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.

view

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.

alone-2014

 

 

Facebook Relationship Status married to …. actually that is no longer relevant

I really have not blogged a great deal about the process of divorce.

This process we are going through.

I keep looking at my Facebook relationship status and it says “married” and then I think, no that is not what we are.

Is it complicated or are we separated ….or should I just leave it until we are divorced, and then I only have to push one button.

It is not the time it takes to press the one button, it is just that it again adds “a time stamp” to this process.

It is just another marker on this shit route.  This festival of fucked-up-ness.  I am sure that isn’t a word, but today I really am not giving two flamingos.

Looking at “married” on Facebook somehow disturbs me.   It really does.  I think we aren’t actually – we are in the “between place” — that place of nearly and not at all.

We are no longer married.  Sure we are going through the process so we can get an official document that tells us we aren’t.  But that is just waiting for a sheet of paper?

In my head, and my heart, we are no longer married.  The 20 December 2013 was a defining date in my world.  When things shifted.  A great deal.

In some ways good, in some ways not so good.  I really have tried to constantly keep my eye fixed on the silver lining …. and anyone who knows me will tell you that that is decidedly not my normal style.

I have moved through the various processes of grief a lot faster than I thought I would be able to.  No doubt it is more of a circle of grief, and I will have to go over a few of the ones I breezed over before.

I have been stoic and accepting, and have rolled with this process like a fucking trooper I have.  If there is a shirt for being “accepting and adult” then shits bells I need to get it.

We are no longer married.  We have both stopped wearing our wedding rings.

He did first, and that really hurt me.  It really distressed me.  I know it is silly, but it really distressed me.  I kept thinking “put your freaking ring on …… do it” and then he didn’t.

I kept wearing mine.  Maybe it was whilst I thought that things were not going to go the way I was being told they were going to go.

Then one morning I realised that I can’t actually wear it anymore.  And I took it off.

On that day I told three people we were going through a divorce.  And then three more.  I do not feel married anymore.

No matter how long this process is or how long that piece of paper takes to come through, it is over.  We are no longer married.

This is just the details of that process.

The upcoming m&f (mediation and facilitation) meeting has got me feeling anxious and terrified.  I feel like I am going to be stepping into a room that I am ill prepared to face, and I am terrified of going there.  I know it is a process and we will all sit there like grown ups, but I am not sure I am quite ready to be that grown up, not today.

Every part of me is screaming to postpone to just give myself a few more days to get my head into the right place.

I have asked to postpone it.

I do realise that pushing out and rescheduling something that is horrible and frightening, is not the best way to deal with a heightened anxiety issue.

Anxiety is a bitch, and she crawls in and whispers.

Eventually you can’t actually remember what the problem was because she has created an entirely different set of issues, fueled by anxiety and your mind winding out of control.

So that is how I am feeling today.  Riding that Anxiety Bitch into the sunset as I drink a large glass of wine and listen to Eminem (yep, that tells you something about my mind set right now)

I do want this divorce over with.

I want to click my heels three times like Dorothy and I want it all to be done.  And dusted.

I just do not want to go through the process as we divvy up our lives — it is now down to a spreadsheet, costs, and who should pay and how much ……. cheese and rice how the hell did we get here?

It doesn’t really matter anymore.  We are here.

And no we are no longer married.  But why am I so reluctant to click that stooopid button on Facebook?  But that bitch is getting clicked tomorrow.  Not today, I am just going to stare at it a bit more and sip my wine and listen to Slim Shady.

facebookstatus

How are you doing? {said as someone leans in close with sincerity}

someecards

I am asked several times a day “how are you doing?” — and the person is really wanting to know “how are you coping with this divorce?  how are you getting through your day?  have you cried much today?  how are you doing when everyone is asking you how you are doing?”

Well that is what I hear.

The answer is that I am doing better than I thought I would be.

I am not fine, everything is not great, but I seem to be okay.

I have moved through the various steps of grief with alarming speed.   I realise this may mean I will need return to one of the steps that I have progressed through too quickly at a later stage.  Really “unpack my feelings” or “really be honest with myself” about how I actually feel.  Or what I think, or what ever.

I know that, or I suspect that.  But I can deal with that later.  Then when I need to.

Nothing in this process is great.  Nothing in this process makes me smile or gives me joy.

I find myself running out of steam a bit each day – and feeling an overwhelming urge just to lie down and take a really long sleep. And when I wake up, it will all be over.  Done and dusted.   I will not have to face all the details and stuff of a life being pulled apart one strand at a time.

Most of me does not want to be here.  I just want it to be over, done.  I want to wake up on the other side of this.

Kennith and I are working through a divorce facilitator and  mediator.  Together we sit with them for 2 hour sessions.  In these sessions we finalise our lives together.  And apart. Decide and try to agree on how we will move forward.  Apart.  Separated legally.

We are forever connected, forever joined, forever part, but we are facing this so that we can be a part, no longer together, no longer joined.

It is clean and neat.  There is far less crockery being thrown than I would imagine are associated with most “marriages that end….”

There are a lot of spreadsheets, and lists, and agreeing and giving in when you realise it is not worth the fight, and to try to keep the process amicable.  And moving forward.

I think no matter how mature a couple is, someone is going to end up arguing about the carpet.

It is not about the carpet.  It never is.  It is the carpet that will make you cry, and swear and curse.  If your partner leaves with the carpet even though you have agreed they can have the carpet, then you will feel like you have died —- and you are really just trying to live and survive the day.

I think the one redeeming thing in this process — and to be honest I am finding it hard to notice this as a redeeming factor, so bear with me as I go off on a bit of a tangent  — I am not trapped in the “what if?” in the breakdown of this relationship.

Nothing in me is going “what if we got back together? what if he changes his mind?  what if he realises that this has all been a massive bad decision?  what if he realises that I am what he needs? what if? what if? what if? what the fuck if?”

I know that Kennith is not going to retract what he has said and done.  He is resolute on this path.

It is not easy for him, but he did not go into this lightly.  This is what he wants, and he is not going to appear on my doorstep, hat in hand asking me for forgiveness because he has changed his mind.

There is no “what if” scenario here.

He has made that abundantly clear.  I have asked him to change his mind, to reconsider, to not do this — I did in the first month when I was trying to really understand that THIS, THIS was actually happening.

Nothing I could say or do was going to change the course of this action.  The outcome.

I could choose to fight it — but I realised that fighting it would not change the outcome.

It would just make it harder for everyone, and me and my kids.  I can’t be {more} broken in this process.  I still need to get up every morning, face my day and be the support to my kids that they need because their lives are on their heads – no matter how much of a shocker of a day I have had, I need to give a semblance of sanity and “wearing my big girl panties.”

My “lose my shit” time is after 20h30 — kids are asleep, I am alone and if I want, I can go monkey then.

This way I know that if I need to have a total loss of sanity, I can diarise it for after 20h30.  Inevitably at that point, I am content to sit on the couch, drink my wine, eat some olives and let the feelings wash over me.  Sometimes crash over me.

As painful as it was to grasp that “he is not going to change his mind” is that it have given me certainty to hold on to.

It has given me the insight to not have to dwell on the “what if?” and the fantasy of waking up tomorrow, with my husband back and my family not broken anymore.

Not to set my course of action by a bobbing forever moving, and unrealistic mirage on the ocean.

I have only fixed details to work with.  It has kept the voices in my head free from arguing with me about the “what if” component.

Not being stuck in that repeat cycle of “what if?” has been a real gift.

It is a strange gift – but it is a gift, because all my energy is focused on moving ahead.

Looking up and forward.  Not looking back and hoping, dreaming, pining, fantasizing.

Looking up and forward. Not always with a happy countenance, often with red swollen eyelids, and a rather haggard expression, but I only have to look one way.

Looking up and forward.  I do not need to spend the scarce energy resources I have looking back and wishing, dreaming and wondering “what if” …

Does that sound as insane to you as it does to me?

The one about the Clinical Psychologist …..

We have received such great advise from the Clinical Psychologist who is acting as a mediator and facilitator and that is in short — and really not verbatim was – “kids are kids, and kids are moody, and things happen — do not assume every time your child does something wrong, or does badly at school or misbehaves that it is because you are going through a divorce.  Kids will continue being kids, and things will happen.  Treat them the same.”

That alone is almost worth the gazillion rand owed on the statement she emailed through earlier.

I think the knee-jerk reaction is that every time one of my kids throws a wobbly, Connor is upset, the kids fight at the dinner table, the kids slam a door, or they ignore me to go “aaawwww shame, it is because we are going through a divorce” – then I experience the guilt, the {sigh} of resignation that I am breaking my kids, and start to think whether they should start therapy soon.

The reason that kids throws wobbly, Connor is upset, the kids fight at the dinner table, the kids slam a door, or they ignore me is that they are kids, and this is what kids do.

Divorce or not.

I think the Clinical Psychologist was trying to tell us in better phrased words to just “calm the fuck down when it comes to your kids and this process of kids growing up – don’t overreact.”

Sane words.

She did not actually say “calm the fuck down” but that was sort of what she indicated my the tilt of her head and the knowing look in her eyes.

Connor has been a bit more “sensitive,” Georgia has been a bit more “weird” and Isabelle has learnt the value of a really good thrombie throwing which includes doors being slammed.

At this juncture I wish to remind you that Isabelle is 4 – and that I will be blogging soon about her being a problem teen – she is as strong willed as I would think endearing in other people’s children, but for me she is a handful — and she is only 4.  She beats the crap out of her siblings, she is always getting her own way, and she does not take being disciplined well.  I gave her one smack on her bum last night for lying, and she cried and screamed for about 30 minutes.  I had to keep reminding her that I actually only gave her one smack —- I think she thought I had ripped her leg off by the way she was acting.

I would have been quick to send them off to play therapy or some other therapy — but my guess is they would have been doing this even if we weren’t playing “breaking up a family.”

The best advise here is “carry on like normal” if we start treating our kids differently, they are going to act differently.

Otherwise, carry on as you were – have a good weekend, and all that stuff.

free_to_choose

 

 

This post has nothing to do with American Hustle … nothing at all

myentirelife

 

err … it is not okay, but I like the quote, so there we go – I could have photoshopped it, but I really just could not be arsed right now.

I have realised that in this process I am emotionally removed.

I am so busy ticking of blocks in my head, worrying about the “who, where and how” that I have parked any emotional reaction to what is clearly a cluster f*ck of note.

I have had two total snot cries, but the rest of the time I have kept a “chin up” and a “you just gotta move through it” attitude, which is great.  Yep, pretty great.

I know that the tsunami of “what the hell happened” is going to hit me.  Soon.

The part I fear that when it hits, it will be the storm of 2011 – and I do not have the resources to deal with another one of those sucker punches.  I can well work out my abilities, and facing that sort of “down” is just not possible.

I can’t face that climb up out of the quagmire.  The sticky grabbing mud that suffocates you.  It is too difficult.  It requires more energy than I have right now.

I met with new head doctor yesterday – it was hardly a match made in heaven, but I really have no interest in trying to shop around.  I will give him three sessions and take it from there.  He indicated that my rather fun sides effects were clearly more anxiety driven than depression driven.

Yay – I love doing multiple choice questions.

For all the stuff I say about depression – he has managed to be on the fringes and has not really come to play in some time.  He has sent his dark side kick anxiety and stress which makes for interesting days.  And nights.

Super villains without capes.  And often less appealing personalities than you would expect.

Kennith and I are using “mediation and facilitation” which I strongly recommend to anyone who wishes to end a marriage.  Cheaper than lawyers, and if you find the right m&f team, you can aim to have your marriage done and dusted in about 5 visits.

Then the paperwork is sent to a lawyer person, who will present it at court and hey presto, it is all over.

Both of you can act like it never happened.  Unless you have kids, then well you are fucked either way.

I saw a pregnant woman at Pick ‘n Pay today and I felt an overriding urge to run up and warn her – but she looked so happy, and I figured I might appear someone unhinged holding my bag of apples, two bottles of wine and 2 liters of milk, that I decided to leave her alone.

I am sort of glad I never changed my signature.

I am sort of wondering if I should head back to home affairs and change my name back — but then my name is different from my kids, and that alone is a bit of a mind f*ck on all sorts of levels.

If someone asks me then I am “fine” … but the reality is that I am anxious, over wrought, stressed and about a flick away from going off my head.

The kids seem fine.

The dogs do not seem to be bothered.

I however appear not to be fully cogniscent of what is happening, and that is where I worry.

On the other hand Darren, I saw American Hustle earlier this week – fantastic movie!!!! Nothing I did not love in that movie.

Kennith moved out today ….

donotgoToday was easily one of the most difficult days of my life.

Kennith moved out today.

Tomorrow will be the first day that I wake up without him as part of my every day life, which has been a constant for nearly 20 years.

I realised today that I have not fully absorbed the “emotional” side of this process.

I have been so busy with the logistics.

How we will divvy up the house.

What happens with the children and what happens financially for the children that I have not really “sat” with the emotional fall out.

I am really good at ticking off the blocks, making lists, and ensuring that things get done in an organised efficient manner.

I am not always so good at dealing with the “emotional stuff” – I avoid it and defer it until it all hits me in one giant mother of a smack against the side of my head.

I have been so focused on the “details” that I have not had a chance to really take this process IN.

I have had two instances where I sobbed.  Where I cried like a lunatic.

The one I sat in my car and I cried with snot bubbles and that silent scream that you do when you are on the edge of insanity.

Then I stopped crying because I have shit to do, and stuff to get sorted.  I do not have the time to lie in a heap on the floor with a pack of Kleenex.

I have the odd tear, and sniffle, but I have not had a cry.

I chew it back.  I nod and say “I am fine” ….. I just do not have the time.  I am afraid and I barely have the energy to hold my shit together.

I am too afraid that if I start crying that I will not be able to stop.  Ever.

And then the world will come to an end.

I have an appointment tomorrow with a new psychologist.

I think it is time to meet a new man.  Sit on the couch and have a good all-fall-down.  Then pay him as I leave for listening to my problems.  Sounds almost like a date, just no possibility of a split bill.

I “feel” like I am “okay” but I have learnt a long time ago that actually that I am pretty awesome at constructing and maintaining facades of sanity.  If you need someone who puts a “chin up” on anything, please contact me – I have it so taped, I could give classes.

I realise I need to get a good psychologist in my corner — because at some point this is all going to crack.  Going to break.

And then all the king’s horses and men will not be able to put this Humpty Dumpty together again.

Today is not a fun day.

My guess is that tomorrow is not going to be any better.

I wanted to say “any fucking better” but then I decided I should really try to stop saying “fuck” “fucking” or “for fuck sake” so fucking much.  Then I decided, well fuck that.

What screws us up most in life …..

A day does not go by where I do not think about a blog post.

I  run the idea of what I want to post about, or more importantly what is running around inside my head and think of the words I will use to get it out.

Then I sit and stare at the screen.

Right now I need blogging — it is my life raft in what appears to be a rather chaotic ocean.

The default thought that overpowers my thinking is “divorce.”  I do apologise as this is going to be a recurring theme of this blog moving forward.  I can’t tell you when I will stop bleating about it.

If you can’t bear to watch, then please click away.

Kennith was hoping we could discuss the details about us parting company like adults and be amicable about the entire thing.  My guess is a spreadsheet and the possibility of a pie chart of some sort would be what moved across the table.

I realised that  is just not going to be possible.  Even with the best hope in the world.

And I love a pretty graph or pie chart.

The problem with a partner of 20 years who asks you for divorce, is that you are thrown into a situation where the person who was your best mate, your partner through it all, the person who was always looking out for you, is no longer THE person who is looking out for you.

Their agenda, their focus has shifted.  It has to.  We are both trying to survive this and get to the other side with as little damage as possible to ourselves and our children.  Kennith’s desire to cut his ties with me, does not mean that he is reaffirming his need to remain connected to me forever.

He is looking at ways that we can be independent of each other – and that unfortunately flies in the face of  what is good for me, or in my best interests.

“Divorce” or “being divorced from” has become a constant in my day – a feeling of rejection, of concern for my welfare, worry whether my children are going to be okay, worrying where we will live, what form our lives will take from here on in and and and …

There is an overriding sense bit of humiliation because I could not make this work. I failed.

This is not what I had planned and FUCK YOU UNIVERSE!! THE UNIVERSE IT APPEARS DOES GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN ACTUALLY DEAL WITH.

I wake up and it is the first thought that rolls through my head, and the last thought as Morpheus takes me away somewhere quiet.

Sitting across a table with Kennith and working out how the next few years of our lives will pan out is not something I think he is the best qualified to decide on. Admittedly I lost my voice a long time ago in this relationship.  So maybe I might not be the best person to make the BIG decisions either.

I don’t think Kennith is a bad person, or a person who plans badly.

Nope, I think he is jolly good at looking at something logically and divvying up a home and making plans in a very logical and calculating manner.

The problem is that nothing in this process is logical.  It requires me to negotiate with someone who is no longer my ally, and who emotionally is just not on the same page as me.

He is not the person I can trust in my darkest hour.  He is not the guy I can run to when I have had a scary day.  He is the guy who asked to leave the island.

I know he says he will look out for me and the kids, and you know I believe he believes that he will.  I do.  I believe he believes that.

But he has not been through this divorce.

I have had a little over 60 days to absorb : a divorce, my partner who I have lived with for nearly 20 years will no longer be living with me.  Every plan, every goal I have needs to be revised.  Every way I saw 2014 going will no longer be heading in the direction I thought it would.  Every solitary aspect of my children’s lives with be altered, revised, and changed and possibly change again.

Everything I know being broken down in some way.  I am feeling under constant threat.

Someone asked me last week what is the thing I fear the most about getting divorced and I said “being more broken ….. making my kids broken people…” and then I cried so many snot bubbles I could not finish my thought or the sentence.  I needed to move along as people were staring at me in the fruit and vegetable aisle at Pick ‘n Pay.

I cannot and will not get into a discussion with Kennith about how we should decide our lives from this point on wards.

I cannot afford a divorce lawyer.

I have asked Kennith that we use a mediator and facilitator, who was recommended to me.  He met with her and has agreed that we will work through her.

I am not suggesting that mediation will be pretty and lovely and have rainbows shooting out of unicorns, but it seems like the best option right now.

Next hurdle – Kennith moves out at the end of the month.

How the fuck did we get here so quickly?

140224_quote

Please note : I appreciate that this process is one that Kennith and I are both going through.  Please be gentle and careful with your comments.  I am not painting Kennith as the villain and me as the superhero.  

I think we will have different hats to wear throughout this relationship – and some days we will be the dog’s bullocks and some days the shit on the sheep’s arse.  No doubt we will take turns with who gets to wear the white hat.

What I share here is “public knowledge” to a large degree, and I would also appreciate it if you would be as kind and as gentle as possible.

I need this blog as “my place” – I have thought about having a private blog, but that is just not the way I can do things — and all of these things are part of who I am and how I got here, or where I will be going.  I need this blog right now.

I am not talking on behalf of Kennith  – this is my blog and this is about how I feel on a particular day.  I reserve the right to be selfish with my feelings and to write about what concerns me most – my perception may be blurred by the fact that I see things from my own perspective.

 Nothing here is in Kennith’s words – and he is free to disagree with me on all and everything.  He is quite entitled to those thoughts.  This blog is written for me, by me and about me.  Kennith gets to tell his own story, when and how he pleases.

Please play nicely on this blog – no shit talk, no slandering and no being a dick.  Please, I really do not have the energy for trolls rights now.

I really am dreading Valentine’s Day this year …

140211_Fuck Valentines Day

Valentine’s Day is usually not a big day in my calendar.

I think Kennith and I were whoop-di-doo into it for the first few years.  But then it just got naff, and turned into Woolworths dinners brought home.  And then after time, even that sort of faded away.  It’s also jammed in right after Xmas, and right after Kennith’s birthday.

I am not a bit Valentine’s Day person.  I am not going to burden you with the usual moaning stance of “it is such a retail hyped day” and and and …..

The brilliance about being in a long term relationship is you can sort of be a bit snide and blasé about the whole V-day thing (valentines day, not vagina, one can never be blasé about vagina day).  Because you are in a relationship, and you can sort of a be a bit “oh, we don’t have to worry about that sort of thing…” and watch Valentine’s Day kind of shift past you, and hardly raised a well defined eyebrow at the entire thing.

As divorce looms, and the idea of being a 42 year old single mother with three children appears to be my potentially new Facebook Status Relationship update, the fact that Valentine’s Day is coming around on Friday does make the bile in my gut sort of sneak out my sphincter muscles.

Both sides.

Valentine’s Day is just another day on the calendar, but this year it sort of marks the “first Valentine’s Day” in two decades where I have had to feel a bit “spare” on a holiday/retail hype day/Friday.

It does mark the beginning of a road of “days” where I am not quite sure how to deal with it, or how to prepare myself for it.  Uncharted territory shall we say.

Today is Kennith’s birthday – again the first birthday in two decades where we have not celebrated his birthday together.

He did invite me to dinner with the kids and his family, but I can’t do a polite dinner when I feel there is a huge freaking elephant in the room, and I just cannot smile that long ….

There will be my birthday, the children’s birthday, Christmas and every other holiday and high-day that I have always known where I will be, and who I will be doing it with.

Right now I feel a bit sick at the thought of this new journey.  Every one of these stupid days that will be the sign post of this new life, called Divorced, or Soon to be Divorced, or Nearly Divorced …. or Reluctantly Divorce … or “yes, it’s all a bit of a fuck up” … choose the term that you feel the most comfortable with.

I am still trying out various version of each, and haven’t quite found “my one” yet.

I really would like to hide under the covers, watch back-to-back seasons of Games of Thrones, and hide from the world.  With a large bottle of wine, and an equally large bag of Chuckles.  But I need to wear my Big Girl Panties, and actually just get on with it.

But it’s Valentine’s Day, so I just may go and work at the school’s fete and butter rolls for hotdogs.  That is actually an option open to me at the moment.

What did you get for Xmas? I got a divorce. You?

{I have changed the settings, so you will need to click through to the site to read the full post …… }

Kennith asked/made it clear that he wanted a divorce.

IMG_1431

On 20 December 2013.

I thought we were talking about the fact that I had got a dog (Parker, the French Bulldog}, and not really taken his thoughts regarding a new dog into consideration – and had gone ahead and got a dog.  That is actually what I thought the issue was about.

It appears I was mistaken.

This is Parker, this is not what the disagreement was about.  This is not what we are getting divorced over.

Parker_9179

Parker_9069

It was an evening that proved I was far off the gist of the conversation.

It also proved I had absolutely zero SPIDEY senses.  None it seems.

I did not see it coming.  At all.  No idea.  I still had not grasped we were talking about divorce until about 30% into the conversation – I kept thinking well this is about Parker.

Talk about a slow learner.

You know when you brain is going “kehhhhhh ……” {said in the accent of the waiter from Fawlty Towers} and not quite getting what it is that you are actually talking about?

Just like that.

I really would like to say that I took it like a real trooper, but I would be lying.

I felt like a truck had side-swiped me.  I still do.  I have given up looking for the truck registration.  I have chosen to just lie on the road and go “aaaahhhhh fuck!” in the hope another truck will come along and just finish it off.

I walk into rooms and wonder what the hell I am doing there, because I had forgotten.  Brain = blank.

I cried the ugly cry.  When your mouth does that shape that it is not meant to, and you cry so hard that the tears actually can no longer get out because your eyes are scrunched so hard.

Just like that.

I went on to convince myself that I had somehow heard wrong and Kennith did not actually mean he wanted a divorce after 20 years of being together.

We had not had an argument.  There was no screaming “fuck you” down the passage.  As far as I knew no one had “stepped” outside the relationship.

Well I am convinced that is actually how it is.  I was being broken the news whilst I was thinking we were maybe arguing about something totally different.

Xmas day came and went.  We had a lovely day with his cousin, and I was exhausted by 14h00.  I felt there was this elephant in the room that I could not mention, and was screaming inside – every minute made me die a bit more.

I took the kids and headed out to my mom in Hermanus on the 26 December.  I tried to take the time to digest what was happening – and just to have some quiet time in my head.

My mom let me sleep late.  I could spend time just staring into the distance.  She just let me be.  Bless her cotton socks.

My brain still told the rest of me that I was sure that Kennith did not mean it. He was just having a moment.

I would get back and things would be okay.  Strained but okay.  I had convinced myself.

My mom kept asking “but why?………..” and I did not seem clear on why, so she kept looking at me like I had confused the shopping list, and just needed to really get a grip on things.  I just sat on the couch and sipped wine, and stared into the distance.

She let me.  And for that I will be forever grateful.

I realised that Kennith had not suggested divorce as a conversation starter.  He had told me we were getting a divorce.

He explained his reasons, and though I did not agree.  They were his reasons, and I need to respect them.  I guess that is why it is called a divorce, and not a pleasant picnic discussion at Kirstenbosch.

I returned from Hermanus and was sure that if I walked in with a certain swagger and confidence, then this entire “divorce” thing would disappear.

It seemed no amount of swagger would do the trick.

He moved to the spare room.  He took the large screen TV.  I was left wondering what the hang was happening.  Having to tell myself in no uncertain terms that THIS WAS ACTUALLY HAPPENING – then have a bit more of an ugly cry into my pillow.

Divorce I was told was still the plan.

Then we started talking about child custody, and where we would live and all sorts of things that are without a doubt, what I would call a “fucking nightmare!”

My head is screaming.  I tried to look like it was all well within my grasp of things to absorb.

It wasn’t.  It isn’t.

This entire thing is an absolute nightmare.  NIGHT freaking MARE.

It seems however it plays out when I am awake, which is less than ideal.  When I sleep I dream of other things, so it is a nice getaway.

I am beyond the point where one goes “so how are you otherwise?” – I am a wreck.  There are no buts, there is no silver lining – I am fairly sure the time for unicorns and them farting rainbows is just about over.  This people is the time of hard decision, pain and anguish.

2014 is going to be a very challenging year. Winding a 20 year relationship down, has got to be challenging.

I don’t know, I have never done it before.  I am thinking that it must be “less than ideal” – my guess is it will be less then ideal. no matter how we much we set out not to “be ugly” to each other.

Translate hard as “what the fuck” – I just do not know how I will find the strength, the resources, and the mental and emotional power to make it through.

But one must.  Mustn’t one?  What are the choices?

Lots of difficult decisions to be made. Lots of anguish.  Lots of screaming. Lots of crying.  And lots of things that make me want to have a saline drip on wheelies with wine pumping in my veins 24/7.

But that might not present well to the lawyer when chatting about child custody.  So I may need to go and delete and few posts off this blog.

I will be the villain one day. Kennith can be the villain on other days.  And so it will go.

If we are lucky we can get to the other side without totally destroying our children, and maybe having a smidgen of respect for each other.

And a thin layer of sanity.  Granted zero bank balance, and my guess is a fairly low sense of self esteem.

I cannot do cliches.

I cannot do silver lining.

I cannot do “things will work out” … I just cannot.  If you tell me things aren’t over until …. oh, you know the rest, please please please try not to.

I know you think they will make me feel better, but the only thing that may make me feel better is if I was not having to go through a divorce in 2014.

Be there for my rants.  Be there for my silences.  Be there for my epic breakdowns and when I question sanity, and my place in the universe.  Just be there for me when I need bolstering and when I need a “quiet in my storm.”

It is all a bit of a cluster mind fuck right now.

Now you know.

Excuse me. whilst I have a long lie down.

Tune in again a bit later, normal broadcast will resume.

I wish that this was my sentiment – I really wish it was …… but maybe later …. or maybe never.

storm

How was your Xmas?  Did you get anything that surprised you as much?

{rules of engagement – it needs to be respected that both Kennith and I are going through this – I would really appreciate if there were no slandering comments, and just being a bit of a dick comments.  I am sure that both of us are to blame, in different ways, but at the end of the day we have three children, and though there might have been a decision on to be with one another, we need to respect that we are trying to do the best that we can.  And survive the day.  So, no shit talk!  ‘kay?}