Category Archives: hurting

feeling the feelings

This feeling your feelings stuff will keep you pretty busy.

The good news is that the shaking in my hands has lessened, mostly thanks to a magical Chinese herb formula prescribed by my Needle lady that I just started taking .  The magic pills that she said cause “almost everybody” to feel immediate relief didn’t do a thing for me (her theory is that my body has a hard time coming down from the anxiety), but this new stuff (it has melatonin—I take about ¼ of the nighttime-sleepy dose twice a day) seems to be doing the trick.

Which is not to say that everything is groovy, just that the wind roaring in my ears, getting hit by an emotional bus, hands shaking, oh G-d I think I’m going crazy feelings seem to have subsided.  In their wake is a lot of I would call “not fun,” but at least I know what to do with it.  Compared to the other stuff, it’s solid, it has a shape.  I recognize it when it happens, it isn’t just like getting hit by a train all day long.  Oh, this is grief.  Oh, this is pain because I know now that Mr. X and Dolores are sharing an address and a life.  Oh, this is sadness because I loved him with my whole heart (in the words of the song that is serving as the latest soundtrack to my life) and it seems I was grandly fooled.  Oh, this is what it feels like to go through a divorce.  Oh, this is lonely.

My Needle Lady and my therapist seem to agree on a number of points, one of which is that a lot of what I’m feeling is not really for things happening right now, but rather that a lot of those feelings that in the past years I gleefully stuffed away are coming up for air.  And I do see this as progress, but it’s no fun.  I do recognize that feeling all this shit is a lot better than eating my way into oblivion every chance I get, but the strength of it is helping me understand why the hell I’ve been eating so much in the first place.

And that’s finally, finally feeling like a poor substitute for giving myself what I really need.  Not to say that I only eat when I’m hungry and always stop when I’m full, but I’m stuffing myself senseless a whole lot less.  And feeling a whole lot more.  And it’s good, I know.  And it sucks, just so you know.

ETA:  P.S. My commenting has been and may continue to be a bit sparse.  I’ll get back on it as soon as I can.  See the first line of the post for the only explanation I’ve got at the moment.

untitled

It seems that the farther out I get from the “Great Escape” the few things that were easier at the beginning get harder.

Like only thinking of the bad times.

Like seeing this whole mess clearly, without any yearnings to be back in a marriage that was killing my soul bit by painful bit.

I can remember the good times now, and frankly, I’d rather not.  Remembering the good with the bad just brings up a whole new level of pain that I would rather not experience right now, thankyouverymuch.

It is so strange, thinking of X’s new girlfriend—or whatever she is to him now, I’m really not privy to that information.  I feel like someone has usurped me, someone has taken over my place, even though it’s a place I know know know that I do not want back.

So jealousy juxtaposed with that certainty is an odd feeling, indeed.

If I thought living with him was a mindfuck, living without him is more so.

I had no idea, months ago, that I would be feeling such grief on the eve of this whole thing becoming final.  I thought it would be pure relief.

One thing that is becoming apparent to me, is that there is no purity of feeling in this.  Only grief mixed with relief mixed with pain mixed with hope mixed with anger mixed with anticipation mixed with anguish.

that being hit by a bus feeling

So the mediation went better than I was expecting, but as I was driving away from that city where I spent the last three years of my marriage, I felt relief, yes, but also an intense aching in my bones and a deep, deep tiredness.

When I got to my friend, Cherry’s house, about three hours down the road, I told her that I felt like I had been hit by a bus.

Well, you have, she said.  You’ve been hit by the divorce bus.

Another thing I noticed as I was driving away from the mediation was that the feelings I was having were not just about the most recent past, about this whole mediation agony, but about my entire relationship with X.  It felt like the book was shutting on that.  Our relationship has certainly been in it’s end stage for a while now, but this truly feels like the beginning of the end.

I don’t know what it’s like to be in any other marriage.  I only know what it was like to be in mine.  And this ending, this divorce, as bad as the marriage was, as detrimental as my entire relationship with X was to my very person, this divorce feels like a ripping out of something that has grown deep within me.  Something that has grown deep within and set in roots.  And ripping it out now, like a common weed, well, it feels like a lot of me is getting ripped out, also.

As dysfunctional as we were, maybe because we were so dysfunctional, I put so much energy, so very much energy into us, into keeping us going, into making him happy, into saving us.  The me was forgotten.  And now the me is all that’s left.

vacuum

I’ve said it before, somewhere.  There’s a big part of this that is recovering from the emotional abuse aspect of it.  And there’s a part of it that is just recovering from a big ugly breakup.

I spent the last few years expending so much energy, putting so much of myself into this relationship, into this other person’s happiness, and now… it’s just gone.  There was solidity, and now there is only vapor.  There was something and now there is nothing.

But part of me still has the habit of him.

And obviously not every waking moment was torture, or I never would have stayed, nor survived, as long as I did.  (And, yes, I know how that fits into the cycle of abuse, also known as the story of our life together.)  And it has been those moments, those softer moments, that have been coming at me like grenades lately.  Because the beautiful is now forever shrouded in the vile.  And all my memories are seen through the veil of what I now know.

I learned of the death of a friend fairly recently.  He was a beautiful, beautiful person.  The world was better because of his much too short life.  I met him in the years I was with X; we met him together.  And nobody in my everyday life knows him and I wanted to turn to X to commiserate, to mourn with him.  And I was taken aback by the vacuum that was there.

Part of me still has the habit of him.

This healing stuff…

is really hard work.

So, last week…

was a really tough week.

I found out a lot of information, some old, but new to me.  There was just a lot to take in during only one week.

I think that I had lulled myself into thinking that X couldn’t hurt me anymore, that our physical distance gave me some kind of emotional armor.  And that’s not true.  That’s what last week proved to me, over and over and over again.

I won’t be specific about everything, but you remember Dolores?  Good neighbor and friend of X, who apparently has been providing much aid and comfort since my departure–remember?  Well, she’s getting a divorce, too.  I guess it’s going around.  Must be something in the water.  Oh, and apparently there were a number of people who wondered if something was going on with them well before I left.  Nice.

It looks like, through some shady dealing, X may try to harm my credit.  Not sure how badly.  It has to do with the house, and there’s probably not anything I can do about it.

Those are just two examples from last week.  And I hate that he can make me hurt.  And I hate that it is still so easy to pull that blanket of denial over my head, to bury my head in the sand, and to immerse myself in a false sense of security.  And it took me a while, but I finally figured out that THAT was what was bothering me.  That he can still get to me.

(As I’m writing this, I’m feeling something that can only be described as survivor’s guilt.  Maybe it’s about Luna–from the last post).  Maybe it’s about other bloggers I read, or other stories I’ve heard that were so much worse than my own, but some little voice in my head–it is not a kind voice–is telling me to quit my whining, because I DON’T REALLY KNOW.

And I’m trying hard not to go down that path, as I would advise anyone else to avoid it like the plague.)

This week feels better than last week, though the circumstances are basically the same.  I’m figuring out, or remembering, how to deal with the fact of my own vulnerability.  I’m not sure I can really put it into words, but if I can, you’ll hear about it.

what I remembered today

The day before yesterday was pleasant.  Yesterday was very breezy and comfortable.

And then today rose up and held me in its chokehold, and I then remembered that healing does not travel as the crow flies, but in circles, in fits and spurts.  Healing wanders in the desert for forty years or so before fighting its way into a promised land that looks very different than the one we had previously imagined.

That was what today made me remember.