Heartache & Chaos, your first item up for bids on the Price is Right
"Consider yourself lucky. Better to be haunted by the ghosts of good memories than the ghosts of bad ones" -Nip/Tuck, season 3, episode 8 I'm completely remiss in telling y'all WTF has happened to me over the last two years. Lots of reasons...lack of time & some fear involved spring immediately to mind. Honestly I would almost delete this blog and start over some days. The girl who wrote this blog in 2006-2008 isn't me anymore.
Well that's not true, some of what I wrote I liked and agree with. Just in retrospect/hindsight...I've lost a lot of my religion/faith, and to see that girl write with such hope and desperation for the savior to - hello, SAVE the mess she was in - makes me sad. And pissed off.
An old friend from Stepford came through my new town (searching for a nickname for current city, please stay tuned) and we went to dinner. "Have you been to church?" she asked at one point.
And without hesitation or filter I simply replied "I'm pissed off at God"
She immediately laughed. And she could, having lost her teenage son two years ago to cancer. She has all kinds of street cred with me for living through a hell like that. I cannot imagine. And she goes to church. At times.
The only place where I still have an 'attitude of gratitude' with God is about my children. Even though I think he does not give one sh!t about me most days, much less the desires of my heart - let's not even get started on that one - I do thank Him daily for my children, their health, their resilience in this divorce and subsequent moves and adjustments. They have fared much better than I have emotionally. And thank God.
I would have been found hanging from a shower rod long ago but I didn't want to damage my children with their mother's suicide. Plus, intermittently, I have had hope for better. Foolish investment of my heart, it turns out, but hope keeps you breathing. Keeps you putting one foot in front of the other. Even when all you are doing for months at a time is crying on the way to work, crying on the way home, and crying yourself to sleep. Wake up, rinse & repeat.
I have long ago given up the bullsh!t idea that I'm truly going to get a happy ending. But again, long buried hope will occasionally raise its head from under the rubble, and I want to see if it might be true. So I get up and go squint into the dark. And so far I don't see it. But my fcuked up brain keeps fooling me into trying one more day. Over and over until there are several years in my rearview...that show anything but a gd happy ending. But we'll get there. And you will judge.
Anyway!
I found a series of emails between myself and a childhood girlfriend where I relay, in pretty straightforward terms, what I have been reluctant to write about here: the past two years. This way I won't have to reinvent the wheel, and editing and bringing those stories over will help us get this big old truck out of the garage and in the air for a spin.
I do ask a favor though. Please, if you would be so kind: do not kick my ass. I cannot take it at present. I am broken in half, crippled by heart pain. I'm writing for therapy, because real therapy is not in the budget, and I need to process the most serious drama I have lived since The Husband's affair first unfolded. There is good drama and bad drama and OMG-CanIJustDieAlready drama, and I've had all three. The latter as recently as a week ago tonight. So be warned. Please. If you comment, even if you hate me at the end of the story, I promise you: I hate me too. Mostly. So be gentle.
And here's a heads up on where this tour bus is taking y'all: here, here, and here.
So, if you have now refreshed your memory be advised that from this point further: You have to be this tall to ride this ride. And Facebook is of the devil. "Bobby, some things are like a tire fire, trying to put it out only makes it worse. You just gotta grab a beer and let it burn." -Hank Hill, King of the Hill
