I will be 32

I will be 32 in November. 

In November I will be 32. I will be very nearly divorced. Again.

Again.

Part of me is angry that I let this happen. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I guess I just hoped we would be able to live in peace. I only want peace. 

I suppose that you could say that I am depressed. I am also more angry than I thought possible and more than that I am devastatingly sad. I am sad that another child’s heart will break and it is, at least in part, my fault.

I try to be happy but it feels more like a destination that I am currently unable to reach. I have these fleeting glimpses, postcards, of this future happiness that I am not entirely sure I will get to.

I am reading Open House. It not helping. It makes me feel numb. It’s too much to feel for both of us. I should have known better than to trust Oprah.

He is happy every day. He buys himself toys. He spends time looking at women that I never want to be. He grills. He looks down on me because I make less money than he does as if it is a mark against my character. As if I am somehow less worthy than he is. He tells me lies for his amusement.

I hate him but I know that is temporary. I can’t hate long term. 

I love him and I hope that it is temporary. 

I want to bury myself in a hole, an earthen womb, and never come out. Instead, I push forward. I look at houses for rent. I look at furniture. I calculate and recalculate how much money I will have and how much I will need. I look at catalogs and try to decorate these imaginary places. I look at cruises and airfare. I envision myself as a world traveler. A female Indiana Jones. My mother.

In November I will be 32. 

In the past, I dealt with these things by drinking great quantities of whiskey, smoking clove cigarettes, and laughing hysterically with Meg. I can’t even do that now. I suppose it’s better if I don’t. Ms. Indiana Jones can’t be climbing mountains and exploring ruins with emphysema or cirrhosis of the liver.

 

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About Courtney

32 and divorced. I have three children and I'm working my way through everything.

Posted on September 10, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. I read this and cried. I feel like wrapping you up in a cocoon until this is all over. I hope you know that I would do anything I could to help. You just have to ask. No matter when or where, no judgment.

    • I know I will be okay. I just can’t get out of this bubble so I can start the healing process. When I move out the real fun will begin. I actually be able to mourn this whole mess and move on.

  2. I wanted to say something like, “eventually it will stop hurting.” but honestly even when the wound heals… the scar is left. You aren’t ever going to forgert this. But I do swear it is just a very small chapter in what is going to be a very long life.

    You will decorate again, you will have your own new nest. And one day some guy is going to eat your cookies, butter you buns, and be the luckiest fat bastard ever.

  3. Oh and don’t turn to booze. You weren’t very good at drinking and you got us in total trouble leaving your bootleg flasks everywhere!

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