B is for Bothered

Things that are bothering me, but not in the order of importance:

* It happened already. Remember I told you about the dental student who cruised the produce section while I hid in the back at the deli? Remember that I said someday I would come face-to-face with a professor or student? Yeah, well, that happened today. I had to show someone where to find beef broth, and as I was walking back to the deli, passed Laura, a girl who I used to hang out with at dental school functions. She said (in an incredulous tone of voice) "Marcy?" I kept walking. Didn't hesitate or turn around or even cry. Just marched back to the deli. I feel bad because she was really nice, but there I was in my stupid hat at my stupid job and I just couldn't face her. I'm sorry I suck, Laura.
                                  
* I am greatly bothered by wondering if my older sister's family is still in touch with Ex. I don't want to ask, because I don't think I could tolerate it if they were. It's too much. The betrayal is too harsh. I don't need to know. I want to know. Oh, how I want to ask...

* My landlord bothers me because he JUST NOW cashed my rent check from October. Um, it's almost January and you are cashing this check now? Now that I have no money? Now that I have stupidly quit my cushy job at the doctor's office? Thanks. A lot.
                                 
* I am seriously bothered because I met a Dude who I really like. He is really nice and sweet and I really like him and I really don't want to, because these things do not generally end well for me. Plus, I haven't talked to him in two days, so that bothers me, too. Is he done with me already? I know he is really busy these last two days, so on the surface, I am not bothered. Under the surface is turmoil like you would not believe.

* My dreams are bothering me big time. I have been having nightmares about school and not measuring up as a child. These dreams are so realistic that it is hard to come out of them. I have had spurts of bad dreams throughout my entire life. The dreams start out just barely disturbing me and get worse and worse until along come the nights when I wake up screaming or crying. Good. Times.
                              
* I'm bothered because I have a friend who was in my therapy group and stopped because she disagreed with her therapist, and now she is lost. I tried to help her set up an appointment with another therapist, but it didn't work out. My friend does not seem to be the most stable of people. I don't know her very well but I think she is really nice. It bothers me that she may be in danger from herself.

* I'm bothered that my house is messy and maybe that is why Dude hasn't called me the last two days. I am sure I am projecting my own insecurities. Easy to say, hard to own.
                              
* I'm bothered by breathing. Sometimes I just get sick of breathing and want to stop.

A is for Afghan



 



I feel like typing this in all upper case today. But that is hard to read and sounds like yelling. I want to yell. This subject bothers me.

 

Here is a picture of Ex sitting on the couch, wrapped up all nice and warm in the afghan my mom made for us. He loved that afghan and would spend most of the winter on the couch, on unemployment from getting fired from his latest job, snuggled up in the afghan. He rarely shared with me. Who am I kidding? I never tried to share. Like a dog that has been kicked too many times, I had stopped trying to snuggle with him or get any sign of affection at all. There was none.

I think my sister and her family still see Ex. My older sister, to clarify. The one who stopped speaking to me for over a year because of her messed up thinking. Yeah, that one. They were here a few days after Christmas and I swear my nephew whispered something about Aunt Marcy and Uncle Ex. My sister frowned and shook her head violently; my little nephew looked at me and bit his lip. A few months ago, I was at their house, hanging out in the backyard while my brother-in-law grilled. My little nephew said "I'm related to everyone in my family except..." and then stopped talking abruptly and gave me a look.
                                 
Am I just paranoid? I'm curled up in my afghan now, wondering. I almost left the brown afghan for Ex. I have several others and knew he would enjoy it and get more use out of it. Luckily, I came to my senses before leaving and took it with me. Ex didn't deserve the mud on my shoe. He had better not be messing with my family. I'm afraid to ask them because if they do still see him, I don't think I would be able to be around them anymore, and I really love my nephews. What a mess.



Z is for Zero

Zero is round. I am zero. I am round with no corners. I used to have edges; then I started taking a certain medication and my edges and corners rounded out. I hate that I am zero.

Zero means no quantity or number. I am zero. There is nothing to quantify my presence here on Earth. "Take a number," they say. I took a number. It was zero. Zero is never called. It is skipped over. I am zero.
                 
Zero has no meaning except as place holder. In 405, for example, the zero is not usually even said. Four-oh-five. Zero is forgotten. I am zero. Zero is sometimes confused for the letter "O". They look alike. They have entirely different meanings. Zero does not even have its own shape. It is not worth the effort. I am zero.
                                 
I used to count. I used to matter. I used to be of use in this world. I was much more than zero. Then I gave Ex all that I was and he showed me that, to him, I was zero. I didn't matter. I didn't count. I didn't exist. Ex was the one person in the world that I thought would put me first. The one person who would love me more than he loved anyone else. He was my husband. Shouldn't I count? No. Ex made that clear. To him, I am zero.

Zero.

Y is for You

Has anyone ever sat in a room with one hundred and eight peers and been told that you are the best and the brightest? That the odds of you succeeding are 98%? That your intelligence is so far above average that you are in a different class now?

I have.

Getting into dental school was not that hard. It should have been nearly impossible. Most people who start on the predental track in undergrad don't finish because it is too hard. Most of those who do finish don't have a high enough GPA or score high enough on the DAT or have enough volunteer hours to compete with those few who do. The few who are invited for interviews stammer and don't give the correct answers. Very few applicants are accepted to dental school.

I was.

You think I'm bragging? Nope. I'm not proud, not even that I got into dental school TWICE. That's impossible, you say. What would even be the point of that? Because my divorce was finalized July 29, 2010, and school started ten days later. I was a mess. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate, couldn't pass the tests. All of my class grades were dismal. The only thing that barely saved me was my lab grades. I was good at that. My GPA didn't measure up for two semesters in a row, which means automatic dismissal from dental school. I appealed and they let me take a year off and start fresh.

I did.

Then I flunked out again. My GPA was something like 0.02 points lower than it needed to be. The Academic Standards committee decided I wasn't dental school material after all. I was not one of the best and the brightest. I was the two percent. My intelligence did not measure up. I was a failure.

I am.

X is for Xmas

It is 12:27 on Christmas morning. I don't actually like the abbreviation to Xmas, but I needed an X and Xmas is timely. I was going to write about Christmas 2013, but, in keeping with the theme of this blog, will write about a past Christmas instead. We had two as husband and wife. Which one was worse? Hard to say.

I keep rewriting this. I can't pick. I don't feel like telling you in detail what happened on either Christmas, so I think I will tell you bits and pieces.
                                 
First Christmas:

* Ex and I went to dinner with my sister and mom on Christmas Eve. He pulled his chair out and sat at the end of the table instead of beside me. I told him I wouldn't bite and he grumpily moved his chair back beside me. As we were leaving, Ex harshly grabbed my arm and started telling me how he did not appreciate my manipulation and what a bitch I was. He was saying this very loudly in a room full of people while gripping my arm. I finally got away and just left. I was so embarrassed. I just wanted to disappear. Ex followed me and nothing was ever said about his actions. I hope my mom and sister didn't know what was going on. They had walked out first and I think they were just waiting in the lobby for us, not knowing what was taking so long. I hope.
                                    
*Ex's mom called him on Christmas morning and Ex immediately stopped talking to me. He didn't sit beside me at dinner and if I tried to join in a conversation he was having, he would get up and leave. My brother-in-law invited Ex out for coffee and when they came back, Ex wanted to talk to me in private. He told me that his mom wasn't doing well and he was upset. I asked why that would make him not talk to me all day and he just shrugged and left the room. We hadn't been married long enough for me to know that this would be a continuing theme in the relationship: his mom would upset him and then he would take it out on me. Happened a LOT.

*We had a family picture with all of the relatives. Everyone hugged their significant others and sat with their kids. Everyone except me and Ex, anyway. The picture of that Christmas gathering shows a glaring Ex sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looks zoned out and angry. I'm standing beside my mom, who saw I was hurt and put her arm around me. I'm trying not to cry in our family picture. (This was, of course, the same day Ex had not been speaking to me. He was charming and nice to everyone else and ignored me completely.)
                   
Second Christmas:

*I'll keep this short and sweet.
*And personal.
*And embarrassing.

*Ex had been working out of state for about six months. He came home one weekend and told me he had a wart on his penis. From then on, we used condoms. Why did I still sleep with him even though he was almost undoubtedly cheating on me? Who knows. Sex was rare, at least. I've come a long way since then. Bastard. What does this have to do with Christmas? Because a memory that is burned in my mind is the one of him throwing the used condom in a field after we had sex (for the first time in months) in the car on Christmas. He-Who-Does-Not-Litter, littering. With a used condom. Do you have no sense of shame? On our honeymoon, he told me he would divorce me if I ever littered. And he was serious. What a hypocrite.

Merry Christmas...ho ho oh well

W is for Water

I've told you before that Ex's dog came to live with us when we got married. She had been at his mom's house for years, but Ex's mom was glad to get rid of her as soon as possible. I loved this dog. She was seventeen, arthritic, diabetic, going blind and deaf, and just the nicest dog ever. She was my best friend while I was married to Ex. She needed someone to take good care of her and I needed someone to love me. Ex didn't do either, so she and I took care of each other.
                       
Ex and I went to the lake one summer afternoon and took her with us. She needs a name. Her real name was stupid. Ex's friend's girlfriend's name. Shante. SO, Shante was happy to be at the beach and was having a good time wading in the water with me. Neither one of us ventured in very far. I didn't because I couldn't swim, and she didn't because she was old.

Then stupid Ex decided she needed to swim like she used to when he was a teenager. He came charging up, grabbed her collar, and began dragging her into deep water. She got a panicked look on her face and began feebly paddling. Stupid Ex (that's all I can call him for this post. Stupid Ex.) was holding on to her collar and making her paddle in circles.
                     
He got really (!) mad at me when I saved her. He yelled at me all the way home about that one, telling me that she loved to swim and that I was an idiot for not letting her. Then he stopped speaking to me for a few days. I rarely stood up to Ex, but Shante was my friend and she needed help, so I helped her. I kind of hate him right now.

If I'm not crying, why are my eyes wet?

V is for Voltaire

"Tears are the silent language of grief." ~Voltaire

I have been crying a lot lately. I cry myself to sleep almost every night. I wake up crying in the middle of the night. I wake up in the morning and want to cry but have to make myself numb so I can get through the day. On a great note, though: I don't miss Ex anymore. I still think about him often and wonder what he is up to, but I think I am FINALLY teetering towards the anger portion of grief. Here's hoping, anyway.

"Man is free at the moment he wishes to be." ~Voltaire

I don't agree, dude. Or do I... Do I really want to be free of Ex and all of the pain he put me through, or do I want to continue to wallow in sorrow and say "Poor me"? I like to think I want to be free but I don't think I really do. Maybe that is the breakthrough I have been working towards in therapy. Nah, I already knew I didn't really want to get better. I feel that I deserve to be miserable. I don't deserve happiness and love. So I guess I do agree. Bummer.

"My life is a struggle." ~Voltaire

Getting up in the morning is the hardest thing I do every day, because in getting up, it means I am going to have to face my life. Some days, I am lucky enough to have the morning free, and on those days I just take care of my dogs and then we all go back to bed. Which means, of course, that I just have to get up again, but it seems like a good idea at the time. Oh, Ex, the power I have given you is ridiculous.

U is for Upset

I am writing this post under pressure, because I took an Ambien so I can sleep and not cry myself to sleep. Again. So I have approximately 20 minutes before I either pass out or start doing really weird things.

 I will tell you all what happend and fill in the details later.I was at work at my lowly grocery store deli clerk job when I looked up and saw "Stephen"cruising towards me with an "I want a sandwich" look on his face. I told my coworker tnat
////////////////
              
[Um, what? This, my friends, is what happens when one takes Ambien and types. Not a good plan, yo. Who is this mysterious "Stephen"? What is "tnat" and "//////////////////"? I most definitely should delete it but at first I found it very funny. Now I find it terribly sad. Either way, it made a clear statement: my life is unlivable at this moment. Things can get so bad so fast that the only way to cope is to drug myself into oblivion.

What did happen was that I was working at the deli and looked up to see this guy from dental school cruising the produce section. Luckily, I saw him first, so I went in the back and hid. I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. At some point, however, I'm going to have to face someone, whether it be a student or old professor, while I'm working at the deli. My therapist says I need to radically accept the situation. I refuse to accept that I work in a deli when I was well on my way to becoming a dentist.
                
I already have to deal with people who knew me when I worked there three years ago, asking what happened to dental school. I tell them it wasn't for me. This is true. It was beyond the scope of my capabilities at the given time. I can barely work 30 hours at the stupid deli without being completely exhausted. I can't do this much longer.]

T is for Tantrum

I have been contemplating this post for a while; trying to decide how much to share. It's embarrassing. I would rather not think about this at all, but decided I need to get it out of my soul. So here it is: The Tale of the Epic Tantrum, in all of its glory. This is longer than my regular posts, but there was so much to get out that you'll just have to bear with me.
                                  
Ex's temper was legendary. I don't know how he kept it under wraps while we were dating, but somehow he managed to hide that huge aspect of his personality. Once we were married, however, there was no filter to the temper. It came out early and often. On this particular occasion, we were at his mom's house, where Ex's fuse was always incredibly short. Well, shorter than usual, anyway.
             
Ex had one remaining friend in his hometown. I should be completely open here - Ex had one friend in the entire world. We met Matt (we'll call the friend) out for dinner and drinks and I was having quite a nice night. Ex was animated and joking, laughing and teasing, friendly and drinking... He ordered a pitcher of beer and drank the entire thing except for the one glass Matt drank. I didn't care; I was driving, and Ex was having a great time, so I was happy. I loved seeing Ex having fun.
                        
It was around 1:00 AM when we left the bar, but Ex was not ready to go home yet. He told me he knew of a parking lot he wanted to stop in to have sex before returning to his mom's house. (This is the embarrassing part, if you couldn't tell.) I was game at first, being the overly accommodating wife that I was. But Ex started being incredibly rude, putting me down, calling me names in his "joking" manner, and just being a complete jerk.

I drove back to the house instead of the parking lot. And Ex began his tantrum of the century.

He started screaming at me, telling me that I hated him and had never loved him. (I have to think hard here. I blocked this out. It was too much to bear.) His face was bright red, his eyes bulging out of his head, his fists and jaw clenched...does this sound familiar? Yes, Ex had tantrums all of the time, but this one went on and on and on. He called me a liar and screamed that he didn't know why I was with him when I hated him so much. He screamed at me for three hours before finally getting out of the car and going in the house.
                       
I sat there. I wanted to drive home but knew that Ex would be furious. So I just sat there. Didn't cry. I had learned that lesson. Ex hated it when I cried and it only exacerbated the situation. Ex came out about an hour later and gruffly told me to get in the house. The sun was coming up when we went in and lay down on the air mattress. I didn't sleep even though I was exhausted.

I guess I'll make up for not crying then and have a good cry now. Amazing how badly it still hurts.

S is for Static

I have gone back in time to a place when I thought I was happy and everything was okay. I was married and worked in the deli at the local grocery store. I was still working on my undergraduate and was working there when I found out that I was accepted to dental school. I was working there when I left Ex and then found out that he was trolling craigslist two days later for a date. I quit because I was afraid that Ex would come in and find me. He knew my schedule and that was back when I still (!) thought that he cared.
                                  
Now, I have flunked out of school twice, have a virtually useless degree in chemistry, have a humongous load of student loans, am divorced, have been in the hospital for mental issues twice, have spent hundreds of dollars on therapy and medication that doesn't seem to be helping at all, and am back at the deli.
                                     
The same core group of people still work there. The managers and the full-timers are the same. The product is the same. It is like stepping back in time. I got a twenty-five cent raise. I still won't make enough to make ends meet. Christmas is coming up and I doubt I will get to see my family. I don't have the money or the time off. I tutor on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but only a few hours each day, so it doesn't add up to much.
                                   
I don't have the ability to have a "real" job right now. I've had about nine jobs in the past three years. Can't stand to stay at one job, can't make myself get up every day, day in and day out, and go to the same, boring job. I'm stuck in a downward spiral and I don't see a way out.

R is for Roses

It took me a long time to be able to write about this. No one knows. Until now, that is...

We had just barely started dating when Ex asked me to go to his cousin's wedding in Colorado. I told him I didn't think I could afford it, so I wasn't sure I could go. Really, I just didn't know him well enough and thought it was too soon to travel with him. Ex decided this meant that I was going with him, so when the time came and I didn't go, Ex got really upset. He thought I was dumping him, even though we had been going out for over five months.
                                    
Ex came home from the wedding and didn't talk to me for almost two weeks. This was back when I was still independent and didn't have the self-esteem of a slug, so I didn't really worry about it. When Ex asked me out to dinner, I said yes and thought nothing of it.

During dinner, Ex confessed that he went on a date during that week of silence. I got mad and dumped him on the spot. Again, this was back when I was smart.

So Ex showed up at my house the next day. He had bought a guitar and taught himself how to play "Open the Door to Your Heart" and brought dozens of huge, beautiful red roses. I made him stand outside, and can still clearly remember him propping the door open with one knee while singing and playing clumsily, while trying not to cry. Then he cried.

                                    

Told me how he thought I didn't love him anymore, and how hopeless he felt, and how he had never met anyone like me before, with such a capacity to love. Told me how sorry he was, and how stupid it had been, and that nothing but a dinner had happened, and that he loved me more than life itself. Told me that he wanted to be with me forever. All but proposed.

                                   

You all know I ended my era of being smart right then, and took him back. This was the one and only time Ex ever bought me flowers. I've never been one for flowers, but now I hate red roses. They remind me that I had escaped Ex, only to take him back when he came crawling. Stupid.

Q is for Quiet

Before we were married, Ex used to come to my house just to hang out with me while I studied. He would bring a book and lie on the couch, using me for a pillow while he read. It was so peaceful and it made me feel very loved. Then we got married. Oops.

I noticed that Ex spent an inordinate amount of time with a book open on his lap, but he would just stare at the wall. I wondered if he was just thinking about what he had read, or what, but I never questioned him about it. I thought it was a little strange, but still a lovable habit. It was cute, I thought, and I quietly left him alone with his musings.
              
Towards the beginning of the end of our marriage, Ex enlightened me. He told me that my mere presence was so annoying to him that he couldn't stand to even read with me anywhere nearby. Even when I was quiet, Ex said, I disturbed him so much that he would stare at the wall instead of reading because he couldn't stand the interruption of my presence.

So instead of sitting there being cute, Ex was sitting there actively hating me. Good to know.

P is for Pie

Here, as promised way back in "I is for Instead", is the pie story. It was my first Thanksgiving as a married woman and we were spending it with Ex's mom. Things were strained, because his mom wasn't doing very well mentally and that stressed Ex out, which made him meaner than usual. And that's pretty mean.

Ex's sister invited us all over to a friend's house for Thanksgiving dinner, since Ex's family was so small and his mom wasn't up to cooking a huge meal. His mom decided to make a pie, and I helped her. It was a lot of fun; I mainly stirred the ingredients while she got things out of the cabinets. It looked delicious and I couldn't wait to try it.
                     
As the pie was baking, I decided to study, since I was just on break from school and had finals as soon as we got back home. I was at the dining room table when Ex came in and curtly told me he was going biking. I told him to have fun and went back to my books. Ex went into his mom's office and began playing on the computer. I thought nothing of it; he often got distracted with the computer.

A few minutes later, out he stormed. His face was bright red, his eyes were teary, his fists and jaw were clenched. He screamed that he couldn't take it anymore. Just couldn't stand it. I was shocked. I didn't know what he was talking about. Then he sobbed that he hated me and wanted a divorce, because I had been snotty when I told him to have a good time biking.  
                    
His mom disappeared and Ex continued his tirade. He finally wore himself out and went biking, right when we were all supposed to leave for dinner. It ended up that Ex went biking, his mom and sister went to the dinner, and I stayed at the house and sat in a lonely fog of despair. I didn't cry. I had already learned that tears just made things worse.

The saddest part of the story? I made a pecan pie for the first time and never got to taste it.

O is for Oh

Ex loved animals. He had a black cat that he had adopted from the local animal shelter, and his mom was currently keeping his dog because she was lonely and needed companionship. Then we got married and took the dog, because it turns out his mom was just keeping her for Ex until he got himself settled. Ex never walked the poor dog and rarely fed her. And most definitely never gave her the diabetic injections she required every twelve hours. He didn't really even like animals.

Oh.

Ex was a great outdoorsman. He loved to camp and took me camping before we were married. He had a great time and told me how much he loved being outside and listening to the birds at dawn. He loved to hike and climb mountains and I really enjoyed doing these things with him. Then we got married and never spent time together outside unless I suggested it. Ex would go along and gripe the entire time, telling me what I brat I was being and how much he hated me.

Oh.

Ex really cared about his mom. When we first met, he told me what a terrible mother she had been. He had only negative things to say about her. I pointed that out to him. Instant turn-around. Suddenly, she was a great mom and when she visited, things were wonderful. Ex was loving and attentive and caring towards both of us. Then we got married; his mom's slight dementia worsened considerably, and she needed to move in with someone. I suggested that she live with us but Ex said that under no circumstances would she be welcome in his home. She ended up locked in a nursing facility. I went to visit her and take her for walks, but Ex couldn't be bothered. I couldn't see her after the divorce. She was basically abandoned at that point. Last I heard, they were changing her sheets three times a day because she was crying so much. Ex moved back to his home town and moved into his mom's empty house and never visits her.

Oh.

Oops.

N is for Night

I waited to have sex until I was married. That does not, however, mean that Ex never spent the night with me. He did quite often. We would fool around and he would whisper all of the "terrible" things he was going to do to me once we were married. When we slept, he kept me wrapped up tightly in his arms.

At first, I couldn't sleep like that. I was used to sleeping alone and frequently moved around. But with Ex, I couldn't move without disturbing him. I didn't want to do that, so I would stay still until I fell asleep again.
                     
But I wasn't lying there suffering, wishing I could move - no, I was wrapped up in my man's arms. My man who loved me so much he was willing to wait for marriage. My man who expressed his love with actions, such as those times I was held in his arms. I would lie there feeling more loved than I ever have before.

If Ex woke up and saw I was awake, he might ask if I was alright or just smile at me. He loved me. I knew it. I loved him with all of me. Not all of my heart. All of me. Everything I was went into loving him.
                     
Regular readers know that things did not work out as planned. Regular readers know of the nightmare that began on our wedding day. But let's all just pretend that I didn't hand him everything I was. Let's all pretend he didn't stomp all over me. Let's all pretend.

M is for Mountain

Ex invited me and my mom to go visit his mom, who lived in an area with mountains. Not Colorado. Anyway, I didn't know why he had invited my mom, also, but she was into it, so I was happy. Then Ex proposed and it all made sense; he wanted our moms to meet before our wedding. What a kind and thoughtful thing to do.
                                      
Our moms got along splendidly and I thoroughly enjoyed our visit. We did all of the touristy things like going to the nearby national park, art museums, botanical gardens, and ate out a lot. Ex was so nice to me, so polite and thoughtful to both of our moms. I fell even more in love with him on that trip.
                                

On one of our last days there, he wanted to climb a mountain that was just a few minutes from his mom's house. We all went, but it proved to be a bit too challenging for our moms. They encouraged us to go on, and they went back down to sit and rest.

Ex and I made it all the way to the peak of the mountain. The view was incredible. Ex and I sat at the top for about ten minutes, just enjoying the view and each other's company. We had some trail mix and Ex happily chomped it as we sat there. He thanked me for bringing it and held his hand out to help me up.

                
That is the one time I had a good time at his mom's house. Every other time was after we were married and he always threw a huge temper tantrum and told me how much he hated me and what a terrible person I was. Crying, red-faced, shouting that I didn't love him. He was so wrong.

L is for Listen

Ex was a wonderful listener. We went out to play pool on our first date, but we didn't end up playing many games. I think we played two games and then we just stood there, leaning on our pool cues, talking and talking. I don't usually talk a whole lot, and rarely opened up to anyone. Ex was different. He was easy to talk to. He listened. He shared. He cared.
                     
A few weeks after that first date, Ex came over and handed me a book. "Atlas Shrugged" is a book I had always wanted to read, and I had mentioned it to Ex in one of our lengthy conversations. I didn't make a big deal about it; we were just talking about books we had read and I happened to mention wanting to read it. From that insignificant conversation snippet, he not only remembered, but he went to the bookstore and bought me a copy.
                                         
Making things even more meaningful was the fact that he went to the used bookstore. This was another thing I had mentioned to him. I like thrift stores, used book stores, and reusing things rather than throwing them away and buying new things. Ex really understood me.

I still have that book. It hurts to look at now, because it is a reminder that Ex was hiding his true nature before we got married. I just wonder why, since he had already faked it for two years, he couldn't just continue to be nice. Or at least not mean. I was married for life; I didn't even require him to be nice. Just decent enough to live with. He couldn't even do that for me.

*Side note: this is harder to think about than all of the rotten things Ex did during our marriage. I miss the man Ex was before we got married.

K is for Kill

I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was just trying to calm the panic crashing over my head in overwhelming waves of grief, sorrow, shame, hopelessness...
                       
I took one Ambien and two Xanax. They did not work. So I added three Clonazepam, two more Ambien, and three more Xanax. The enveloping panic would not go away, so I took even more. I don't know what I took. I think I just took one more cocktail and then realized that I had taken a frighteningly large amount of medication in a very short amount of time.
                                    
My psychiatrist answered her phone at 10:30 at night and pushed me to find a nearby friend to drive me to the hospital. It was find a friend or she would call 911. I tried to think of a way to get out of both, but 1) I was afraid I might accidentally kill myself, and 2) My brain wasn't working very well. So I called my most loyal friend (I'm sorry you have to keep saving me) and she came to pick me up.
                     
Then I woke up on my couch at 1:42 the next afternoon.

I have no idea what happened in between. I did go to the hospital, I had no traces of charcoal, and my friend told me that they kept me for observation but believed her when she relayed to them what I had told her - that I wasn't trying to kill myself. The stupid things I do...

J is for Justify

I don't have to justify my actions. My business is my business. I was talking to someone I considered a friend (oops) and she told me I need to get over things and move on and not get stuck in therapy.

Excuse me? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! This woman is in her sixties, has been in therapy for over five years, and all the stuff she is working on is from her childhood. I would never dream of telling her to "get over it", even though she has been in therapy WAY longer than I have, her trauma was WAY longer ago than mine was, and she hasn't moved on, either.
                                       
My trauma in a nutshell: sexual and emotional abuse by father, allowed by mother. Met and married a wonderful man; he turned out to be a sociopath. Older sister got mad because she thought I said something mean and stopped talking to me for over a year, in which I was also not allowed to see my nephews. Then got kicked out of house by sociopathic ex, got divorced, flunked out of dental school, appealed, got back in, flunked out AGAIN.
                                      
My friend (a real friend, not the one mentioned above) had been to the dentist recently and she brought her x-rays for a second opinion. From me. She didn't tell me what the dentist said because she didn't want me to be swayed by his diagnosis. I told her what I thought and she said "Damn. That's exactly what the dentist said."
                      
I am so good at diagnosing from x-rays, making things in lab, etc. My old classmates would work in the lab for hours upon hours and still fail the practical. I would do it three or four times and pass with flying colors.

And then I flushed it all down the toilet. I don't have to justify my depression to anyone. Anyone who thinks I should just "get over it" is an idiot and doesn't deserve to be in my life. See ya!

I is for Instead

This blog, in case you haven't noticed, is mainly about rotten things that Ex did during our marriage. I started writing them down to get them out and try to start healing. It does help, and I know I'm in a better place than when I first started writing. But the focus has been on the negative stuff.
                     
I was talking to a friend and telling her the story about pecan pie (watch for P to come back around). She looked straight at me and said, "Why did you marry him?"

"Because he was a wonderful boyfriend. I didn't know he was a sociopath until we were married and it was too late."
                  
Instead of focusing on the negative, I'm going to tell stories about before we got married. So you won't think I'm a fool for marrying him. I was, but not as much as it seems. Sociopaths tend to play nice and wear the nice guy mask until they don't need to anymore. I had good reasons to fall in love and marry the man I thought I knew. He kept the charade up for two years and tricked me into loving a lie.

  

 So instead of telling you the bad, I'm going to write the good. For just a bit. "P" may be a good place to switch back. We'll have to wait and see...

H is for Hill

Ex taught me how to snowboard. He was working in Colorado at the time, and there were mountains everywhere, but I started out on the Bunny Hill. I was having a good time sliding down the hill while Ex went on the higher slopes. Towards the middle of the day, I ventured out and we rode the ski lift up to the lowest spot on the mountain.

I managed it quite well, so Ex decided to take me with him to the top. I didn't want to go, but Ex was adamant and I didn't want to make him mad again. He had stopped speaking to me for three days and I didn't want a repeat of that, so I got back on the ski lift with a fake smile plastered on my face.

                                  

I'm scared of heights. Being on the ski lift and going up the whole mountain was terrifying, especially since Ex kept looking behind us and rocking the seat. We finally made it to the top. It was beautiful. We were up so high that we were in the clouds but could still see for miles. I am glad that I went up there; the problem was getting back down.

 

The snow up there was practically untouched and very soft. It was a thin ledge, too, so if I went too far to the right, I would fall off of a cliff, and if I went too far to the left, I would, well, fall off of a cliff. After sliding every which way and irritating Ex, I finally just took the snowboard off and started walking. Ex left me, of course.

 

When we met up at the bottom, Ex told me to go back to the Bunny Hill and we agreed to meet up in thirty minutes to ride the ski lift to the lowest point again. So I went back to the Bunny Hill, got my courage back up, and went to the meeting point. No Ex. I waited for 45 minutes. At that point, I was really tired (falling and getting back up takes a lot of energy!), so I didn't really mind standing around. However, I was beginning to worry about Ex when he finally slid up. He said he had been waiting for me at the top of the lift.

 

And went down three times. And avoided me, standing there at the bottom in my hard-to-miss lime green jacket and blue gloves. He was so passive-aggressive. Why do I still miss him? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?

G is for Goof

I goofed. Big time. I accidentally went on a date today. How, you might be wondering, does a fairly intelligent person "accidentally" go on a date? Well, because only slightly bright person puts an ad on craigslist, makes plans to meet this random dude on a Friday night, and then homeboy's grandpa gets sick and has to go to the hospital.
            
So dude reschedules for the next afternoon and we met for coffee and then walked around the neighborhood talking, and then we parted ways with a hug. Date. Total date. When it was supposed to be a random hookup. I don't get involved anymore. I don't date. Well, I didn't. Damn it.

What a goof-up.

F is for Fear

I had a really bad dream last night. It was Christmas day, and my whole family was in my mom's old house. I went downstairs and saw Ex sitting at the kitchen table with my relatives. A cold knot of fear formed in my stomach.
                                       
I only remember bits and pieces of the dream. I remember that my little sister (who, in the dream, was a child again) had let Ex in because she didn't know what else to do. I remember asking my mom for permission to ask Ex to leave. I remember the fear freezing my insides as I waited for her to tell me that no, I couldn't tell him to go. But she said okay.
                         
I remember telling Ex that he was not welcome in our home, and the cold feeling of fear from just talking to him again. I remember wondering if he knew what my path had been since leaving him, and felt embarrassed that I had fallen so far. I remember hiding in fear as Ex waited for his ride, which turned out to be a family (not his relatives) in a pontoon boat.  
                         
Will I ever talk to Ex again? Will I run into him at a relative's house? I'm afraid that my family would welcome him in. I really think they would. The holidays are coming up and I am afraid.