J is for Juice

It is still hard to go to the grocery store. It is taking me forever to get out of the habit of buying stuff I don't like but Ex does.

Ex likes orange juice with no pulp.
I like orange juice I have to chew.
I still reach for the orange juice with no pulp.
             
Ex likes expensive salsa with huge chunks.
I like the cheapest, smoothest store-brand salsa.
I still buy the chunky salsa.
               
Ex likes Braeburn apples.
I like apples, period.
I still buy Braeburn apples, even though they are more expensive.
               
Ex likes Olive Garden.
I like Olive Garden.
I can't stand to eat there anymore. It makes me miss him too much.
              
Typing this has made me thirsty. I think I will go pour myself a nice, tall glass of orange juice with extra pulp. Why is there no victory in this?

I is for Insulin

This is a hard one to write. Some things still hurt worse than others...

When I met Ex, his mom had a dog who was very old and about to die. Technically, she was Ex's dog, but he had not been able to care for her and his mom wanted to keep her when he moved, so I didn't think much about him not stepping up to care for his dog. I hate calling her "the dog" but, even if I was using real names here, the poor girl's real name was so stupid. Ex named her after his friend's girlfriend. Weird, much?

I will call her Heart, because she was all heart.
                             
Anyway, Heart was diabetic and on death's door when Ex and I got married. Ex and his mom decided that the desert climate was too hard on Heart, so they decided that she should come and live with me and Ex. I was thrilled - I love dogs.

Heart needed a lot of attention. She needed insulin shots twice a day, twelve hours apart, which required great planning on my part. She ate special food that had to be purchased at the vet, and also, of course, needed to go on walks. I did everything for her. We became fast friends and I spent a lot of time with Heart. Ex patted her on the head every other day or so.
                             
Then came the day that she started having seizures. I don't want to get into it here. Suffice to say, Heart's seizures became rapidly worse and, in a matter of days, they were uncontrollable and she had to be put down. Ex wouldn't go in the room with her; he would have let her die alone. I held her and told her what a wonderful friend she was and then, once she was dead, just cried and cried.
                      
I'm crying now. Heart was my only friend at the time. Ex had fairly efficiently isolated me from everyone, and Heart was my only companion. She was the only one happy to see me when I got home. I still miss her so much.

So this rather long post is in honor of Heart, the greatest friend I could have had at the time. She shall forever be loved and missed. I will always be grateful for her friendship during my darkest days.

H is for Hypoglycemia

As a continuation of "G", I thought it would be fun to tell you about another illness that Ex thought he had: hypoglycemia...and yet he would go for hours and hours without eating.

On our first (and only) anniversary, we went to a fairly large city about five hours from where we lived. Ex wanted to wait until we got there to eat lunch. So we waited. We always did what Ex wanted to do. We got to the hotel, checked in, and Ex proceeded to watch television. (Have I mentioned that Ex claimed to HATE television and yet watched it for hours every day?)  I got ready to go while Ex watched a movie and then we watched it together.
                             
I was starving by the time Ex finally got ready to go out. We had eaten no lunch and now dinner time was long gone, as well. We finally got in the car but Ex kept passing restaurants because they weren't good enough for him. He said he wanted to eat a nice meal and kept driving. It had been so long since we had eaten that I was lightheaded and feeling like I might throw up. Ex wouldn't even stop at a gas station so I could get crackers.
                        
Finally, he stopped in a little neighborhood and we got out to walk around and find a nice place to eat. The problem was, it was past ten o'clock at this point and everything was closed. We finally found a Japanese restaurant that was open until eleven. It was delicious, although I would have eaten sandpaper at that point and found it satisfying.
                            
Ex barely touched his food. He did, however, order Sake. He drank the hot water in the pitcher that was there to keep the Sake warm. He thought it tasted weak. I didn't tell him he was drinking water. Mr. Hypoglycemia needed to figure it out himself, yes?

G is for Grandpa

Ex's grandfather developed Alzheimer's disease at a fairly early age. Ex, being the Negative Nancy that he was, firmly believed that he, too, would get Alzheimer's.

Then Ex's mother started showing signs of dementia. Ex immediately decided that this confirmed his belief that he would die of the disease and he gave up. Ex stopped making plans for the future. Anytime anything in the future was mentioned, he would make a biting remark about how at least one of us would be around to enjoy it.
                             
Finally, I was too drained by his negativity to even be scared of him anymore. The last time he told me he was getting Alzheimer's, I calmly told him that it was a possibility that it would ruin the end of his life. Then I told him that, by worrying about it and obsessing over it constantly, Ex was letting it ruin his entire life. Even though he didn't have Alzheimer's, he was dying of it.
                          
Amazingly enough, Ex heard me. That was the last time he mentioned it. His mood seemed to lift and brighten a bit. Although brighter than pitch black is still pretty dark.

F is for Freak

I got a C on my first biochem quiz today. It was awful. There were only eight questions and so, by missing two, that put my grade all the way down to a C. I'm freaking out. I can't start school this way. My academic advisor says that she is happy with my grade and that it was a very hard quiz and I shouldn't worry. She says students typically do better on the tests than they do on quizzes.
                              
Despite what you may think from things written on here, Ex did have good qualities. One of his best was his ability to calm me down and help me see things from a brighter perspective. I tend to think in extremes and that is not very helpful in life. Ex was good at pointing out the positive parts. He was good at getting me to stop freaking out.
                                      
I can't believe I miss Ex. Am I trying to self-sabotage? I want to call him. Ridiculous. No good can come of it. He was so good at being nice when he wanted to be, though. I can't believe this. I've got to stop freaking out.

E is for Eloquent

Not that Ex was. Not at all. However, the letter that he wrote to me was quite eloquent. I'm talking about the letter he wrote when we were dating and I found out he had gone on a date with someone else. I'm referring to the letter Ex wrote after I dumped him. I'm talking about the letter in which he poured out his heart and told me how he had known I was The One the moment we met.
                                 
His letter convinced me that he loved me and that he had just been afraid. We had had a fight and he thought I was going to leave him. Which I should have, but hindsight is 20/20, you know. Obviously, the letter affirmed his love for me and so I took Ex back and the rest is history.

I found the letter again as I was packing my things to leave Ex. I reread it and, again, found it eloquent and convincing. It helped me feel better about having been so deceived by him. Anyone, I thought, would have been swayed by such a heart-felt missive.
                          
Then I found the letter again as I was at my little cabin on vacation. I read it for the last time. It was stupid. Obviously written in desperation, not love. Fear, not caring. Self-preservation, not giving. I read the first few paragraphs and then threw the stupid thing into the fire. I'm glad it is gone from the universe. Eloquent crap like that simply shouldn't exist.

D is for Drunk

Which I am. Not drunk enough, though. I want to call him. SO badly I can taste it. I had to retype that sentence about five times to get it right. If it isn't right, please forgive me - I'm under the influence of alcohol. I like Pucker Vodka. Good stuff. It's hard to type, though. May wear out my back space key. May delete this tomorrow. Who knows?
                                     
Ex has been on my mind big time lately. I want to call him. Why? Because I'm stupid, that's why. No good can come of it, that is for sure. I'm dying here, though. I was playing my guitar, trying (took me four tries to type "trying") to distract myself like a good little girl but my best friend, VODKA, kept calling my name. And now Ex is calling my name.
                               
Why do I want to talk to him? NO GOOD CAN COME OF IT. Yes, I am yelling. But not at you. I am trying to get through to my pathetic, drunk self. Is it working? Not really. But I do feel a bit better.

To sum up: Me = drunk
Me = want to call him
Me= know that is a bad idea, especially because I am drunk
me = screwed            
                                         

C is for Cabin

Tonight is the night. I rented a small cabin at an RV resort about an hour from my apartment. It is my first night here. I've never been on vacation by myself before. Sure, I've visited relatives or traveled for business, but this is different. Just me and my two dogs, hanging out at the resort. I came to write, read, and relax before school starts again.
                                    
Tonight I am going to make a campfire. Tonight I am going to cook hot dogs for myself and my dogs. Tonight I am going to burn my Burn Box.

I am a very sentimental person. I have the ticket stubs from every single movie Ex and I ever went to see. I have programs from roller derbys, ticket stubs from baseball games, ski lift tickets, and every card he ever gave me. Calendars. Wedding cards. Paperwork from the reception hall. Pamphlets from our honeymoon. I have so much garbage that means so much to me.
                              
Tonight I am going to burn my sentimental garbage. Tonight I leave it all behind in the fire pit. Tonight painful memories will turn to ashes. Goodbye, sentimental garbage, and good riddance to you.

B is for Birthday

I came home that first birthday as his wife to find Ex, Zeke, and the dog all wearing party hats. Ex sang to me while I blew out the candles on the ice cream cake he had bought and had them write my name on. Never mind that I hate ice cream cake - I was thrilled. What a lovely thing for him to do!
                            
He gave me a great present of a multi-tool for my bike. Never mind that he used the tool and lost it just a few weeks later.

On my second birthday as Ex's wife, there was no cake, no song, no present, no celebration. He was working out of town at the time and mad that he had been "forced" to come home that weekend, even though my birthday was on Tuesday that year. Never mind that I hadn't asked him to come home.
                                     
When I moved out, I was sorting through our things and found a birthday card he had bought for me. Never mind that he never gave me the card. They say it's the thought that counts. Right.

A is for Ache

I just found out that an acquaintance of mine is leaving her husband because he cheated on her. They have a baby that is only six months old. It makes me sick. The way I found out was that she changed her facebook status from "married" to "single". Then a long discussion ensued.

Is this really the way things happen now? Someone cheats, hearts are broken, facebook tells all? Really?
                                
Should I have posted my heartache on facebook, too? Should I post my current status as "still broken-hearted and still in therapy with no end in sight"?

Her change in relationship status makes my broken heart weep. Why did he do that? In this case, I know the husband more than the wife. I worked with him a few years ago. He was a nice guy who was madly in love with his then-girlfriend. What happened?

My heart is far from healed. I must protect it from harm. I don't watch the news because it is all bad, I don't talk to my mom much because she always has negative things to tell me, and now I guess facebook is a danger zone, as well.
                                                    
It wasn't the first bad news I read on there, but this one hit right where it hurts. I've learned of other breakups through facebook, but this one hurts more than the others. I think because these two were so in love. They just had a beautiful baby. A happy little family, broken before it had a chance to grow.
                          
It shouldn't be affecting me this much. My heart is aching like crazy. Tears well up and refuse to fall. Why do people mess up their lives so badly?

Z is for Zeke

Zeke wasn't really Ex's cat's name, but all names had to be changed to protect the innocent, even the animals involved, so Zeke it is. Ex adopted Zeke a few months after we met. He actually adopted two cats, but the other one beat up poor Zeke, who was declawed. Ex took the other one back and kept Zeke.

He was the a very sweet cat who loved to jump up on my lap and be petted. He hated being picked up, though, which was something Ex did all the time. Ex was constantly picking him up and carrying poor Zeke around while he squirmed, trying to get down. Zeke just wanted to be left alone so he could sleep.
                               
After we got married, one of Ex's favorite things to do was to bring Zeke to bed and put him between us. Ex would hold Zeke in his arms and go to sleep or just put a hand on him so he couldn't escape and use him as a blockade. Sad that I was so jealous of a cat.
                                 
When I left, Ex was out of town but coming home that evening, so I just made sure that Zeke had plenty of water and food and a clean litter box. One of my biggest regrets is leaving that poor cat. Ex never took care of him, and I have no idea if he even kept Zeke. I have a sneaking suspicion that he took Zeke back to the pound. I really hope not. I should have taken him. Sorry, Zeke. Really sorry.

Y is for Year

June 16, 2012 - I left Ex three years ago for two weeks because I was too scared to go home.

June 25, 2012 - Ex turned 37 years old.

July 19, 2012  - Should have been our fourth anniversary.

July 29, 2012 - Our divorce has been final exactly two years.

August 14, 2012 - It has been four years since our honeymoon.

This time of year is hard for me. A lot went down between June 16 and August 14. I was thinking it was only one month until now, because, as I am typing, it is clearly two, not one, month. I think that last sentence wins the prize for shortest sentence to contain five commas...
                            
It has been hard lately. I have been told to be nice to myself and give myself a bit of a break because of all the anniversaries that are happening. But I am my own worst enemy. I am not nice to myself. Not at all. No one (okay, no one except for my dad and Ex) have ever said anything as horrible as I say to myself. I feel I should be improving and working on things and becoming a stronger, better person. Instead, I come home from work and do nothing. And I do mean nothing.

Look how many years have passed! When will I get over this? How long will the pain be so sharp?

This time of year is not good for me. It has been five days since my anniversary. It is five days until the anniversary of my divorce.
                              

I want to cry.

X is for Xeranthemum annuum

...and Xeranthemum annuum is a "mostly widely cultivated species of everlasting flowers having usually purple flowers (dictionary.com)". Just in case you, like me, had no idea what that meant.

It was a plant in the botanical gardens that Ex and I went to in his home state. We had flown in and then my mom drove down to meet Ex's mom. That trip was idyllic. We went to the Grand Canyon, the boatnaical gardens, hiked several mountains and deserts, and spent hot afternoons in air-conditioned museums. Our moms hit it off and we had a great time.
                                   
Every visit after that was horrid. You see, that was the only time we went to visit his mom before we got married. Then, once we got married, he didn't like me anymore. Some of our worst times were at his mom's house, since he had a lot of unresolved anger towards her that he liked to take out on me.
                                        
I'll tell you more of those stories later. This is just a short story about a pretty little purple flower we saw at the botanical gardens way back when Ex still treated me like a human being.

W is for Wedding

Our wedding was beautiful. It was at the local arboretum in their small, stone amphitheater by the lake. My uncle sat on a stone near the top and softly played his guitar while the guests arrived. The sudden heat wave broke and there was a light breeze and just enough cloud cover to keep everyone comfortable. It could not have been a more perfect day.
                              
The reception went very well, also. The decorations were lake-themed with goldfish in bowls with tiny lake pebbles and cattails. The cake (which I decorated the night before) looked great, and the chocolate fountain I had borrowed from a friend was a huge hit.
                                     
The Italian restaurant that catered came through in a big way, and everyone had plenty of good pasta to eat. After eating, Ex and I cut the cake and served the guests, creating another opportunity to talk to everyone. It was perfect.

My friend is planning her wedding and she asked what the most stressful part of mine was. I told her the truth - wondering if the groom would show up. If only he hadn't.

V is for Velocity

Ex was a civil engineer. He often told me that he barely graduated and that it was the hardest thing he had ever done. I was always supportive and congratulatory, because I think that getting an engineering degree is no small feat. Keeping an engineering job, apparently, is much harder, but that is another story.
                                    
The first fall we were married, I took a physics class. Ex told me physics was his strongest subject and that he could help me with my homework, which I totally took him up on. Turns out, he couldn't even do the simplest velocity homework at the beginning of the class.
                     
I only asked him for help once because he got so mad that he couldn't do it. He didn't speak to me for about a week afterwards.