Ending the Silence
I’m not dead.
Though I no longer much resemble the person who once posted here.
Little did I know that that brief moment of peace at the end of 2011 was just a brief respite for the nightmare that was to come. The calm lasted, like a miracle, through Christmas. But then it was shattered, by nasty words through texts, a hammer and a visit from the RCMP…
So dramatic, so traumatic and just the beginning of the deconstruction the life I had and the person I was.
I didn’t post, in part due to the fact, my not-quite-ex-husband had infiltrated many of my online accounts; Gmail, Facebook, Yahoo and had started following me online through this blog and my Twitter account. Though I closed the breaches, set up stronger passwords and blocks, the feelings of fear and violation remained. And I don’t know whether I chose not to post or whether that was just another symptom of my withdrawal from the life that was. The life that was no more.
So only a few were aware when my not-quite-ex-husband convinced my children that I was a horrible mother and that they’d be better of with him and more than that…that they had a choice. And they all chose to go.
And I chose to let it happen.
Didn’t even put up a fight.
And the guilt I’ve been wracked with that I haven’t begun to fight…
So there went the mother tag I’d been attached to for fifteen years. A piece of my identity torn away in a way I never could have predicted. And yet really I should have known.
He’d once told his father that if he ever won the lottery he would take the boys from me and go so far away that I would never see them again. We fought about that more than once over the years since he said that. I was always told I was making too big a deal of something that was said in anger.
And yet, he didn’t need to win the lottery to accomplish half of that. I see them every second weekend. Sometimes.
Sometimes they are too sick to come, or they have homework that must be done there or they forgot that I was coming that week so they didn’t prepare…
I think maybe some mothers out there might understand why I couldn’t write through the pain and heartache.
Though in truth, it wasn’t all as dismal as that…
Because as the old me was dying and as my ability to write absconded along with my creativity, I found new love and began to find the strength to rebuild…
And day by day, I’m coming back.
Different.
But back.
And ready to take on the world again. A little bit at a time.
And soon, God-willing, I’ll have the will and the resources to fight. And to win.
Until then I’ll take the baby steps and celebrate one victory at a time.
Today I wrote.
And it feels scary. Scary, but good.
A cry in the darkness
I can’t recall a moment when I was more miserable, and I’ve had a lifetime of miserable moments stored up. It was December 22nd, 2011 around 8am or so. I laid there in psychological agony and utter misery as I thought about the events of Sunday night…re-reading the texts and gtalk messages that laid out the evidence of a suicide attempt by my estranged husband who at the time had custody of our then fourteen year old son. (He’s come home to me and turned 15 since.)
I was crawling out of my skin with exposed emotions swirling, warring, coursing through my entire being.
It wasn’t thought or faith that brought me to my knees, but an overwhelming sense of abject failure.
I don’t know whether it was out loud or in my head, but I cried out to the Lord.
And He answered.
Oh my Lord, how He answered.
I know I’ll fail miserably in fully describing the moment because it was indescribable. More feeling than substance, but I felt the physical presence of arms around me and breath on my cheek and I knew more than heard the words that have sustained me since…
“It’s going to be okay”
And peace beyond measure filled me and joy overflowed.
Yeah, I know…roll your eyes if you must. I totally would have before it happened. There are moments since when I’ve doubted how real it was. Stress induced delusion anyone?
But it wasn’t.
And in another instant or perhaps even the same one, all the hurt and anguish and guilt and shame were sucked out of me…and in my mind’s eye I could see it like a Star Trek tractor beam, extracting the crap that had been building up, festering and feeding on my soul.
And when it was over, I cried.
Not a wah, wah, sniffle cry…a big, loud and releasing cry. And long…
Like it lasted two freaking hours long.
And I relived a lot of nasty, nasty stuff in those two hours. Things I’ve done, things done to me, opportunities missed, people I’ve hurt…lots and lots of people I’ve hurt.
And when it was all over and done…I was refreshed.
As if I’d slept for days. Though sleep was (and often still is) mighty scarce.
To be continued…
Looking Back
I’ve spent the last two days in virtual isolation. Other than an hour or so out each day, I was cocooned in my own little world with no commitments, no deadlines, no responsibility to anyone but myself. It was cathartic and exhilarating and very much needed.
I had originally scheduled my days of seclusion to last three days, but my plans went sideways when my friend whose house I was using needed to come home from vacation early, but by then I had done what I needed to do. I feel cleansed and refreshed and ready for the new challenges that face me.
I am pushing myself out of my comfort zone in all areas of my life…stretching myself into the me I want and deserve to be.
I’ll be spending this New Year’s eve in with my best friend in the whole world and her little boy, a couple of children (and a dog) belonging to another friend who got called into work and hopefully, if the almost-ex approves, my own boys. I’ve asked, I’m waiting on a text back right now.
Meanwhile, even if I can’t be with my boys tonight, I know there will be tons of time to catch up with them in the New Year.
It’s been a stressful, strange, beautiful, crazy year…the last 6 weeks have been the bumpiest part of the journey so far…as we bring this ride (our marriage) to an end more peacefully and amicably than I ever could have hoped for or imagined. But it’s come with new heights and greater depths in a shorter time than we’ve gone through before. I’ve lost 15 pounds without meaning too and I’ve staggered my way through too many epiphanies to process at once.
In a couple of days the hard work of retooling my life into the reality I envision will begin.
Tonight, I am taking the time to feel the joy of counting the multitude of blessings in my life…family, friends, & faith…knowing that I am ready for whatever comes next because “I love myself today“
Not quite the single life
I’m separated, but I am not playing single.
It doesn’t make sense to me in the best of circumstances, let alone ours.
I’m not sure he believes me when I say I’ve chosen to remain celibate.
Does he think I want to add drama to an already insanely emotional time?
I don’t. I want to be crazy selfish and do things just for me, not invest time and emotional energy in someone new. I’m enough of a mystery to myself at this point, thank you very much.
And so it begins the moments I thought about and planned for, but really thought would never come to pass. I always thought he would get better before I got fed up, before I lost all patience. He appears to be getting better, but only he and God know the scoop on that at the moment. I’m not ready to go there yet and it’s not my place to be in-the-know now.
It will be an interesting year, and I’m feeling blessed that is (thus far and God-willing will continue to be) an amicable process.
I can’t quite now picture all the different delivery and reaction variations I envisioned, but I do know that reality has once again showed itself to be much more twisted and infinitely more nuanced than I can ever hope to be.
Then the end came
or a new beginning.
The ultimate result won’t really be known for some time to come. A year, at the very least.
What am I talking about. My husband and I separated officially the day after my last post. November 5, 2011.
It was, as stated in that last post, a long time coming. And still, it feels like somewhat of a surprise.
There’s many emotions and thoughts not for public consumption, and so some upcoming posts may have password protection. Friends are free to buzz me to ask for the passwords 
Why?
“Why?” He asks.
“Why now? Why?”
How do I explain that the why stretches back through time interspersed in the everyday moments?
That whatever he could have done then or at any moment since might have altered the outcome, but now the accumulation of moments has become too much to overcome.
Well at least too much for humans, I’m sure God could do something…but I am not entirely sure God works that way.
I just don’t know that there is anything that could dissuade me from this course away from him.
He says he is at peace with this…that he accepts it.
Only time will tell. Isn’t what matters here that I am at peace with it.
It’s been a long time coming…
The day his status changed
I don’t quite know how to to describe the emotions that jolted through me as I confirmed that this time just might be different. I’ve changed my own Facebook status to “separated” twice in the past 8 months, and he’s changed his to “it’s complicated” at least once…so it’s really not a surprise…though the speed at which he jumped the gun straight from married to divorced…that was stunning.
But then he did threaten this morning that I’d better get my shit together because I would be getting a call from child services…
Cuz I’m a messie.
And after a day of work mopping the floor just never quite makes the priority list.
So no…it shouldn’t have seemed like such a surprise.
I’m still hitting here trying to decide how to feel about this strange train of events that began when I didn’t immediately answer his texts and phone calls after my counseling session last night. After I finally did answer and tell him that I didn’t feel like talking – he texted “I’ve had enough”
I thought “I have too. DUH!!!”
But I didn’t respond. That was hard not responding.
Maybe if I hadn’t answered when he texted and called again this morning his Facebook status wouldn’t read “divorced”
As if writing the word makes it reality…but whatever.
What a weird way to end it.
But then the beginning was a bit odd too come to think of it.
No matter now…those will be thoughts for another night.
For now it’s time to put the worries away and hang with the boys that are home with me. Pizza and pop and some low key Friday night fun…
My Rock Star Moment
Have you ever had one of this moments that just feels like the best moment ever? One that you know you will be able to look back and relive the feelings over and over again..a moment that will forever pick you up, if you can just remember and hold onto it, when you’re feeling down.
I had one of those moments last Friday night.
Which is funny because my hubby and I fought over this night for weeks. I don’t generally go out, but I really, really wanted to go. So I did. Despite the fight, despite the guilt and the general bad ju-ju that fights like that generally cast upon an evening. I turned out to be a night I will never forget…
One of the owners and five of the staff had birthdays this month, so we had a party in the lounge in their honour. Friday is always karaoke night. I intended to sing. I’d only done it once before…and it thoroughly sucked.
And that totally makes sense. Because I can’t sing.
Which makes the whole night almost some kind of miracle.
I had intended to just embrace the suckiness and just have fun.
So there I was…about halfway through the song and I look up and my boss is swinging her arms clapping in time to the beat, and I hear my name…and hooting and hollering and clapping.
And it was fucking amazing.
Because at that moment I realized that I was rocking it.
Really rocking it, in front of real people.
People who loved me, yes. (About 50% of the crowd was staff and regulars) People who were right and royally pickled out of their minds, yes. Tone deaf, no doubt.
But that’s okay because in that moment they were loving me…screaming my name…
And I had a brief but tangible rock star moment of my very own to treasure.
I hear there is video footage. I haven’t seen it yet. Don’t know if I’ll be too embarrassed to put it out there if it does exist. But there is no doubt I’ll be replaying what my mind recorded over and over for years to come.
It’s probably not a good thing…
That one of my newest power me up songs is Theory of a Dead Man – So Happy.
(Warning for my Christian friends…explicit lyrics…don’t listen if you’re sensitive to swearing)
Yeah, I thought not, but I can’t help it…
Guns n Roses
I started listening to Guns n Roses thinking of my husband…we’ve shared many a time to the tunes over the years. But the music took me back further still…
To the times when my parents would go out and the sattelite would tune into MuchMusic and my brother, then somewhere around 4 or 5 or so, would air guitar to Paradise City…
It was his birthday earlier this month, on the 14th, but I don’t know his address, or his phone number…and I can’t seem to find him on Facebook. Facebook did not exist last time I saw him. That was 14 years ago. Or 13.
A long time ago, in any case.
My eldest was just turned one, and the second was not quite on the way yet…which really makes it a finite period in time that it could have been. But it’s not relevant, really.
I was no longer family by then.
For not too long after those crazy jam sessions, I moved away. I didn’t know until the day after I said good-bye that the door would close…that the relationship between my half brother (and my half sisters) and I would be severed for so long.
I don’t know if it would’ve changed things if I knew the next day that when I called home collect that I would hear the man I called Daddy say “I don’t have a daughter by that name”…
But I didn’t know.
And I didn’t say good bye in a way that is any way memorable.
But I can still hear him playing…I wonder if he remembers Paradise City and what it once meant for the big sister he barely knew.