them.

But when they are asleep, I go and tell them how sorry I am and stroke their foreheads a bit.

Tell me again who said being an adult was going to be fun?

 

close to drowning

 

Moving out, big girl decisions and big girl panties …..

This year has brought some new challenges and changes – which have been dragged in from 2015.

I would love to tell you I am embracing them and it is making me a stronger wiser person, but then I think, yeah fuck that, please can we go back to the old way, I am really tired of this adult shit.

It seems not.  The number they said I could phone is not being answered and the message box is full.

In summary here is what has changed and what changes are happening:

One:  Kennith and I continue to try our best to be civil to one another – it really is hard work trying to always communicate well, and to not stand swearing on the driveway with spittle on your chin.  It’s hard to keep up this entire “co parenting, co decision makers” vibe.

Two:  The house I am living in is the house that belongs to Kennith and I – the aim was to have the house on the market, and the house to sell – we would divvy up the proceeds and everyone would go off and do what they wanted.

Three:  For several reasons this house has not sold – but the area we live in is not known for fast house sales, it is just one of those suburbs where property does not move at an overnight rate.

Four:  I made a very stark realistation, that could no longer afford to live in this house (it is a large home and has upkeep and the running costs of a home this size tend to get a bit overwhelming eventually).

Five:  I started to panic around that and then I made the next realisation that right now I cannot afford to live in this house and if I moved out, where the hell would I go – and if I moved I would not have money out of the house (as it is not sold) and then where would I go with three children, and financially be able to keep up any semblance of our existing lives?

Six:  I worked through several permutations, and in each I tried to use the principle that the children would remain with me.

Seven:  The decision making flow chart that followed from there ended up not looking dissimilar from this — if you do not include the smudgy parts caused by tears and wine condensation running off the glass and making it’s own set of splotches.

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Eight:  I realised (not quickly — but eventually after trying every possible combination) that it was not possible for me to live with the children.

Nine:  That realisation was not the most pleasant one I have had — and accepting it as the new reality was a very bitter pill to swallow.

Ten:  In short – the decision at the moment is that Kennith has given notice on the place where he lives. I will be packing up my stuff in the house and moving out in the last week of February.  The children will remain in the house.  Their stuff will remain as is – so there is very little in the way of things that will change in their world.

Eleven:  Kennith will move into the house in the last week of February, and I will move out.

Twelve:  Kennith and I will swap roles – we have a schedule of who takes to school and who drops off, and which days the kids are with whom.  This has been in place for about 18 months – and it works quite well.  I am lucky as I work for myself and this allows me flexibility, so if Kennith is away or has a work commitment I can pick up the slack.

Thirteen:  In terms of what will happen with the house that is still up in the air.  We have decided is a secondary issue to this one, which is swapping who lives with the kids, and in a few months time we can relook at how to proceed with the house (rent it out, one of us purchase it, or put it back on the market).

I was freaking out in December, the first two weeks or so of January 2016 had be on the verge of a total “poes” collapse.

Then I calmed down — I am not sure why, or how — I just calmed down.  A bit.

I do not feel so threatened, my anxiety about “losing my kids” has reduced, and in general I am in a much calmer state than I was a week or so ago.

I am trying not to think too hard about the kids, and the house, me moving out and and and ….. I am going with the never EVER been used philosophy for me of “what will be, will be….”

People, that is where things are at the moment.

It has not been an easy decision.

At a point it came down to the reality that this was the best decision, and actually in reality the only decision I had available, that would not put me in one bedroom flat, in a less than favourable neighbourhood with three children, a dog and a cat.

Decision has been made.  Now it is a case of just getting my head into the space of moving out —– and trying not to lose my shit too much.

{I really get anxious when there are changes on the home front – I can adjust to changes in other areas of my life, because I know when I get home, everything will be as I left it — so this change does make me feel a bit panicky, anxious and stressed.}

Anyway.  It is what it is.

 

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You are abandoning your children and other helpful bits of shit people say …..

I have really been struggling to blog.

Not because there is nothing going on worth blogging about, but because there is.

There is tons going on in the world worth commenting on, kids head to school tomorrow (every mom in the freaking world high fives the air right now!!)

I struggle to find the path of what I can blog about.

The demise of my marriage with Kennith is on my mind, we are divorced and dealing with all that comes along with that.  There is often things I want to say, but for reasons that are purely my own I feel like my mouth is taped, and I can’t speak.  I can.  I just feel I can’t.

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Stuff rattling in my head is not a good place for me to be.

My head is not a quiet space. My head is not a soothing space.  That has always been why I blog, to get the shit out of my head, so my head can be a quiet place.  Or at least have a semblance of what a quiet place might be like if everyone had their medication on time.

To be honest the constant ebb and flow of our divorce, and adjusting to life as two separate people with children we share,  takes up quite a bit of my mind space.

We have made some decisions, which will change the landscape of our living and our children quite dramatically in the not too distant future.

It fills me with trepidation, and anxiety and I worry constantly whether this is a good decision. The decision came from me, and it was not a choice I made, it was a decision made out of necessity.

I cannot tell you the amount of sleepless nights I have had fretting about this and trying to turn this over in my mind and to find an alternate.

The alternates were not workable, and the decision I made feels like the “right decision” but at the same time it is not one that fills me with joy or happiness.  I am stressed and strung out to the max, my nerves are frayed and I am having a hard time over here trying to look sane and composed.  A hard fucking time.

I really would cry if I could – I just feel so pushed to the limit, that I feel if I cry then it will open an ocean of tears, and then I will not be able to function.  And this decision is not about me anymore, it is about the kids and what will happen with them, and how we maintain a sense of calm, and ensure that they feel that “nothing changes.”

I sat and told someone close to me about what was happening and of all the reactions I felt were “okay I appreciate that is your thoughts on the matter” hearing: “you are abandoning your children…” has got to to be the one that cut me to the core — and I did not really have a suitable response for.

I went with” errr……” which seemed about the most appropriate thing I could manage at the time.

I really wish to spread happiness and unicorn farts, but seriously some days people can be a waste of skin.

I am not going to go into too much of the stuff and things right now. It  is not an easy decision, it is not one I have made lightly, it is not one I relish.

It is not one I would do if there were other options —- its the decision you make as an adult when your back is against the wall, and there just is no other way.

So ….. I am busy doing that, and if my own flagellation is not enough, I have the echo of “you are abandoning your children” echoing in my head.  Lovely.

Okay, so I am off to bed to stare at the ceiling a for a few hours, then fall asleep about an hour before I need to wake up.  Happiness.

 

Image source:  http://www.refinery29.com/2015/07/87447/photos-show-what-its-like-to-have-general-anxiety-disorder#slide-4

Blogging, staples through balls, and other analogies …..

merry go

 

I am battling to blog.

It is not like I do not have a thousand thoughts running around in my head, which are screaming to get out.  I have all of that.  I have the hamster on the little wheel thing that makes that annoying squeaking sound as well.

My head is a mess right now.

I like to think that I am adaptable by nature.  I can change when shit needs changing, and I can set a new course if I have to.

But.  My anxiety and stress levels start to climb with each little adjustment I need to make.

I am best left to get on with my life with as few changes as possible, and if changes are needed, then a bit of time  between each to allow me to adjust before I make another little tweak.

I can change my course, I can set new goals, but with each amendment comes a certain level of stress and anxiety that sooner or later builds towards a bit of a cluster f&ck.

It’s really just a matter of time. As each block is added, and I do my best – my utmost – to balance it all.

It’s like playing Jenga on roller skates.  If you skate like a three year old with a broken leg.

A lot. A bit like that.

I am not going to go back and check what I last blogged about and play catch up.  Let’s just call it bygones shall we.

My rock of stability, Priv needed to leave me last month.  I managed that like a fucking demon.  I acted like it was not a problem, and I would just adjust my little sail.

Because that is me, superman without the underpants.  Or the cape.

Priv leaving was seriously an adjustment with a capital F.

I am not a fan of Christmas, especially the new version – without a husband and children.

Last year I had no idea where I was going to be and it was my turn (first turn) to have the children over Christmas, and I panicked.

Please bear in mind for the last 20 years Kennith’s family have been my family.  Long story, but my family is sort of in short supply and festivity days can be a bit like a scene from Dinner for One.

So in one foul swoop not only did I get a divorce and an ex-husband, but I managed to secure an ex-family that had been part of my life for 20 years, who now barely realise I have fallen off the side of the planet (for the most part).

There are several levels of “this fucking sucks” that I could bore you with, and I might later, so let’s take a raincheck shall we.

Last Christmas (sung to the tune of the old WHAM classic ….. I hope that sticks in your head all day now) I was a bit scared of giving the children a sucky Xmas.  I asked Kennith if he would like to take them for Christmas Day, which he did.

I swapped the day out.  I did not think ahead, I simply thought of that Christmas and what I could offer my children, and maybe also my sanity ….. and I felt it was probably better for them to be with him and his family for Christmas.

I ended up having a really lovely Christmas day at a friend of mine, but at one point I was looking out her window at the view and then I started to cry.  Not pretty tears.  Big open mouthed silent cry and shoulders heaving kind of crying that just went on forever.  Okay not actually forever, it just felt a bit like forever as I tried to do it quietly so no one else would notice.

This Christmas swung around as all Christmases do, and Kennith started talking about him having the kids for Christmas Day.  I sort of put my hand up —- tentatively —– and said “er, you had them last year, so I should have them this year…”

Kennith reminded me that I asked him to take the kids last year.

And I said, sure, but I was a bit of a fuck up last year, and I gave you the day.  Kennith has a phrase that he says which makes me want to kick him hard in the groin area (swift uppper kick, rather than a downward action) and it is “That was your choice …”

It’s the kind of thing he would say if my house burnt down and I ran in to grab the family photographs, and then complained later that I did not have a couch.  You know, because of the fire thing.

He would add a helpful observation like:  “That was your choice …”

Anyway the result is that I get 0 for 2 this year, and Kennith has the kids for Christmas Day.

To say I was a little disappointed, annoyed and frustrated does not even hint at it.  I am attempting to put on a really stiff upper lip and a vibe that I am sort of cool with this shit —- when the answer is, er, no I am not actually.

But there is nothing I can do about it.  So suck it up, and move on.

There was another issue around Christmas, that got the Christmas Day we had planned cancelled.  That was another example of me adjusting my little sail and setting a new course.  And adding some deep resentment to the picture (just when shading, not when colouring in the whole tree).

I am able to adjust — but cheese and rice the anxiety and strain starts to build without any real outlet.  I am starting to feel a bit desperate.  Possibly why I am blogging at 01h27 and not asleep.  You think?

Kennith and I are in “discussions” about the way to move forward with the house.

This requires possibly some huge huge adjustments.  Like Titanic sized adjustments and decisions.

None of them I particularly want, but I feel a bit like my balls are being stapled to a wall and I need to stop further staples being applied.

I realise I do not have balls, but it is the only analogy I have.

At the moment I feel an over riding urge to {sigh} loudly and say FUCK IT ALL – using the tune from Let it Go made popular earlier this year, but I know that my singing is going to offer one iota of a solution or relief.

As an adult you cannot slam your door and throw yourself and sulk your problems away.

You still have to get up in the morning and face some real whoppers, and make decisions you do not want to make, for results you do not want, but again …. balls stapled to a wall.

I am not heading into this festive season in a terribly festive mood.

And for that I apologise.

i hate when people

Divorce is a head f*ck …… and sometimes it’s about cauliflower

151109_divorce-web

Divorce is a strange animal.  I am not totally sure it is easier or less painful than dealing with the death of a partner.

At least in death you get to mourn, and then keep a rather idealised perception of your partner in your mind’s eye.  And then get on with your life.  At which ever point it is required, or you are able.

Divorce is akin to having a large plaster applied to your hairy inner thigh, and then just as you think “hey, this is okay …. I am sort of getting used to this” then someone comes along and pulls said plaster off.

Taking with it all your hair, the roots, the first few layers of skin, and basically any fucking sense of humour you thought you had left.  And then you cry, and get to watch it all grow back.  Slowly.  With some ingrown hairs just for ambiance.

Divorce is a game of constant adjustments.

You keep thinking that “okay, so we are at this stage now …. okay, sure, this is not too bad” and then some fucker comes and ask you to please part your thighs slightly so they can get at the huge fucking plaster again and pull it asunder.

The other thing about divorce is the bizarre and strange way that things, that are not meant to bother you, fucking really bother you, and you cannot explain why or how.

If you try, it just comes out in a splutter of rage, pain, torment, and sometimes a bit of embarrassed laughter because you are really not being a trooper and dealing with this like an adult.

Instead you have reverted to a 12 year old who has little in the way of vocabulary, and just wants to sit around sulking muttering “motherfucker” under their breath.

A few weeks ago Kennith chatted to me about the fact that he was thinking about dating.  I though well, we are buds now, let’s just kick that ball around, like buds.  I can do this.  {has inside talk with self ….. self says listen I don’t think you can do this …. I go, self, that was then, I am fine now……. self shakes head}

{I high fived myself in anticipation of what an adult I was being ….. it was a proud moment …… fleeting but proud}

This is me being a mature divorced FROM person.  Not the angry, resentful person who is still hurt and pained by being “dumped” by their partner after 20 years.

Any the who, so there I am being adult, and kicking the breeze and feeling jolly.

I ran into Kennith a few days later at Woolworths.  As you do.

I was shopping for cauliflower to turn into mash. I am not sure exactly what he was shopping for.  Because we are buds he told me he was on his way to a date, you know, like you tell your bud.

I was not sure at that EXACT moment whether to punch him on the shoulder like a mate and say “good on ya” or “punch him in the face” and say “I am your fucking ex wife fruit cake, why the fuck would you want to tell me you are going on a fucking date??”

Did you not read the study notes on the section “shit not to talk to about with your ex-wife at any time in the next 10 – 15 years following a divorce??”  No, you didn’t.

Let me send it to you again with the highlighted bits.

I opted instead to draw attention to the cauliflower in my trolley.  Yes, that is what a confused woman with about a million emotions does when they don’t want to punch other people in the face or the genitals.  Whilst at Woolworths.

Listen if it was Checkers, then it would have been on like Donkey Kong.  This is Woolworths, I would like to visit this store again, I am quite fond of it.

I did not ask about the date …… why?  Because again, I am the fucking ex-wife who is still trying to adjust to being the ex-wife.

You divorced me, see, that means I do not really want to know about how you are getting your jollies or potential jollies!!!

Cheese and rice —– am I the only person who thinks this way.

The last two weekends the kids were meant to be with Kennith the kids mentioned to me in passing they had not been with Kennith the one night on each of the weekends.

Again, it’s his weekend with the kids, and he can choose how to spend it or not to spend it.  I am not going to sit them through an interrogation, really I do not want to know.

I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW.

I have been down this street, I know how this works.  The less I know the better.

Today they mentioned it again and I was a bit of “sorry what are you saying there kids” and then my friend mentioned that Connor was over at the house, and I was really confused.  She mentioned Kennith went to a “fight thing”, and I thought, but he usually takes Connor with him …………

Okay wait now …. wait now ………. I am feeling a slight deja vu in the Matrix and that his not good for anyone.

I remembered “oh sweet mother of mary, we are friends on Facebook again” <Kennith and I, in case this story is moving too fast and getting a slight rabid feel about it> and I thought “fuck no, please no, I really really cannot do Kennith dating….”

I don’t want to see it.  I don’t want to hear about it.

I do not want my friends stalking on my behalf.

I just can’t do this again.

It can happen out there in the wide world of “I don’t know and I don’t give a fuck” but when I do know then I do give a fuck.  I become the slightly insane person who is not sure why they are reacting this way, but they are and that is not good for anyone.  Especially me.

I sat quietly and scrolled through Facebook and there it was …….

The short answer is no I have no idea why this bothers me.

No, I am not jealous.

No, I am not waiting for Kennith to come calling and beg and plead for me to return.

No, none of that.

But his dating, it bothers me.

I get upset.  And I don’t know why.

And that is why divorce might be worse than dealing with a death.

Dead people do not post on Facebook.

Dead people do not date.

You can create a rather inaccurate but rather fond picture of the dead person, and there is fuck all that can come and fuck it up for you.

I can’t put cauliflower in my trolley and talk to Kennith about his date.

I can’t see his date.

I cannot hear about it from my kids —– I have already done this and it was pain-fucking-ful.  The chances that this might be starting again is just not on my list of  “things I feel like dealing with right now.”

I just am not there.  Yet.  Sorry Kennith, but you and I might need to break up as Facebook friends.

I just do not have the stomach for this right now.  I am not sure when I will.

It’s not me, it’s you.

just_keep_swimming

{On a side bar note, I am doing fantastically well.  Last year and part of this year was a little shall we say rough — well there were some rough patches there.  Some were not my finest hours.  Some I look back at and shake my head.

I bled a lot {metaphorically speaking not like in a menstruation way}, and I really struggled with what was in my head and how I was processing stuff.  

I had some moments there where I thought I would not survive.  I had some moments there that really tested my sanity and my ability to get out of bed and function.  

I got my shit together.  I moved on.   I learnt a lot about me.  I learnt a lot about life and how the universe works.

I am really in a happy place right now.  Life is challenging, but it is not impossible.

I am happy – and that this not a phrase I use often.  

I am still “getting over this thing called divorce” most days I am “yeah, I am so over it” and then other days I am “Listen, I need a moment here” but in general I am doing really well.

What divorce brings with it is this constant need to adjust.  

To the changing phases in each of your individual relationships. and how these put us in situations where we relate to each others.  

Sometimes those adjustments are small and you go, ah well, see that didn’t hurt.  Then there are the other ones where you do “shoo, this feels a bit uncomfortable, I am not sure whether I need an enema or a bit of a lie down, because this does not feel good.”

Maybe it is me — maybe this adjusting, adjusting and readjusting is something I do not do well.  Kennith appears to be coping like a fucking legend over there.  Good on ya mate!

Maybe in time it will be easier and I will not find it such a challenge.  But that is for another day.  Now however, the adjustments make me feel uncomfortable, and I don’t like them.

And I am going to choose to sit them out and not have to see them.}

Yes, and some days it is just shit-a-holla ….

divorce_fuck you

 

I hate it when people ask me “so how are you doing…” and not add the “with the divorce thing, you know” …..

I still don’t know what to say.

Some days I am super happy. I have the remote control.  I can make star angels in the bed, and can poo with the door open. The world is pretty much my oyster.

The next day I don’t want to get out of bed.

I am not sure if I miss or hate Kennith.  It could be a bit of both.

Yesterday evening driving home I saw him running along the side of the road.

In a split second I had two thoughts “drive the fucker over” and “shame, I should stop and give him a lift” ….. but I understood that both would probably have a knock on effect to him running the Comrades, and instead chose to just drive on.

I hate that he has toddled out of this relationships straight into another.  And seems happy.

I want to kick him in his hairy little face and say “look what you did fuck wad….” but I guess he did not do it all by himself.

Why can he not have a relationship where they are fighting and throwing cat food at each other?  But in a non sexual way!

Why can’t he be muttering “she is a dumb bitch” under his breath ….. instead of looking so delightfully peaceful?  I am seriously ……….. seriously

I want to ram a fork into his shoulder, just to see if he will react.  I will blame her of course.  I know I can do it, I figured out how to sneak into their house …. I know which door squeaks, I know where the forks are kept.

I can be in and out of them in under 8 seconds ……. at the moment I am still at 14 seconds.

But I train two or three times a week, and my times are getting better.  I am only going to stab him with a fork, it’s not like I am going to shoot him whilst he is on the crapper. Relax people.

You will know when I am unhinged, trust me, you will know.

I hate that my kids keep telling me how wonderful she is – I don’t know her, and I still want to drive her over.  If my kids compare her to me one more time, I am seriously going to start to take Xmas money away from them and tell them J stole it.

On other days I sigh and I think how peaceful life is and I am glad K is not lonely, and I am glad he is dating someone who seems to be nice to my children.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

I never think that.  I’d like to.  That would mean I was potentially a nice person.

I just lie there and go fuckity fuck fuck.  Fuck it all ….. “now bring me wine and chocolate” I scream at no one in particular.  Hence I get neither.

I am fine for several days, and then I am not.  It might have nothing to do with Kennith it might just be PMS, but fuck that, I am blaming him for it all right now.

I do not want Kennith back.  I do not want him to die.  I do not want him to explode into 1 000 little pieces.   I am not sure what I want.

I lie in the bath and sip my wine – I have changed it up to a rosé – it makes me feel pretty and girly.  And I still get drunk at about the same rate, so that is really all that matters right?

Life is good.

Life is kak.

Life just is.

My constipation was pretty bad on the weekend ….. just filling space here people, just filling space.

Some days I am so happy I sing along to really shitty songs.

Some days I cry at radio adverts.  While the radio is off.

Other days I have MUSIC going so loud in my ear phones, I physically prevent myself from being able to think of anything.  It also drowns out the sound of my kids arguing in the car, so really it is a win-win all round.

Last night I climbed into bed.  The girls were already in my bed – this is kind of where they sleep most of the time.  Sadly it reflects on my social life.

I got into bed, I was tired, exhausted, and the cat was trying to find a spot.  Isabelle’s chubby slightly damp little hand came over my shoulder and held onto my arm, and for that little slice in time, I forgot everything and felt pure joy.

Then the cat clawed my foot, and I tried to kick him, missed and kicked the end of the bed, and the moment was just that little bit less magical.

As said before, fuckity fuck fuck.  With a double fucker fuck fuck at the end.

 

The upside of Divorce …… that no one tells you

There are few perks to divorce, but if you do not focus on them, and try and relish in the small thing, there is a good chance you might end up with a sawn off shot gun, and an alcohol binge session that is not going to end well for anyone at the post office.

So here is my non-comprehensive list of shit that is good after a divorce:

1.  You can use it to stop a “call centre” operator in their tracks.  I had a call yesterday from Old Mutual and an operator was trying to set up an appointment with a very nice financial planner, to plan my life.  I said “you know I am at the end stages of a massive divorce, right now I can’t plan for next week {I did make it slightly more dramatic than it is} ….. I really can’t do this right now.”  I could hear him flicking through the “cards to use to deal with difficult customers” and he came out with nothing.  He apologised, wished me well, we might even have held hands symbolically and sang kumba-ya-ma-lord for a few moments.

2. Twice the cupboard space.  Not something I really factored in at all.  I left K’s cupboards pretty much untouched for a month or two, and then I thought, hey wait a minute maybe we can put my jeans here, and my jackets here.  And then I pretty much took over all the cupboard space. It makes me smile nearly every morning to open all those cupboards.

3. I have access to the remote.  Now, I can’t quite explain this emotion. It still makes me choke up a bit.  Unless you have lived with a man, you do not realise that has a woman, you just do not get remote control benefits, and if you do, then what ever you select to watch is deemed as shit/junk/this crap again.

4.  This is also connected to the DSTV remote.  I change the sound on the DSTV remote.  The rule was we only change the sound on the TV remote and you will be cast into hell if you dare change the sound setting on the DSTV remote.  I now do it with reckless abandon.  It is still quite a heady experience.

5.  I get every second weekend off and one night a week.  Let me say that again, every second weekend, I have no kids, no responsibility and the same is repeated one night a week.  I love my kids, but holy shit balls I like them so much more now that I get a break from them.  It is creepily fantastic.  I know I should be lamenting how I miss them and how I can’t live without them, but I am too busy fiddling with the sound on the DSTV remote.

6.  Isabelle sleeps in my bed almost every night – Georgia sometimes comes along.  There is something delicious about that warm, moist and sweet smell of your children close by.

7.  It is such a relief to not find shoes fucking everywhere.  Everyone puts their shoes into cupboards.  I no longer have to pack shoes away.  I did all the options, leave the shoes out, and see if “all” the shoes will eventually be left randomly all over the floor, and throw a shit fit, and then do internal anger.  I tried it all.  It appears the only solution to the shoe issue is divorce.

8.  Every day —- every solitary day —- K either takes the kids to school or fetches them.  I don’t wish to mention that at one point he had no idea what school or grade the kids were in, but it helps to give a balanced view of how fantastic this present arrangement is.  It means on two days a week, I can get up at 08h00 if I want — and I always want.

There are lots of negatives.

There are lots of things that are still shit.  There are lots of things that feel like I am being punched in the diaphragm and vagina simultaneously, but there are some ups …… there are some things that still make me skip around the house like a lunatic in happiness.  You know some days you need to cling on to the slithers of happiness in the madness, or you will lose the plot.

And stand screaming on your drive way.  I choose to get excited about the remote and changing the sound, without any repercussions.

great loss

Oh for fox sake …..

I have really been struggling to sit down and compose a blog post that I actually publish.

I have written dozens of “almost posts” and jotted down all sorts of shit and stuff — but I have not got to the point where I feel comfortable to post anything.

There is a lot of things running around in my head at the moment.

To be blatantly honest most of the things that are creating noise is me trying to adjust to this new life being a “divorced person” in a relationship that is over, and all the fine details hat comes along with that.

Getting divorced is pretty easy.

Being divorced is a bit of a fucking dog show, without the dogs, but with all the shit left on the field.

In the bigger picture I have been struggling with what I can talk about publicly and what I should hold close to my chest.

I am not a big fan of airing dirty laundry, and there is seldom a way to do it in a healthy manner.

At the moment I feel quite raw, exposed and vulnerable.  All the usual bravado that I try to wear as a protection is seriously dented and lacking.

I keep thinking okay I will write about “that” and then when I start to jot down some words, and those words form sentences, and now and then paragraphs, then I look at it and go “no, I can’t put that out there….”

Then I sit there quietly as the inside of me is this bubbling chaotic space, and my mind feels like it is being knocked around inside my skull.

The part I used to love about blogging – is now the thing I am struggling to remain true to.  I have always believed that you should blog what you feel, blog what you think — what you really think — blog with honesty and integrity – ignore who you think may read your posts.

I do not blog for the people who read my blog, that has always been a slippery slope to venture along.  I prefer to blog and ignore who may or may not read it.

It sounds selfish, but for me it is the backbone of what I love about blogging.  And what I love about reading some bloggers work.  Honesty, and blogging for the sake of writing what is running around inside your head.

Today was a difficult day.  I felt really gutted today. I felt a bit beaten up.

I felt a bit like life had taken me by the gonads (yes I imagine I might have them on some days) and swung me around so that my head kept hitting the wall of the very small square imaginary room I felt I was in.

It’s 12:10 am, the day is at it’s end.  Thank fuck!!!

I have spent the better part of the last 5 hours covering school books.  That wasn’t the reason for the stress, and mental confusion – it was actually the task that kept me focussed and prevented me “going off the deep end.”

I took some time out and went to sit outside – it is a lovely evening weather wise, and stared up at the stars, sipped my wine and thought duckety fuck, duckety fucking fuck!!!

Then I stood up, brushed some of the dirt off my pants, and thought “bitch, get your shit together, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, you do not need this level of kak …. and you need to go and pour yourself some more wine, because you have bought some crazy arse beautiful wine glasses …..”

And then I said “fuck yes!”

oh for fox

 

 

Actually Facebook, I do not want to do a photo montage of my great year …..

I was looking at some photographs of myself earlier today — and I realised how tired, exhausted and life weary I look.

I was smiling in some of those — but the smile was not a real smile, it was that strained kind you are forced to do, usually in group photographs and at birthday parties.

I zoomed in closer and really scrutinized the look in my eyes and it is of utter exhaustion.

It looks like someone on the edge of a nervous breakdown — or a Game of Thrones binge.  Or who is about to eat the entire pack of lemon meringue cupcakes from Woolworths.

It is not the kind of weary that can be cured by a good’ish bottle of wine and a 14 hour nap, but the sort of weariness and exhaustion that etches into your very soul.  And then oozes out of your pores.

It’s been a good year in some ways.

It has not been a good year in many others.

It has been a “fuck really ??? really” year in many more more I am afraid.

I have been really good at putting my stuff into little boxes and packing them neatly away.  I have been a high functioning {insert correct word} for much of this year – I am not sure if that was the impression I created with others, but that was definitely the vibe I thought I was creating.

Me. Sorted.  Keeping it together.  Getting shit done.

For much of this year, I have been proud of myself and my ability to just button down and get on with the stuff that needs to be got on with.  I have tried this “normal” thing and I think for the most part I managed to really give the illusion of getting it about right.

Sure there has been the odd “well that was unfortunate” and “yes, I got a lift home with Bennie the tow-truck driver because I could not find my car” — but hey who does not have those nights weeks every so often, right?

I started to feel the cracks this month — the cracks started to show and then the cracks got bigger and then I started to cry.

It really got going on Christmas Day – like the lurching jerking kind of cry.  For absolutely no reason.

I have cried myself a fucking river at this point.  I am crying now.  My guess is I will cry tomorrow.

I am actually not sure of why I am crying, nor what exactly I am crying about — but it has made reading or keeping a buoyant attitude really trying, and the red eyes are just a permanent fixture at this stage.

Sorry I have not been blogging – I have so much to say, so much in my head, but at the same time nothing.  I am also trying to pick my words wisely, and be aware of what I say or spew.

To those who have been my support this year – and really been there even in the smallest way I thank you — like really big.  Your late night SMS’s and funny images have been appreciated.

It is often not the big gestures that get you through the day, it can sometimes just be someone sniffing you and saying you smell good.

Granted when it is a strange guy at Pick ‘n Pay who does not respect the personal circle of trust, then it gets a bit awkward, but anyway.

I will blog again, don’t give up on me totally.  Watch this space.

 

dowager meme

 

 

 

 

I hereby pronounce you ….. divorced {throws confetti?}

141029_divorce

 

As you may or may not know, Kennith and I are going through a divorce process.  It has not been a horrible divorce, but it has been a divorce, and ending a relationship that has been in existence for the last 20 years.

We have three children,.  We have a shared life that overlaps in many aspects.

We have been in a relationship with each other for our entire adult lives.

Sitting and breaking that up into a spreadsheets and pieces is traumatic.

No matter how nicely you “play with others” and no matter how much you try your utmost to act like an adult, the process is really awful.

It is often not the big things that leave you bereft and licking your wounds, but the tiny almost insignificant things that you realise are actually pretty significant, that make you cry and sob.  I remember when Kennith was meant to collect the rug that is in our bedroom, I felt like if he took that rug I was going to break into a thousand pieces.

It’s a rug — it really has no sentimental value.  But when he arrived to collect it, I really felt this was the time when I was going to break.  {In the end he left it, because he could see I was upset…..}

The last ten months have had me work through every possibly emotion.  Which includes sadness, denial, pain, indecisiveness, happiness, relief, anxiety, euphoria, being numb, pain and despair, confusion, rejection, chicken licken’s fear of the sky falling, and any thing else you can add to the mix.

For the most part I have tried to appear composed and that I have my shit together.  I am not sure why it was important to look like I am keeping my shit together. I think possibly because I felt that if I started to slip, it would be all over and I would be a crumpled heap at the bottom of the white cliffs of Dover.

There have been several moments where I have felt like I had taken a walk over to the dark side.  That there was no way I could actually hold on to this little ledge of sanity that I am clinging to.

That feeling of panic and irrationality often pops up at the exact moment where I think I have got this all under control.  To remind me in no uncertain terms that I am actually a minefield of emotions right now, poor decisions and sometimes immense sadness, fear and self loathing.

I cannot imagine what my life is going to be moving forward.  I am stuck in looking back, and am struggling to lift my eyes up off the floor and really get a good look at the horizon.

I am scared.  I am afraid.  I am still a bit shell shocked to be honest.  I referred to Kennith as my husband the other day … then I just stood there and stopped speaking mid-conversation ….. because I was not sure what to say.

Kennith attended court last week – it was an uncontested divorce, so I did not have to go along.  Kennith let me know when he was at court, and then let me know when it was over.

Wednesday was a very surreal day.

I knew what was going to happen. I had participated in all the decisions and the processes, so I was well up to scratch on what was happening, the how, when and what.

When it happened, I really felt like I had been sucker punched.  Like something in me had just caved in.

Last Wednesday left me feeling sad, scared, with a sense of profound loss.  Twenty years and it was over.  Officially.

It is difficult to explain — it is difficult to articulate.  Last Wednesday was an important milestone in my journey of life.  I am not sure yet whether it was a good milestone, a bad milestone or just a milestone.

 

Quotes about life and maybe a bit about divorce, that resonated with me:

 

quotes02

 

quotes01

 

quotes04

 

quotes05

 

quotes06

 

quotes07

quotes09

 

And the two I liked the most

 

quotes10

 

quotes11

 

When the wheels fall off …..

Jeremy Lipking

I get really frayed around the edges when things do not go to plan.

I am not suggesting I am someone who is unable to adjust to the things that life throws at me, or that I am unable to adapt when the situation calls for it.

I can adjust my sails and pick a new course without too much ado.  I am pretty flexible, and though I might first stand there like a deer in the headlights, I make decision and remain flexible in most situations.

I will confess that the last month has had one too many whoppers for me to deal with.  This last week I have felt exhausted, and very sleepy, and by the time Friday rolled by I was already feeling like I was stretched that little bit too thin.

Then VODACOM came along and by the second hour of being bounced from one department to another, I think I lost the last remnants of my mind.

I could feel a full scale panic attack coming on whilst I was standing at the NOT ACTUALLY A VODACOM, BUT LOOKS LIKE A VODACOM store at Century City.

My heart rate was up, I could feel that breathing was starting to feel a bit laboured.

I was sweating up a storm, and I think I stopped blinking.  I really was not having a fun time, and the fact that it was allowed to escalate, really felt like a donkey had kicked me in the nuts. Or if I had nuts where they might be.

I was actually unable to think clearly after that point and the balance of the day was spent in full scale panic and anxiety melt down.

Kennith came over to do dinner with the kids, and he made a suggestion about my phone which was quite obvious, but in my now panicked situation, I just could not get to myself.

On reflection, this has been a bit of a month:

1.  I resigned, and left a structured employment arrangement for a wide open risk situation.

2.  A friend died in a car accident.

3.  I had a very surreal phone call from a friend about that friend, and how that friend felt about me – which made me ask all sorts of questions about myself.  Life and stuff.

4. I had a car accident – which scared the living bejesus out of me.

5.  I had to deal with insurance brokers (who were more than organised, and pleasant to deal with), arrange to get a rental, and then of course there is the assessor queries and all of that – and feeling constantly that I had done something wrong, or how I could have done this much damage to my car.

6.  Kennith dropped off the final papers to submit to High Court.  I had seen them before, so there was no surprise there — but the fact that I was holding a set of papers that was our divorce papers.  Reality, set in here.  In spades.

7.  I worry that I have bills to pay and shit to do, and do not have a pay check that is going to be clearing in the next two days.  <add increased heart rate and sweaty palms here>

There are of course a few other things that are happening in my life — no big deal stuff, but it does sometimes feel like I am a bit frazzled.  Friday was the moment when my little train going up the hill going I think I can- I think I can …. just said, fck this shit, I am going off road.

Just going off the edge of reality.  Don’t worry, I will send you a postcard.  I can’t call you … because well you know, but I will send carrier pigeon or soemething.

I know I had a bit of a shit fit about my phone — but it seriously was the last straw.

I really started to have some real concerns about my welfare on Friday night —–

On Saturday night I still had NO SERVICE on my phone.  I did call VODACOM again, and pretty much had written my life off at that point, because I could not face being bounced around by them.

I spoke to Kendric in Data – Technical or something of that nature.

He was pleasant and helpful, and resolved the issue quickly.  He did try to end the call with a little add on sale ….. I didn’t hold it against him.  Thanks Kendric, you have not quite restored my faith in VODACOM, but you have managed to assist me having a slightly saner evening.

And for that I am thankful.

I hope your week is a good one —– where ever you are …. and how ever you are spending it.

 

Image sourced:  Contemporary Artist Jeremy Lipking – his work can be viewed here.

Fixing the pool and wearing your underwear on the outside ….

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Our house has a pool.

I am not sure if you have a pool, but we have been lucky enough to have a pool in the last two houses we have lived in.

I never had a pool growing up, so am still thankful that we get to have one.  I used to swim, but now that I feel like I could body double for Orca, I am less inclined to emerge myself in water with anyone watching.

The kids however love the pool – and get use out of it for a good 6 months of the year.

Pools are great.  For kids.

I have always avoided having anything to do with the maintenance of the pool.  I used the theory that I seemed to be involved in so much else, I would use the tactic of not “understanding” the way the pool worked to avoid it being my responsibility.

I know it is not helluva confusing or difficult, I just wanted it to remain Kennith’s responsibility.

When ever he spoke to me about the pool, I had that blank expression, like I was no longer understanding English and would mutter something like ¿No habla(s) inglés? while shrugging.

It seemed to work, and the reality is that I never had to touch the pool.

Kennith moved out on the 1 March, he has popped in now and then and has done something in the corner by the pool pump.  I decided – clearly rather short sightedly – to continue my absolute embargo on taking on any information regarding the pool.

The pool turned a pond green about three weeks ago, and I sort of figured if I ignored it, it would turn blue.

I was not going to stand for tantrums from this pool just for some attention. No sirree.

Pool got greener and greener.

On Friday I went along and stared at the pool pump. I took off the cover and stared at it some more.

It was not dissimilar from when your car does not work, and after turning the ignition key a few dozen times, swearing like a pirate, you go over pop the hood of the car, look at the engine. Sort of push on one or two things, and think somehow you are going to know how to fix the car.

I did pretty much the same thing.

I really was hoping for a button that said “push me and it will work again.”

No button like that.  I checked.

I switched things on, off, turned dials — no idea what I was doing.

Pool remained green, creepy lay there like a dead and lifeless non-sucking thing at the bottom of the green ooze.

Today I thought I would go and push buttons, but it rained a storm today.  So instead I stared at the pool through the window and thought “fuck, I will need to call in a pool guy…”

It stopped raining for a bit, and I went out to the pool pump.

Mano-a-mano. 

To cut a long and wet story short, it turned out there was a plastic bag stuck in the creepy, I got that out, and then noticed that the pump sounded different, and the valve on the side of the pool suddenly had a bit more suck and spit to it.

It took a while, but creepy got a bit of a life and started sucking away.

I can’t recall the last time I was so proud.  Of my pool maintenance skills.

I have a feeling there are going to be many occassions like this where I stand and wonder if I should just call Kennith and he can come and fix this, or I should rather stand there for three days and curse it under my breath before I go and actually see if I can actually fix it.

I must say I felt quite invincible today.  Like I had a cape, some yellow tights and wore my underwear on the outside.

I am still looking at my creepy rather fondly, as if somehow it was because of me that he now lives.

Tomorrow it is leaping tall buildings in one bound.

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Timeline of a Divorce

Originally posted  :  · · in Healing From Trauma. ·

I hesitated to share this. Not because it’s private. Or controversial. But I’m afraid people will misinterpret it as an absolute.

And if there’s one universal truth about divorce, it’s that there are no absolutes.

I’m sharing this because I see a need. A void. People reaching out and wondering if their feelings are okay for the place they’re in. We all want to know that we’re “normal” and we seek reassurances that we are while silently worrying that we’re not.

But worrying about if your feelings are normal doesn’t help you feel better.

In fact, it makes you feel worse.

Your feelings are what they at this moment.

And that’s okay.

And it’s also okay to want them to be different and then to work towards making them different (notice the intent is paired with action!).

I am sharing the rough outline of my emotions and mindset at different periods throughout and after my divorce. Please do not use this as a ruler to measure your own progress. Just because I reached a certain benchmark at month eight doesn’t mean you should too.

In fact, ban the word “should” from your mind as you read this. What I hope you get from this timeline is an idea of how healing comes in slowly, even as you’re living. I want you to find comfort in the fact that it’s okay to still struggle after X amount of time has passed. My wish is that you don’t feel alone and that you have faith that you will be healed one day.

Read the rest of this post here —->>>

Friends with benefits …. and friends with wisdom …..

 

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{The blogger topic for day 10: is The best advice I ever received/ heard …. I may well be behind a day or so….}

Throughout this year I have been blessed to know that I have friends who stand by me.

Offer me support, allow me to sleep on their couch, and who keep me focused on the things that are good, and ways to keep me happy.  Sometimes they just supply good wine, and a ear to listen, and that is often enough to make everything all better.

Divorce, no matter how well it is managed, is still a pretty kak process to go through.

No matter how much the two of you try to appear adult, and to deal with each other in a respectful manner, you can’t help feeling that your life is in a state of free fall.  You are trying to desperately grab onto tufts of grass as you slide down the slipper cliff face into who knows what.

I have tried my utmost to be upbeat, and brave and not lose my sense of humour.  I tell everyone I am fine, and I seem to be coping.  Some days I am a bit side swiped and I struggle to get my head around where things have brought me, and I am petrified of what the future offers.

I do try my utmost not to wallow in my pity, shame, sadness and embarrassment.  I am embarrassed that I could not make this relationship work.  That I failed, and that my failure is so public.

I know in time I will have a different outlook.   I do feel a fair degree of shame, embarrassment and a sense of failure that I could not make this relationship work, and retain Kennith as my partner.

He divorced me, this was not a mutual decision, so I have been divorced from.  I know it is just semantics, but it does not soften the fact that I was rejected.  I was left.

Possibly for something better, possibly for nothing, possibly for the possibility of something better.  Or what ever else.

It still hurts.   It goes right to the core of my psyche, that I am not good enough.

Back to my good friends — I have had friends who have remained in my corner, who have let me vent, who have offered me their couches to sleep on, and who have sent me messages of support, given me hugs, and just been there for me.

No judgement.  Allowing me to speak, offering guidance and support and not insisting I take their advise.

The one piece of advise I think of on a regular basis  was given to me by Karen and it rings true for most things:  “If everyone could put their shit in a brown paper bag, and throw it up in the air, everyone would rather catch their own shit, than have to catch someone else’s.”

I am ad-libbing there, but the gist is that your shit is your shit.

It is easier than having to deal with anyone else’s shit.  And when you really sit down with someone you realise that they have far more in quantity and in complicated-shit than you could ever imagine.  So rather hold onto your shit bag, and keep it as your own — everyone else’s shit is going to smell worse, and probably make you gag.

That piece of advise, or that sentiment has sat with me for some time.

I often want to pull on a hessian bag and push charcoal through my hair and weep at the state of my life, but I think of the bags of shit and I am thankful that my shit is actually not that bad in comparison to others.

In no way am I minimizing my pain, or my experience, but I am owning my shit.  At least my shit is familiar.

 

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I am also a fan of the old adage: “don’t shit where you eat!!”  Wise words those.

 

 

 

 

 

Facing your fear —- and property24 ……

I am often paralysed by my fears.

I come across as a reasonably confident, articulate and bright person.  The reality is that under it all, and not even that deeply under, I am a quivering mess robbing someone of their village idiot.

I try to give the impression of not being shy nor lacking in confidence.    The reality is that I am shy, lack courage, lack confidence and will gladly go and cry in a corner if something chips away at the outer shell.

My newest tactic is that I keep a facade going.  I do it pretty well, but it has it’s Achilles Heel and that is that the moment someone pokes a hole, even one tiny little hole into the outer wall, then the entire facade crumbles.

I have been building facades for so long, that I don’t know how to do it any other way.  Over the years, and with some really good therapy, I have definitely managed to become more of who I am, and less of who I feel I have to be.

It is a daily struggle, and reverting back to the knee jerk protective position, is firmly entrenched in my psyche.

Stupid things overwhelm me, whilst the big things I can often take in my stride.

I have been in quite a state regarding the idea of having to sell the home I live in at the moment.

I have not moved many times in my life, so the idea of putting all our possessions into boxes, and going to somewhere new scares the living crap out of me.

In my usual manner, I managed to create a catastrophic outcome.  I could only imagine how bad this will go,  how bad the outcome would be, and it was all pretty horrible.

My mental picture of where we would live, was not a good image.  It usually involved a one roomed flat in {enter as bad a suburb as you can think of}, with thin walls, a toilet we shared with the rest of the floor, and us all sleeping in one bed.  The kids would be lice ridden, we would not have TV, and I am almost sure the kids would need to walk the 9.6 km to school.

The more I thought about it, the more I created outcomes that were hideous.  None of my fears and imagined horrors have any foundation in reality.  This kind of mental losing-the-plot is never grounded in any sort of reality.

I dealt with it, by trying not to think about, which of course meant I thought about it all the time.  And the outcomes needed to get more horrific each time I gave the thoughts free reign.

I sat down with my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy guy and he asked what was worrying me the most.   I explained my real estate dilemma.

I explained what I thought, the way my mind was running and the fact that I was paralysed with fear.

We chatted and we worked through the reality versus the catastrophe thinking that I was presently running with.  CBT is not about just telling you to be happy, and then you are.

It is talking through a fear, understanding what you are scared of, then giving you realistic tools to assist you to see realistic outcomes.  Once you have a few of those tools, and you focus on the reality and not the catastrophe, your mind does start to go “oh, well that is not so bad …. is it?” and then it sort of calms the fuck down.

That last phrase is not a technical term, but you understand the gist.

At the end of the session he gave me some homework to do:-

1.  Speak to a bank official who deals with bonds, and get an idea of what you qualify for.  Once you know that it will assist you to know what you can afford, and where you can look.

2.  Look at the areas where you would like to live – that are not going to make you feel like you are disrupting the kids lives too much.

3.  Start looking at properties in the range of the bond you can afford, and get sense of what is out there – how big or small these homes are, and really what  so one.

All very logical things to do.

When your mind is so overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty, it is very hard to remain logical, and think through things in a rational manner, because your point of reference is fear.  Naked.  Sweaty. Ugly fear.

I left his office, and did the things he suggested I do — once I had some specific information and facts, the fear subsided.

None of this is a conclusion I could not have come to myself, but where I was in my head space was not going to “allow” me to be rational.

I no longer feel this overwhelming strangling fear that soon we will need to put the house on the market and move.   It does not make me happy, it does not fill me with joy.

I do still feel sad and scared, but it is not overwhelming.

I am not looking forward to anything in the process, nothing.  But now that I can replace the mental picture of chaos and end-of-the-world-as-we-know it, with something tangible, I am no longer that scared.

I can breath, and function.  Deep breath. Deep breath.  Reluctant Mom keep your shit together!!

 

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Puts hand up and waves …..

I really have been unable to blog as of late.

There is just too much going on in my head to find the one thread of sense to put a blog post together.

Instead I have been journalling like a mad woman.  Furious writing.  Thoughts.  Emotional vomiting.  Stuff and things.  Just trying to work it all through in my head.

It is more doodling with letters than actual journaling, but my crazed notes are everywhere.  Random thoughts.

The post before last was a bit hectic – and I was really at what could easily be described as the lowest most painful place I have been to in quite some time.

I had my own concerns that I would not survive that day.  That week.

I am still feeling a bit shaky, and a bit uncertain.

I get up every day, go to work, attempt at being productive and try to be sociable as much as I can.  I try to give the impression that I am keeping my shit together — most days.

There are other days when I am feeling like I have got it together, and that I am better than okay.  That I might be alright.

But those are only on some days.

I have decided to return to cognitive behaviour therapist I saw about two years ago.

As much as I love the therapy that has you lying on the couch talking about about my mother and having the other person go “uuuhhhmmm” and “yes, I hear you” and “and how did that make you feel?” I got so much benefit from working with Dr J previously.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is such a powerful tool.

It has helped me immensely in the past, to try to move out of “catastrophe thinking” – it’s the thinking that no matter what happens or occurs, you start to think the worst is going to happen, and plan accordingly.

Great for the end of the world, not so much for every day thinking.

I have found that I tend to ruminate with something negative.

It runs through my head over and over again.  I relive the situation in every detail, over and over again.  Then I beat myself up about it over and over again.

CBT definitely gives me the tools to realise that my thinking (in some instances) is faulty and gives me the method of how to change that thought process.

By changing the way I think or process information, changes the way I feel about something, and has a natural knock on to change the way I behave and and and ….. I am simplifying it, but you sort of get the idea.

Not quite “think you are happy and then you are happy” stuff – but it helps me to crawl out of the constant negative and bad feelings that often overcome me.

Kennith and I have worked through all the details that are “the divorce” and at this stage paperwork gets sent to a lawyer who prepares them and as we have finalised and agreed on the details, it means that it goes through as an “uncontested divorce” – so that should not require too much energy.  And blood.  And tears.

This is me telling you I am alive.  I am okay.

I may not be 100% okay, but I am a little bit okay.

I have faith that I will heal.  I will be more than okay one day – and each day I feel a bit stronger, and I can glimpses of the me who I will be.

Long road still to travel — no doubt there will be a few rolls back down the hill, but there we go.  Moving forward.  Baby steps.

 

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The lies we tell ourselves …. to get by

You know the part where I said I was fine and coping really well.

The sheer magnitude of that “lie” became apparent yesterday as I proceeded to have what can only be described as a shit-fucking day, and a total break with reality.

I am not sure if shit and fucking should be combined, but it was the sort of the day where there were few other options that would work.

I have managed to cope pretty well.  I told you I was coping well.  I told me I was coping well.

I told my psychologist I was “fine actually” …. anyone who would listen I told them I was fine.

It appears coping and just putting things into neat boxes, and avoiding dealing with them is almost the same thing.

On Sunday I had been invited to a really lovely day away with my friend and her lovely guy.  We had a relaxing day.

Went out for dinner, and it was really just really great.

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I am not a big “sea” person – possibly because I have always lived at the sea, or near the sea, the sea holds very little in the way of wonder for me.

Mountains are far more my thing.

My divine friend and her significant man person, were nice enough to “evacuate” their room and let me have the room with a view – I know I should have said “no, really guys, no” but then I didn’t.

But then I saw the view — and well then I rethought that I might in fact be a “sea person.”

Monday pulled around.  And then I had a poes collapse.

The epic kind.  I know we tend to use rather “epic” liberally but if I can direct you to one of it’s meanings of unusually great size or extent” then I get to use the word epic for my day yesterday.

The sort of day where I stood wondering how many sleeping tablets would be sufficient to have a really long sleep, say versus off”ing yourself.  My personal feeling on numbers is 22.

I am not sure why, but I feel that 22 is the “magic number.”

I have not done any personal investigation, it just is the number that I think would be the number.

I opted not for 22.  I just wanted enough to sleep for most of the day.

I figured THAT range would be more than 1 less than 10 –  like sleep for the day and maybe the rest of April, but wake up refreshed, or at least not crying.

Kennith had the kids with him.

I lay on my bed curled up in a ball.

I cried like I have not cried since that time I fell whilst roller-skating and broke my coccyx. And then realised I still had to get off my sorry arse and roller-skate the rest of the way home.

Do you know how much fun roller skating is when you have a broken coccyx.  Not as much as you would think.

That kind of cry.

I would swap a broken coccyx for the way I feel right now.

I cried so hard my eyes looked not dissimilar to sheep’s vaginas.  I will be honest and tell you I have not really looked at a sheep’s vagina, but I just have this picture.

And my eyes sort of filled the mental picture I had created of a sheep hoo-ha.

The humour, or the part that is slightly funny, is that I didn’t sleep.  I dozed for a bit.

I did not sleep last night. I did not sleep this morning.  I have not slept since Monday night.

I have ingested two week’s worth of sleeping tablets and I did not go to sleep.  Do you think LIFE is laughing right now?

Or possibly I misread the box, and I took two weeks’ worth of diarrhea medication.  My eyes were red and very swollen, it could have happened.

I hope someone is laughing, because we know it is not me.

I did some more crying last night, and usually crying makes me very tired.

I had to do it (cry) quietly into my pillow as I had two kids sleeping in my bed, and a dog.

This morning dawned and I put my big girl panties on, showered, brushed teeth, attempted to arrange my hair around my now swollen face, dropped kids off and then drove to work.

I am attempting to not cry at work — well I can cry, but only when I know no one is looking.   I am moving between no mascara and panda-eyes.

How much can one person cry?  Is there a number?  Is there a liters per capita?  Is there a point where your fucking tear ducts just burst into flames?

Yeah, so anyway, in answer to the previous question no, I am not fucking fine.

Next person who asks gets punched in the vagina.

 

{this post is not a cry for help —– it is just a cry}

 

 

 

 

 

The week that was raw, brutal and painful ….

{for those who are not on point with the subject matter, Kennith and I are going through a divorce process, and instead of using litigation we are using mediators and facilitators – we have had three sessions, and pretty much wrapped up our 20 year relationship in a mere 6 hours —–}

Thursday was the day.

It was the epic and highly anticipated mediation and facilitation session.  Number 4.  The big one.

The one I have been dreading, lost sleep over, had fear that I was losing my mind which at best I have a very tentative hold on – I had escalated anxiety “moments” and this week was raw, rough and painful.

I was at my best when I was sleeping.  During my waking moments I was a total disaster.

I sleep like a fucking champion!

I had worked myself into quite a froth by the time Thursday rolled around.

I did make one good decision this week, and that was to book an interview with my head doctor from 10h00 – 11h00, and then the mediation session would run from 11h00 – 13h00.

The hour before was just so that I did not have a total melt down during the m&f.

Dr A was great, and he kept me centered, and focused, and definitely help to reduce the “flight or flight” process that was happening on my side.  I needed to keep it together for the two hour m&f, and I needed him to just keep me focused and my anxiety at bay.

I had already bailed on the earlier booking we had for about two weeks ago and I knew I could not postpone again.

I have been erratic, slightly insane (okay very insane), totally off the wall bonkers on several occasions, and have lived in fear of Thursday dawning.

I was scared. Petrified.  Afraid.  I felt like I was walking into a gladiator’s arena with absolutely no protection.

I had escalated the entire thing to the point where it consumed my every thought, breath and fear for the last month.  And every day that got closer to Thursday I could feel my anxiety, and stress growing …..

Thursday arrived.  As it has want to do.

Like with all things, it was not as bad as I had feared.  It was not as brutal as I had anticipated.

It was painful.  It was excruciating.  It was horrible, it was all of those things.  At it’s worst it was not worse than the anticipation, fear and anxiety that I had created.

I recall at one point seeing the time and it was 11h40.  I could not believe we had only been in there for 40 minutes it felt like several life times had passed in that office.

I walked out of the session at one point to have a good cry.  We were on a subject that I just could not look at in a non-emotional way, and I think I also had a moment of clarity when I realised I was fighting for something that I had to accept I was going to lose.

When I say “good cry” I mean the kind where you are tjunking, loudly with snot and tears spilling down your face whilst people walking past hold their children a little closer in case crazy crying lady outside the psyche clinic really lost the last thread of the plot.

This week has felt like every cell in my body was vibrating and the hamster in my head was running at full throttle. On ritalin.

I have honestly never been as scared as I was of Thursday.

I was jumpy, distracted.  I felt like my head was constantly losing the plot.  I have had wild erratic thoughts, found it difficult to remain on point, and this week has totally overwhelmed me.  Consumed me.

And spat me out.  Wet, shivering and feeling weak.

I have made so many mistakes this week, so many bad decisions, so many things I wish I could get a re-do on.   I wish I had more control over my emotions and my spinning head. I wish I had.  I just wish I had differently.

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