A Year Older and None the Wiser

Divorce is interesting. It truly is a roller-coaster of emotion. One day you’re fine and you can get up and go kick the world in the ass. The next, the world kicks you in the ass. You can be completely composed one minute, and the next, you’re crying hysterically when your barista hands you a latte because the handwriting on the cup looks like your husband’s.

Yesterday was a good day. I didn’t have any stress, and I felt so free and ambitious. Today I could barely get out of bed. It started when I woke up, I just laid in bed thinking about how my husband isn’t here, and how he hasn’t been here in a long time, and how he’ll never be here again. I looked at everything in my room – the angles of the walls, the way the shadows look a certain way when the sun comes up, the wedding photo that still sits on my night stand – and tried to grasp the fact that this chapter of my life is over.

And I couldn’t.

I longed for the way things used to be. All day. I just kept wondering if this was really all worth it. If it was really worth disrupting our entire family for. I keep wondering if I made a mistake. I keep wondering if I could have tried harder. I keep wondering if there’s anything I can do to take this entire year back.

I do remember that I was unhappy and miserable. I know that. And I know that this is the best thing for both of us. But I have not come to grips with the fact that I’ll never wake up with my husband on Christmas morning again. I’ll never see him and the dog walk to the front door to greet me after a long day at work. I’ll never have someone beg me at 12:53 a.m. to accompany him to Wal-Mart because he can’t sleep and wants some ice cream. I mean, as annoying as those trips were, they were always fun. And never again will my husband be with me on my birthday. And perhaps that’s why this sucks so much. It’s my birthday, officially, and I am all alone.

Literally.

Because my birthday is conveniently placed in the middle of elk season, my father is somewhere in the mountains right now. My mother, who was supposed to come out and visit me this week, has the flu and had to postpone her trip. My best friend is in the middle of rural Illinois working on her Ph.D. My only saving grace is my brother who has assured me that at the very least, he has the cake covered. But still. Birthdays are so much better when you have someone special to share them with.

I have never been alone on my birthday before. I always had a boyfriend, or a husband, or a huge party with a ton of friends. When I wake up tomorrow, it will be just another mediocre day, only I’m a year older. That concept alone is a whole other pill to swallow, because if anything, it’s a reminder of the fact that I’m not getting any younger. Always a great thought for a single woman who aspires to be a mother.

I wish I could get a do-over on this whole past year, but no. Here I am. Right back at the starting line.

I hope things get better throughout the day. I hope that next year, I’m not overwhelmed with a sense of failure when I blow out my candles. I hope that I can at least look back and see that I made the right decision, and be closer to where I want to be. And as ridiculously shallow as it is, I can only hope that I can have a special someone who makes me feel like I matter.

For now, at least there’s cake in my near future, and I can be happy about that.



P.S. I really do want world peace.

The Deal

So, yeah.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve written here. It’s been almost a year. But, it’s been a hell of a year.

I hinted that change was coming, because I could absolutely feel it. It was almost as if my body was a barometer, and I could feel the storm coming, way back in January. And I stayed in denial for a few months while I contemplated what I wanted to do. In the end, I decided I couldn’t support my husband any longer. I couldn’t let him spend all my money doing nothing while I worked my ass off. I couldn’t spend another day with someone who consistently called me fat, and who – get this – actually told me that I’d be a horrible mother. So in May, I filed for divorce from Mr. Beauty Queen.

It’s still pending.

I can honestly say that while I completely know it was for the best, the last few months have been the worst time of my life. I was not at all prepared for how emotionally exhausting this process would be.

And it’s funny. The longer time went on, the more I realized we weren’t right for each other, and I couldn’t see a future with him; especially after the horrible mother comment. Yet, I am mourning the loss of the dream, the life I had pictured us living. It’s crazy too, because the life I pictured never would have happened. It wouldn’t have been a reality, but it still sucks. It’s still hard.

It’s just hard to start over, from scratch. To be so far down this road, and have to u-turn and go all the way back, only to take another path.

I mean, now I’m in the process of trying to downsize, because I don’t need this huge house. But I have this weird material attachment to my stuff. On one hand, I know I need to let go of the baggage. But on the other hand, I’m afraid that if I let all of this go, I’ll never get back to this place. I’m learning, however, that building a home does not equate to building a life. And that there is still time.

Then there’s the whole situation of dating, which is incredibly terrifying. The last time I dated, I was hot. I was reigning. I went to public events with five hundred rhinestones on my head. It was never hard for me to meet or talk to men. Of course, now it’s totally different, because I don’t think that I’m even remotely attractive. And I need to get attractive like, stat, because my self-esteem sucks (clearly), I’m depressed as all hell, and I believe (as ridiculous as it sounds) that the caliber of man I land is directly proportional to how cute I am. I believe the whole “he should like you for who you are,” line to be utter bullshit. At least at this stage of my life.

It’s likely that I should probably see a therapist.

In the meantime, however, I’m going to be blogging about this, because I need a place to vent. However, I’ll be honest, pageants are the least of my worries, but the concept of “Becoming the Crown” has a more robust meaning now.

If you’re wanting snarky banter on evening gowns, I am probably going to disappoint you. And I can’t say that this blog won’t be depressing for a while, because it probably will be. I’ll be honest, and transparent. This isn’t going to be a chronicle of my pursuit of another crown. It’s going to be the tale of my pursuit of happiness.

I hope you follow along.




P.S. I really do want world peace.