E is for Envy

It seems as if everywhere I look, there are people holding hands and looking googly-eyed at each other. Married, dating; who knows. Who cares. They are in love.
                         
I thought I had that for almost two years. Ex was such a nice boyfriend and, even though he slipped a few times when we were engaged, he kept up the charade of loving me until we got married. I hate seeing happy people together.

Don't get me wrong here - I'm happy for those people who have someone to love and who have someone to love them. I'm just envious because I never really had that. I mean, I was married. Shouldn't there have been love there somewhere?
                          
My therapist asked me if I had ever had sex in a loving relationship. Um, no? Because I was a virgin when I married Ex and that was most certainly not a loving relationship, and everything after that is just recreational activity. There's no love in my life. Never has been. Signs point to never will be.

D is for Domestic

I was so excited to be Ex's wife - I couldn't wait to wash his clothes, make his dinner, and keep our house neat and clean. I know it may sound stupid, but I really was excited about being domestic. Caring for someone and showing them that I care by my actions.

Ex didn't want me to do his laundry and got mad when I offered. Really mad. So I stopped offering.
                                  
As for dinner, well, if you've read this blog for long, you know about him and dinner. If you haven't, let's just say he would tell me what he wanted for dinner and then eat cereal instead of the dinner he had just told me to make. He did eat a few meals I made, but not the nightly feasts I had planned.
                              
I did keep the house pretty clean, which took a lot of work. I'm a natural slob; I'm more comfortable in a messy house than a pristine one. I don't know why. It is what it is. But I kept Ex's house clean and picked up. (Another past story - it was always just Ex's house, not "ours".)
                                       
How, you wonder, could Ex turn the fact that I kept his house clean into a problem? Well, I would clean the bathroom and in a few hours, Ex would go in and clean it again. No matter how hard I scrubbed and no matter how filthy his bathroom was before I moved in. That hurt.

C is for Cacaesthesia

According to phrontistery, "cacaesthesia" is a morbid sensation. I would say I suffer from cacaesthesia quite often, considering how much time I still spend wondering what Ex is up to these days. I mean, hey! He could have a new wife and two kids by now, with another one on the way. If he found someone stupid enough to breed with him, that is.
                    
His deal-breaker was kids. He wanted kids. After we talked extensively, I gave it a lot of thought and decided I really did want to have kids. I was scared of not being a good mother, but I now think I really would be. I know I would do my best, anyway. I'm not saying Ex was stupid. He's not. He's very smart, actually. It would just be a very bad idea for him to have kids because he is a mess.

How did this become about children? It is supposed to be about my pervading cacaesthesia; about my overly morbid fascination with all things Ex. I wonder where he lives. I wonder if he's dating someone. I wonder if he's married. With children. Ah, the connection.

                             

It is lessening, but I need this cacaesthesia to go away completely. I need to not care about Ex anymore. It's killing me. But how do you stop caring about someone when you vowed to love him for the rest of your life? If anyone knows how, please - share with the rest of the class.

B is for Buell

I won a Buell motorcycle. Yes, you read that right - I won a motorcycle. Ex and I had taken my nephews to a race and I signed up on a whim. When she called to tell me I was the winner, I thought she was trying to sell me something. But no, I really won the $12,500 motorcycle. I was ecstatic.
                  
Ex was working out of town but usually answered when I called him. I called and left a message, telling him that I had very exciting news and to please call me as soon as possible. I sent him a text shortly after, telling him the same thing. He didn't call me back. He did finally answer at around  10:30, but I was still too excited to care that he had been blowing me off all day.

His response to this wonderful news I was so excited about I could barely spit it out? "Oh."

He didn't want to keep it. He had an older motorcycle that he had paid around $3,000 for, and he said he wanted to keep that one. So we agreed to sell the Buell. Ex posted it on a local motorcycle web site and we got no responses from it. Or so I thought.

                                
After I finally left, I got on that web site and found that people asked for the price of the Buell. Someone made a slightly snide remark about no price and Ex had gone off on them. He said he hoped the guy was sodomized by his mother and beaten every day by his father. He said even worse things. Over nothing. This was the man I was married to. No wonder no one responded. Yikes.

A is for Alone

Ex and I loved Netflix. We had the two DVD option, so we always had something good to watch. Or, rather, Ex did. He almost always bumped his choices up to the top of the list, so he would have two DVDs which he would not watch but not want to send back. So I rarely got any of my picks. Did he do that on purpose? Looking back, I would have to say yes.
                                             
I told Ex there was a movie I thought he would really enjoy. The Prestige has a great twist at the end, which I won't give away here, just in case you haven't seen it yet and would like to. It's a really good movie. Two thumbs up. 
                               
Anyway, the movie arrived and I was excited, because I thought Ex would like the movie and maybe it could be a conversation starter. He had (surprise, surprise) not been speaking to me. I told Ex the movie was there and he just completely ignored me. I tried asking what he would like for dinner. No answer.

The Prestige makes me sad now, because the last time I watched it was alone in the dark while Ex tinkered with his motorcycle in the garage. I remember Ex walking through the living room and looking at me as if he was going to say something. Then he just kept walking. And I just kept watching the movie. Alone. I didn't cry. Guess I'll make up for that now.

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.