Z is for Zest

I don't know what has happened to me. I have no zest for life anymore. I miss feeling happy. I miss feeling sad. I miss feeling. If you have read much of this blog, you know that a lot of bad things have happened lately. And not-so-lately. I've been in therapy since February, 2012 and currently feel that I am going backwards.
                                         
Before, taking two steps forward and two steps back didn't rob me of my zest for life. But then I lost my purpose, and then I lost my drive, and now I've lost my feelings. I would say I can't live like this much longer but that would be false. I'm not really living now. I exist. That is all. I breathe. I can't exist like this much longer.

                                
My therapy group disbanded and now I'm stuck with either no group or trauma group, neither of which is appealing to me. I'm seriously considering just quitting therapy altogether. If I feel this crummy with all of the therapy and all of the medication, why bother?

Y is for Yawn

All I want to do lately is sleep. I don't have fun doing anything at all, even though things are going pretty well right now. Okay, $23 short of "well". I'm $23 short on rent this month. I can pay it, just have to put some cash that I was trying to save in the bank. Ha! As if I can afford to have savings.
                                         
Funny how I start out with yawning and it turns into a poverty story. That's the way my mind works, though; it just flits from one thought to another with very little rhyme or reason. If I had my way, I would cuddle with my dogs all day and sleep all night. I would never get up except to take care of my dogs. We would go on walks and hang out in the backyard. I wouldn't mind napping in the backyard.

                                  
At work, all I do is yawn. It's crazy. I can sleep 12 hours and still be sleepy. I tried barely sleeping at all, but it makes no difference. I'm just sleepy all of the time. Wishing I was in bed. I wish I was asleep right now. In fact, I think I'll go take a nap before bedtime. *yawn*

X is for Xenoplastic

Xenoplastic: involving distantly related individuals.

Am I still related to my in-laws? I haven't had any contact with any of them since the divorce, but does that mean we aren't related anymore? Is xenoplastic not a word that describes us?
                                     
Ex's Uncle B and Aunt J were really nice to me the whole time Ex and I were dating and then married. They had us over for dinner a lot, and we went to their church a few times. I miss them. His sister told me I was the sister she never had. Ex's mom liked me more than she liked Ex. But I accept that, in divorcing Ex, I removed myself from his circle of relatives.
                      
Did Ex accept that as well? No. He did not. Ex continued to talk to my brother-in-law and they are still facebook friends, even though my brother-in-law knows it bothers me. Ex even went to their house once after the divorce! That nearly killed me when I found out he had been there. I felt betrayed. It still hurts. He didn't think of xenoplastic as relating to him. Ex was exempt from normal societal rules.

As I'm writing this, I can't believe my sister invited Ex into her home. I saw a picture of him with his arms around MY nephews. The pain is sharper than it should be, this long after the fact. I am unbelievably angry right now.

W is for Whirlwind

I just got caught up in a whirlwind. I somehow managed to land a job at a local website that wants me to be in charge of their blog. I'm currently looking for two writers to fill positions. How crazy is that? Me, with the power to hire and fire? Just last week, I was a lowly customer service representative at a doggie daycare and now look at me.

                                      
I can't quit my day job. Yet. I'm busy checking my new blog email to find resumes and the like. I'm so excited! Wish me luck in my new whirlwind! And yes, I'll still write this blog. This is my baby. I just have two babies now.

V is for Vehicle

Ex was not usually a bad driver. My dad was a very aggressive driver and frequently terrified the whole family with his anger and bad decisions. One thing I looked for in a man was for him to be a good driver. Ex was. His vehicle was a Toyota truck, and he took great pride in keeping it clean and running well.
                               
Until the day we left the library to find the truck, which was parallel parked, squished in between two cars. There was enough room to wiggle out by going backwards and forwards quite a few times, but Ex was having none of that.
                    
He backed up just a little and then rammed the car in front of us, breaking their tail light and his headlight. I was shocked but said nothing. If he was mad, there was nothing I could do to make the situation better. So I just sat there. I think I may have even laughed. I'm not proud. But what else could I have done?

                       

U if for Ufology

Ex and I were making a 13-hour drive to visit my little sister. It was a dark, clear night, and I was driving. Ex wasn't sleeping but, of course, wasn't talking to me, either. All was quiet. And tense.
                                      
Suddenly, there was an extremely bright green light high in the sky. It just lasted a few seconds and then was gone. Ex and I were both very excited and wondered what it was that we had seen. So we listened to After Dark on the radio, and heard other people calling in and talking about the same light.
                                
I will never know what it is that we saw, but I am grateful to that light, whatever it was. It got Ex to talk to me and he forgot to give me the silent treatment for about one hour. It was a nice reprieve.

T is for Towel

One of the best things (and trust me, there are very few) about being divorced is having a dry towel waiting for me when I come out of the shower. Ex used to drape his towel over mine, causing my towel to soak up the moisture from his.


                                          
Drying off with a wet towel is both impossible and cold. I made the mistake of asking him not to put his towel on mine. That earned me several days of the silent treatment, and, worse, a wetter towel. I think he actually put water on it on purpose after that.
                                      
I didn't make the mistake of asking twice. Screw me once, shame on you. Screw me twice, shame on me.

S is for Stars

One cold winter night, Ex was bored and wanted to get out of the house. The problem was that he didn't know what he wanted to do. I started throwing out ideas, and he kept knocking each one down. Finally, I hit on something he wanted to do - drive the truck out to the country and look at the stars.

                             
I was pretty excited. How romantic was this? So we bundled up, grabbed some blankets for the truck bed, and headed for the darkness of the country. By this time, Ex and I had been married long enough for me to know that there would be no sex, no matter how romantic the situation. But I had accepted things like this and was just happy to be doing something with Ex.
                           
We finally got far enough away from the city to see the stars. Ex turned onto a dirt road and found a driveway into a field. We got out, laid the blankets in the bed, and got in. It was great. Ex wouldn't touch me, not even to keep warm, but we lay there in comfortable (I thought) silence, just enjoying being together.

Wow, was I stupid.

A few months after that, Ex brought that night up. He told me he was so mad at me and just wanted me to shut up. I was lying there loving him and Ex was lying there hating me. One of my few good memories, ruined.
                           
Cold, clear winter nights still make me really, really sad. And writing this made me cry. And yet, I still miss him. Will I ever come to my senses?

R is for Robbie

Robbie is the only one who's real name is used here. He's my beloved dog. Robbie is currently snoring beside me on the couch. Little Woof, my other best friend, is on the floor killing a rawhide. Robbie finished his a long time ago.

 

What would I do without my two best friends? I have no idea. They keep me company and are truly wonderful individuals. They keep me on track, too. Woofie growls at me if dinner is late. Sometimes she starts growling early, if she's hungry or bored.

You could say I rescued them from an animal shelter, but you would be wrong. They rescued me from being alone all the time. They are great companions and this post goes out to the faces I love: Robbie and Little Woof.
               
Robbie was my foster dog when I was in the process of leaving Ex. Robbie was scared of Ex and I thought he was scared of all men, but he's not. He was just scared of Ex. Smart dog.

Q is for Quit

I need to quit stalking Ex. How is it that after all of this time and all of this therapy, I still want him to want me? Shouldn't I be done with all of that by now? 

                                                               
Last night, I made a fake facebook account. Found a picture of a beautiful woman and used it for "my" profile picture. Sent friend requests to random people facebook thought I might know.  It took a long time to make it look real. I even picked out favorite books and movies. Finally, I sent Ex a friend request.
                                        
What is wrong with me? Ex was so mean and heartless and I should hate him, not be trying to find out what he's doing these days. I have to quit.

The account is currently deactivated. It is really easy to reactivate it. I have to quit stalking Ex.
                                    
Just. Quit.

P is for Passion

Which I have lost. I have no zest for life anymore. No passion for anything. Life is a drab, dreary existence. It has been a long time since I have been excited - truly excited - about something. I used to love life. I used to look forward to each day, wondering what new and exciting things the day would bring.

                             
How does one reclaim passion? Where did it go and why? There are very few things I even barely enjoy anymore. I was thinking today that I hate my job. My new job I just got. I hate it already. The problem is, there is nothing I would rather do.

                        
Passion is gone from my life. Ex stole it. Or, rather, drained happiness from my soul. I miss being happy. I miss wanting to be alive. I miss having a purpose. I miss me.

O is for Ololygmancy

What does ololygmancy mean? Don't worry; I didn't know, either. Had to look it up. It refers to the practice of telling fortunes by listening to the howling of dogs. Does anyone reading this know how to practice ololygmancy? If you do, please let me know, so I can learn from you. It would be very useful for my full-time job.
                                       
How so? I work at a "pet resort" now. It's my official full-time job. I have three other jobs as well, none of which pays squat. Anyway, back to ololygmancy. What a great word. If I knew how to interpret the howling of dogs, I would be a genius at work.
                                       
I could probably quit and become a pet psychic! That would be fun, no doubt. I don't like my job. It sucks. I run dogs back to daycare all morning and check in boarding dogs and call vets to check on vaccinations. It is stressful. The clients pay a lot, and they expect great service in return. I can see why. If I paid that much, I would want someone who knows what's up, too.
                                   
Guess I will get used to it. This was only my sixth day and there is a lot (!) to learn. I think it will be an easy job once I get the hang of it. If only Ex could see how far I have fallen...

N is for Night

I used to have insomnia really badly. I could barely sleep, ever. If I had the time, I could generally take naps, but I rarely had time back when I had insomnia.
                                      
Now I sleep like a log. Now, that is, until tonight. I went to a different therapy group today. It's called "Trauma Care" and deals with, duh, trauma. There were so many things we talked about that triggered bad things for me. I can't go back. I won't.

And now here it is, 2:51 AM, and I am still awake. I have to get up to go to work in two and a half hours. That is not a lot of sleep, yo. The group leader said that not being able to sleep was because something traumatic had happened at night and insomnia is the body's was of protecting you. If you don't sleep, maybe nothing can hurt you.
                                            
I hope this doesn't last long. I don't think I can take it again.

M is for Money

I left Ex over the spring break of 2010 while he was working out of town. He knew I was leaving and didn't care; he had told me, in fact, to get the f*** out of his house. (The audience gasps!) What had I done to offend this man in such a manner that he kick me out of his house? (Yes, when I say "his" house, it's not a typo. He made it very clear that, although we were married, the house was his and his alone.)

Well, I told Ex that we didn't have enough money for him to ride his motorcycle that weekend at a trial race. He didn't actually race motorcycles; he just went to track days and tooled around the track a few times, dropping about $500 in the process.
                                
Ex had been unemployed for several months prior to this job and I was in school full time, so there was not a lot of extra money. Oh, and did I mention that not only was I in school full time, but I was also working three part time jobs to try to make ends meet?
                             
We were completely in the red and had been for months. He got so mad at me. Loaded up the bike anyway and raced it, despite our not being able to afford it. After, of course, he screamed at me to get the f*** out of his house.

L is for Love

Shouldn't this be the easiest one to write? After all, we were married. Doesn't that mean that I loved Ex and he loved me? Isn't love a prerequisite for marriage? If not, should it be?
                                
The tyranny of the "should"s. Anyone who has spent any time in therapy has probably heard this phrase. I don't know who to attribute the phrase to, but it's a good thing I don't, because I hate it. I grew up "should"-ing myself. It's how I got through life up until now.

Now I'm trying to live without all of the "should" burden. It's a lot harder than one might think. For example, this post is called "L is for Love" and "should" be about love, shouldn't it? "Should" doesn't look like a word anymore. I should know how to spell it by now, at least.
                                      
So, maybe Ex should have loved me or not married me. I don't know for sure. All I know is that I loved Ex and thought he loved me. I should have known better.