On looking back, and moving forward

I'm in my childhood home for the holidays until tomorrow and, as I tend to do when I'm home, I started looking through my old stuff in my childhood bedroom. I came across this beautiful, old French chocolates tin I bought at an antique shop in Red Bank with my former best friend.

When I opened it, it was filled with all the cards my first boyfriend ever gave me. I started reading them, and a lot of them were Christmas/Valentine's/birthday cards, as expected, but a few were 'just because' cards, or silly cards 'from' my dog, which was nice. And then there were a couple of "I'm sorry" cards - just two of them. I could go into a long, drawn out description of what happened each time, but suffice it to say - remembering what happened and what prompted those cards reminded me what it was like to be in a healthy relationship. I'd completely forgotten what it was like to be in a relationship with someone who could recognize when he was wrong, and apologize for it - and mean it. Not "I'm sorry" and then 2 days later do it again. Actually not. do it. again.

It was nice to go through all these cards and remember what that was like. I'm looking forward to experiencing that again

On hurt, and healing.

And I'm back! It's been almost a month since my last post, which I guess is a testament to how busy I've gotten since my husband left and moved to Dallas. My social life has taken off. Not to say I didn't have one before, but I often didn't have weekends booked well in advance the way I do now. I've come to learn that this is because many of my friends didn't like my husband all that much, so they didn't go out of their way to make plans with me as often as they would have liked. But now...well, let's just say that I've been on two dates with Waldo in the last month, and we have a third coming up this Friday - despite his aversion to Fridays because my next available Saturday would have been 3 weeks after our second date.

Anyway, I've been going through this strange realm of emotions. I'm enjoying life and having fun dating and spending time with friends, but at the same time I'm existing under this blanket of guilt because I feel like I'm 'supposed' to be mourning - I'm not supposed to be having fun! My therapist has helped me realize that I really did already experience all my grief - when I started realizing that the marriage had no real future. All the crying, all the begging and pleading, the doubting that he even loved me...I've already mourned. And now I'm healing.

The healing process is a weird one. I wanted to put my Christmas tree up last week before I went to Chicago for the weekend, and then I remembered the "Our First Christmas" ornament that I had custom made last year after the wedding, and then the owl that we selected together to go on top of the tree...and I couldn't bear to bring everything out. And it's always little things like that. While in Chicago, my friends and I were at a holiday party and Shania Twain's "From This Moment" came on - and I started crying. It was horrible! I have no idea where it came from. It's not even a song that's ever meant anything to 'us' - we never danced to it, we never listened to it together, it never made me think of him...and honestly, I don't even remember having heard it a single time during our entire relationship. But it still set me off. My friend's husband was gracious enough to take me out on the dance floor and build me back up again, which was nice, so now I'll have that memory instead of a tearful one. But still.

I do know I'm healing, though, because my upcoming third date with Waldo has made me realize that I actually like him, and I'm afraid of being hurt. And if I'm able to be hurt by him, it means I'm able to love again - and that means my heart IS healing.

Silver linings, I guess. Right?

An ending.

My husband left the house yesterday. Packed up his things, and left. Moved to Texas. I cried when we said goodbye. It was incredibly difficult to watch him packing his car up; I knew it would be, which is why I had asked him to pack everything while I was at work. He promised he would, but he ended up waiting until I was home.

I thought I was going to be ok. I went to the office and couldn't concentrate on anything, and had to fight back tears a few times - but otherwise I was fine. After work my co-worker/friend took me out for drinks, so I could drown my sorrows in liquor. Unhealthy, sure. But I just didn't care. We had a great time, actually. I even spoke to a few men, and had a good night in general. Until suddenly I wasn't having a good time, suddenly I felt tears coming up and then they were streaming down my face and I had to go home.

[It's odd. Initially, he was supposed to leave in January, and he was supposed to move into one of the surrounding suburbs so we could continue to work on our relationship. Less than 2 weeks ago he told me he was moving to Texas, had found a job there, and that he was moving in November. It came out of nowhere. I could tell then it was over, and told him I was going to date other people.]

When I got home I called my parents back, and cried to them. When I got off the phone, I wept some more. I cried when I walked past his room, I had to sit down at the top of the stairs while I wept. I was overcome with sadness and grief when I brushed my teeth this morning and saw his toothbrush was gone. I...am heartbroken.

My therapist asked me if underneath the sadness there was anything that resembled relief. I feel like I can breathe again. But at the same time, I'm so...sad. And numb. But at least I feel human. Thank god for that.

Finding Waldo

I have a date this Friday night. What is, arguably, my first date ever, actually. No one's ever asked me out - there has always been sneaking around, or "hey, I'm going here with friends, want to join?" or blind dates or group dates. But I met a guy at a Halloween costume contest this past Friday night, and somehow we started talking, and then we made out. And then he asked for my number! And....actually contacted me! He's adorable. He was dressed as Waldo, and I suspect that's what drew my eye to him - I mean, after all, we're trained from an early age to find Waldo in a crowd, aren't we?

Anyway, we've been texting for the last couple of days, and he asked me out. Or rather, if I'd like to come to the countryside, a.k.a., suburbia, where he is. I'm assuming it's because my husband still lives in the house, at least this week. He's out as of next week. But anyway, Waldo's going to plan something and we're going to hang out.

I'm excited, nervous, excited! I get little butterflies in my stomach when he says anything particularly cute, and sometimes even when I get a notification that I have a new text message. He's cute, and funny. If anything, it's nice to have a first kiss again, and nice to have a first date (even if it's my first date ever!). It's nice to think about what I'm going to wear, to flirt with someone, to make little innuendos and blush at his.

So, here's to Waldo, and my first date ever. Let's hope it goes well!

Waiting to Exhale

In therapy (which I began around the same time my husband and I started marriage counseling), we've been focusing on the things I'm feeling in connection with the impending separation. Fear and anxiety about being alone in the house, sadness at the loss of the hopes and dreams and the life I'd planned with him, sadness at losing my go-to person for things like apple-picking and the like....and a feeling of holding my breath. Like I'm just waiting to exhale.

I've never seen that movie, so I have no idea what the main character is going through. But I feel like I'm perpetually holding my breath, just waiting for this holding pattern we're in to end. For him to move out, so that I can finally let go and exhale and move on.

This past weekend I went out with friends and spent the entire weekend out. At one point, I turned to a friend and said to him, "Ever since I started going out on my own, I feel like I've had more of a social life than I did before [when my husband was still coming out]." And it's true. We didn't go out often because, despite me being an incredibly social creature and loving to spend time out and about and with my friends, my husband became a recluse after marriage and never wanted to do anything but watch television. I thought I was compromising by giving up my life, even though I thought it was a life I'd share with him because he told me he, too, was a social person. Not so.

Anyway, this weekend reminded me of what it was like before. I met someone who liked me, who actively tried to pursue me. It was nice to feel attractive, to feel wanted - especially by someone that I was mutually attracted to. Nothing happened, because another friend was attracted to him as well, and of course, I'm still married. But...it gave me hope. That after all this, I actually CAN rise up again, live my life on my own terms and meet someone who is willing to share that life with me instead of taking it away from me. Like, when I am finally able to exhale....I'll be able to breathe in again, and keep on breathing.

It was a good weekend.

Question Existing

My husband and I decided to separate about a month ago. We're still sharing a home, but he moved into the guestroom several months ago - I guess it was just a precursor to moving out. He plans to move out in January (though to hear him tell it, he's moving out next month - I guess we'll see).

I'm...heartbroken. Sad. Disappointed. Grieving. I feel like I'm mourning the loss of companionship, the life I dreamed of, the life I thought I had. I'm trying to let myself feel the pain; I know I need to feel it. I feel so alone in this. It's hard because I'm SO good at just pushing this stuff away. I know deep down that this is the right step for us. Things have to change - and this will certainly change things. I keep telling myself that it's for the better, that no matter what happens - whether we ultimately divorce or we rekindle what we once had - it will be different, and it will be better. There's still a little blaze of hope in me that suddenly, he'll grow up and be responsible and show up on my doorstep with flowers and a promise that he is finally the man he told me he was.

I know it's not likely, but a girl can dream, right?

A beginning.

I've started this blog because I'm at an emotional crossroads, and I need to start writing it out. I've kept a private journal for years, but find that it no longer satisfies my desire to write and be heard. I need an outlet, albeit an anonymous one. I've always been a private person because I'm afraid people won't be interested in what I have to say, but this private part of me is in sharp conflict with the part of me that has so many things to say, so many words swirling in my mind, that I just want to have heard by someone - anyone, without fear that I'm pushing someone away because my thoughts are too much to handle.

So, here I am. I'm a young woman in her late twenties. I suffer from depression, and have had an eating disorder for the last 16 years. I'm a practicing attorney, doing things that I am firmly convinced are chipping away at the moral fiber of the world one small piece at a time, and it's something I'm desperately trying to get out of while still keeping up with my financial responsibilities. I've been married a little over a year to a man that I've recently realized is the wrong man for me. We've been in counseling for 4 months, and part of that counseling has led to seek individual therapy for my own problems. Much of my crossroads comes from dealing with the recent realization that my husband is not only not the man I thought he was, but not the right person for me at all; part of it also comes with getting back in touch with who I am and trying to get a hold of my personal truth.

That's me in broad strokes. I ramble a lot (if you can't tell). I'm not going to promise to be happy and upbeat and cheerful all the time, because above all else, that's just not me anymore. I'm struggling to keep my head above water right now, and at least for the foreseeable future, there's going to be a lot more darkness than there is sunlight. I'm hoping I'll come out on the other end, renewed, chains of depression cast off. The name of this blog is a reference to Sylvia Plath's "Lady Lazarus" - I hope that one day, instead of dying over and over again like I have for the last few years, I can just rise from the ashes, re-born. Sort of like a reference to another of my favorite poems, by ee cummings: "this is the birth / day of life and love and wings."

So, this is my story.