Posts Tagged 'divorce'

Woah where the fuck have I been?

Wow. It’s been almost 2 years. A lot can happen in 2 years. Lives can change, people can grow, horrible tragedies can happen….

…yeah some of that happened but let’s not get crazy here. It’s really not all that exciting. In fact it’s kinda downright boring.

So last I posted I was moving to Seattle. Yay for me! Holy crap that was a long time ago. Sorry I just can’t get over that. Yeah I moved to Seattle for 10 months and decided that I would be insane to continue living there. Depressed infertile divorcing people should not move to Seattle. There should be a law about it. The sky is a unique shade of grey. Let’s just leave it at that because there is good and bad up there but overall I had a hard time. (And to be fair to the lovely residents of Seattle, I wasn’t in my right mind. Don’t hate me for hating Seattle during a crisis ok? I was getting a divorce after years of infertility. Remember? Yeah.)

Fuck I dont know where to begin here. Nothing is the same. Literally nothing. Will bullets help? Yeah let’s try that:

– moved to seattle
– started hanging out with old grunge rock stars
– hated seattle
– got a call/job offer to move back to Cali
– moved back to Cali and started over
– bought a house for me and the kids (Sandy and Monster)
– stayed in touch with Mark and had INSANE-reality-tv-show-style-drama-that-didn’t-really-effect-me-personally-but-woah-was-fucking-crazy-because-his-life-has-fallen-completely-apart
– got fired from new job (oh there will be a post about this…)
– started working for baby company. Ironic? Umm yes

-lost 57 pounds
– Sandy died
– world ended

…so we caught up now? Yeah I think we may have glossed over a few things but perhaps this list can serve as gigantic chapters haha.

One thing I’d like to point out to the world that really I should keep to myself is that I have been single this entire time. Yup. I’m lame. Total loser right over here. I might regret this post in the morning LOL.

So for now I guess all I can say is that I’m back. Not sure this blog makes sense for my life anymore, but maybe feedback? No. I’m not trying to have a baby anymore. For now. Or ever? God I dont know.

Anyway…I am considering reinventing the babybound blog. It’s not the same and I am certainly many phases backwards from said original goal, but could this be a playground for ridiculous banter about my completely ironic job choice? Maybe? Or maybe you can all laugh at my absolutely ridiculous life of singleton after infertility. That works for me. Thoughts?

O yeah, I write a blog.

Where do I start?  Everything is different.  Like so different that I am pretty sure I’m thin and awesome now.

Hmm…First off, I got a job.  I know right?  Awesome.

Well yes but its in Seattle.  Which means I am moving to the rainy state.  Isn’t that exactly where someone going through a massive depression should live?  Just keep the flannel and heroine away and I should be fine.  It’s not really all that different from San Francisco.  We don’t see the sun for weeks around here.

I’m also selling my house.  Thankfully there are some decent advantages to being OCD about labels and cleanliness when it comes to preparing for this.  I basically had to move a chair and call it a day.  Phew.  But That didn’t stop me from going insane trying to make everything perfect perfect.  I’ve been runnin around like a Mexican jumping bean cleaning, organizing, paring down, staging, and most importantly, boxing up all Mark’s shit and throwing it down the stairs.

O speaking of Mark, yeah he’s back in San Francisco.  Not here at the house, but here.  He’s chosen to take up residency in the area of SF we all lovingly refer to as the Tenderloin (aka, were you go to score your drugs).  We are being civil, but not talking.  Just dealing with the divorce and the house sale as if we are coworkers.  At this point, that’s about all I can handle.  He’s still lying, using, and self destructing and its killing me to watch it.

I am thinkin about getting a new blog.  This one seems a bit umm…shall we say…irrelevant?  Stay tuned.

So that’s me.  Thank you to everyone who’s checked in with me.  I miss you all too.  I’m just not the same person right now.  I’m some facsimile of BabyBound.  See?  I’m not even clever.  I hope to God that Mark didn’t get that in the divorce.  Cause that’s totally my thing not his.  He can have my bad spelling, emotional wreckness and inability to sleep well, but he can’t. have. my. whit.  (anyone else think my face should be half painted blue when they read that?  I did…)

Please. Let me be sad.

I love my friends.  I really do.  I have great people around me that have been nothing but supportive.  Most of who read this blog so clearly any and all barking will not be done here…after today.

However…

I am really having a hard time with them.  Nobody will let me just be sad.  I’m fucking sad ok?  Just let me be sad!  Let me morn.  Let me miss him.  Let me cry.

I get it.  He’s a pig.  Yeah yeah.  But the more everyone sits around and tells me he’s a dirt bag, the worse I feel.  It isn’t helping.  In fact, it feels like judgment.  It feels like everyone ganging up against me.  Like I’m no longer allowed to have my own thoughts or feel my own feelings.  Like everyone around me is so afraid that I’m not going to do what it is that they want me to do that they forget that I’m a person that just lost her husband.  Let me be a wreck.  Let me say I miss him!!

Someone recently told me that 97% of my relationship was a nightmare and that I should just move on.  Wow.  Do they really think that I stuck around for 3%?  I mean common.  That’s just insulting.  Do I come off as that weak?  I can’t even imagine what that would look like.  Can you?  3%?  That would mean about 5 hours a year  with Mark were OK.  WTF?   I’d really like to think I’m stronger than that thank you.

It wasn’t until 2.5 years ago that things started to go sour with Mark and I.  Up until then, our 7.5 years together had been almost perfect.  We never fought.  We had fantastic sex like rabbits.  Mark loved every inch of me – and I him.  It was as if there was nobody else on this planet that could make me that happy.  We were even kicked out of the preliminary marriage counseling because we were told in the first session that it was “unnecessary” for us.  Mark and I were fantastic.  We had excellent communication with each other.

So what went wrong?  Well that’s a loaded question.  A few things:  First, our pride and joy, Daisy was killed and it seemed as though our world ripped apart.  We had failure after failure at pregnancy.  Then, we moved to San Francisco – a decision that I think was probably at the top of our stupid list.  Several big changes, and a lot of bad decisions.  All in all, life happened.

We used to be a disgustingly adorable couple.  We made people jealous of us.  Mark isn’t evil and I refuse to believe that he is now. There is a huge difference between evil and illness. He is sick and unwilling to get better.   I understand that.  I accept it.  But Jesus Christ I don’t have to like it.

Let me be sad.  I need to be.  I need to morn and cry.  For god sake let me cry.  I need to do this.  I need to remember why it is that I married him.  Not because I am looking for a reason to get back together with him.  I’m not that weak.  But the more everyone tells me he’s horrible the more they are judging me.  My choices.  My decisions.  My life.

It’s not what I need.  It’s not what I want.  I want to cry.  I need to cry.  And I don’t need to be told what to do.  I think I’ve proven already that I make decent choices.  Stop making it seem as though I’m incapable of doing so.

Let’s take inventory shall we?

I’m all over the place.  Relieved, sad, devastated, bored, scared, petrified, lonely, fat, tired, exhausted, sick of talking, bloated, hungry, sick, nervous, alone.

But not happy.  The one thing I am not is happy.  This may have been the right thing to do.  It was.  But nothing about it represents joy.

Day 1

Mark is gone.  He’s really gone.  Word’s cant even explain how disgusting and horrible I feel here.

Sunday afternoon I found coke in a small little piggy bank that I gave him.  Two baggies.  While this was a horrific discovery, it turned out to be only the beginning of what has been the worst week of my life.  Some rudimentary digging uncovered what I like to call:  a big fucking crap pile on top of a pile of shit.

Apparently our missing money can be found snuggly nested inside the nasal passages of Mark’s nose.  Along with thousands of dollars his parents secretly sent to him.

There is also a girl.  Her name is Jane.  I feel as though we have become really close through the 3 messages that she left him on his phone.  We’re like bff’s now.  Although being that we don’t seem to understand each other when it comes to our thoughts, belief systems or sobriety, I see this friendship being short lived.

It also seems as though all these meetings Mark has been attending as of late were more like Alcoholic’s Alliance rather than Anonymous.  He hasn’t been seen at a meeting in weeks.  By anyone.  And his old sponsor that seemed to pop back up in the picture to “help him get through his job loss”..well?  He hasn’t heard from Mark in years.

With all this pirate treasure of information, change had to happen.  I mean really.  I didn’t exactly have a choice here.  An intervention was planned.  His father flew out here.  We staged a meeting behind Mark’s back to surprise him.  Everyone was involved.  Mark freaked the fuck out.

He had two choices:  1.  go back to NY with his father and straight to the rehab facility that we lined up for him.  Bags already packed.  Planes already booked.  2.  Get out and never come back.  Locks changed.  Police called.

He ran away.  Called his bff junkie dealer who turned on him.  Came back.  Got on plane.  No lookin back.  HATES me.

I know I did the right thing.  I absolutely did.  It’s single handedly the hardest thing I have ever done.  (and probably will ever)

Time to start over.  I’m terrified.

Fail

OK.  Frankly I’ve been a terrible blogger in 09′.  I know this.  It’s hard to stay positive and upbeat when you’re life is turning into a big pile of donkey shit.  What started out as a blog about trying to have a baby has kinda become a place where I store all my venting about my happy happy hell.  Having a baby has become so far off into fantasy land that it isn’t even remotely recognizable anymore. Somebody probably turned that light off years ago to conserve energy.  I’m really hoping that can count as me being “green”.

I strangely take comfort in knowing that the rest of the country is in an economic hell with me.  We’ve all come to play at the same party and somehow found ourselves locked in the basement where the scary S&M shit is going on.  I’d really love to be let out now please.  You’ve scared the hell out of me and I have been sufficiently scared for life.  Thank you.

I spend at least 60% of my day telling myself how happy I should be about the things I still have.  My house, my dog, my health, my family, bla bla bla.

Then there’s 30% of stuff I have to just kinda laugh off.  No baby, no job, a banking nightmare, a fat ass…

But just when you thought I was horrible at math, no.  10% of my day is spent freaking the fuck out curled up in a corner crying.  In a dark room.  With damp walls.  And a clown laughing at me relentlessly in the corner.

Its that 10% that we will be focusing on today.  For some strange reason, its that 10% that has me paralyzed with sadness these days.  While I’m sure there is plenty about the other 90% that outweighs it, it’s this last 10% that I can’t stop thinking about right now.

My husband is a bipolar alcoholic and has turned into a selfish, all consuming child as of late.  He lies.  He manipulates.  He yells.  O sure there are good things about him, but I am really having a hard time finding them anymore.  Nobody else is allowed to be depressed when he is.  Everyone else has to be responsible and thrifty and careful because he simply wont be.  He’s a child.  Not a husband.  He wants a mother.  Not a wife. (O and anyone concerned with him seeing this, don’t be.  He has never been supportive of my blog.  Never reads it.)

He hasn’t had any respect for me or our marriage for a rather long time.  Its been hard.  I think I’ve been trying to tell myself that its temporary and that we’re just going through rough stuff, but common.  Things are hard for both of us these days but you’d never know it by observing the unbelievable attention and support that Mr. Babypants has been requiring lately. At the mere suggestion to his horrible behavior he goes bananas.  He gets manipulative and mean.  Then says crap like “leave then if you want to.  I can’t make you stay.  You’re the one that wants to go.  Then go!”

This last 10% has me all consumed.  I actually don’t exactly know what to do to fix it.  I know what some of you might say.  Leave him.  That’s not as easy as it sounds. I can’t change him.  I know this.  I don’t even want to.  He did the changing.  This isn’t even close to who I married.  He doesn’t even look the same.  And he took up smoking??  Who the hell takes up smoking in their late 30’s?  Really.  Who does that?  Especially when you know your wife loathes it.  And wants to have a baby someday.  See?  Completely self absorbed.

There have been no flowers, or nice gestures.  No selfless acts.  No making up for any of the insurmountable crap he’s put me through.  No meaningful “I’m sorry”s.  He figures that since he doesn’t think I’ll care he wont even try.  No effort at all.  No respect.  He’s just turned into a lazy child who wants to be taken care of and coddled and do absolutely nothing in return to show his appreciation.

I don’t know guys.  Things are bad enough.  I’m starting to think that a huge part of all this sadness is based on my bad decisions to stay with this man.

O wait. We need to talk about something else.

Today is my Grandpa’s funeral.  Did you all forget about him?  You did right?  Its ok.  Its my fault.  I can’t seem to spread my crapness out evenly.  I’m sorry.  I’ll work on it ok?

I am going to be spending the next 4 days down with my family.  We have the funeral, a memorial, a burial, some sort of party, a church service, probably a circus and I think I heard something about a concert?  I’ve been referring to this extravaganza as funeralpalooza.  I mean really?  4 days?

I plan on being the drunk in the corner the whole time.  Who’s going to stop me?  And if they do?  O well wont they feel pretty foolish when I bark back with tails of my husband leaving me for no reason and divorce.

…I said I’d work on separating out the crap.  Its a process.


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