This may come as a surprise to most of you who have been reading along these past six months but I am generally a fairly happy person. I do my best to look for the silver lining and to try to focus on the positive. As many of you also probably know experiencing infidelity and going through a divorce sucks ass and it’s really hard to be positive.
I have tried to keep my chin up through this. Hell, I’ve been trying to keep my damn chin up since I moved here to Whoreville less than two years ago. This move was tough and it has not been easy finding my footing. Add in the fact that CF was whining about his job and how unhappy he was with it no more than six weeks after the kids and I got here and you could stand by and watch me pull my hair out. I wish I could say that was the worst of it but it wasn’t. He began his downward spiral less than six months after we moved here. He missed more work in the time that he was here than he ever had combined in the previous twenty years. He was hospitalized with dehydration in January, hospitalized again in February, and had cluster headaches for the first time in about three years in March or April. He began drinking to excess. He once again shut himself up in the bedroom and isolated himself from everyone else in the family. He claimed he couldn’t sleep but whenever I would check up on him I found him sleeping in the bed. Of course, because he was unconscious when I came by and I wasn’t an asshole that would wake him up to let him know I had been upstairs checking on him, he told everyone I just left him upstairs all by himself to cry. I told him I would cancel the pool contract but he insisted I get my pool as he promised. We couldn’t have a family outing without him breaking down and crying. I finally broke down and made an appointment with a psychiatrist for him because he refused to do it. I found someone who did EMDR therapy in our area and made an appointment for him. I accompanied him to both appointments. I did most of the talking at the therapist’s office while he sat there. I offered to cancel my trip back out west to see our friends. I watched him refuse to continue on with counseling or EMDR therapy (of course, he was fucking a whore so he was cured!). After all of that I find out he’s once again cheating on me.
I tried so hard to be happy here, to continue on, to prop him up and make sure our family was happy. For what? Absolutely nothing. My daughter put in two years at her high school, fell in love with it here, and is now being forced to finish out her last two years elsewhere. Just as my son finally begins fitting in he, too, is yanked away and has to start over. As for me? Well, I came back from our trip last summer renewed and refreshed, ready to tackle everything. I was going to get involved and get busy and finally fit in. The joke was on me because he had already replaced me.
I’m sure you appreciate the background; however, that’s not the real point of why I’m a pessimist. I’m a pessimist because I can’t let myself be convinced that the future is going to be happy and amazing and all this pain is worth it. Stick with me here.
I could go into all of this with a can-do attitude. But let’s face it. Every time I’ve had any kind of a plan that jackass I married comes along and kicks my feet out from underneath me. Oh, you were counting on money from the stocks I’ve received while we were married? Ha ha ha- NO! I’m going to quit my job and leave all of that behind. Too bad, so sad. Oh, you’re going to try to stay here until Rock Star graduates? How’s about I lose my next job and then refuse to get another one? How does that sound? You’re going to look for a job right around the time Rock Star begins driving? Oh, Sam, you stupid bitch! I’ve got a plan to knock you right on your ass. I’m not going to work. I’m not going to send you money. I’m going to make you run home and screw up our kids’ lives once again! The bottom line seems to be that no matter what plans I make and no matter how happy of a face I put on he finds a way to come along and ruin it.
So, I’m just going with it. I refuse to put a positive spin on this. It is far easier to think that moving in with my mom after not living with her for over twenty years is going to be a disaster. It is far easier to think that having two teenagers and three dogs moving in with her when she’s been living without kids for more than twenty years is not going to be pleasant. I’m not going to pretend that losing everything I own is not going to hurt and will somehow be a freeing experience. I will not automatically assume that my daughter is going to fit in and have a great time at her new school. I’m not going to believe that she will make new friends and have just as active of a social life there as she’s had here. I don’t worry as much about Picasso but I don’t automatically assume that everything is going to be wonderful for him either. I refuse to believe that I will get an amazing job that I really like and that pays me good money. It is easier to believe that I will live in poverty and my children will never have anything nice again. I won’t assume that we will find a new church and we will make new friends and get involved. I harbor no expectations that there is someone out there for me and that this divorce will lead to the love of my life. I’m not even believing anymore that CF will end up having to pay me spousal or child support. Even if he’s ordered to who is to say he will actually pay it? I am keeping my expectations at zero. I am prepared to be poor and miserable for the rest of my life. I am ready to hear my kids tell me they hate it in our new town and they have no friends. I am ready for and expecting the worst.
Does this mean that this is what I’m hoping for? Of course not. But it’s far easier to believe that things are going to be horrible and then perhaps be pleasantly surprised, than it is to keep telling yourself that everything is going to be ok and then you keep getting punched in the face. I would rather be prepared for my kids to hate it where we’re going and for them to not fit in and be sad, depressed, upset, whatever and then be proven wrong rather than to tell them and myself that everything is going to be great! Only to have it collapse around your feet. Kinda like the way I swore that this move to Whoreville was going to be a great move. We’d get a pool and a hot tub and a trampoline. They’d love living here. It would be a brand new life, a brand new adventure and this move would be fantastic for our whole family’s future. My son would have a bigger room. The kids would have separate bathrooms. Maybe we would live in the country with an acre or two. We’d have family dinners and because Dad was so much happier we would do more things as a family. We could explore DC and NYC. Life would be great. I.LIED.TO.MY.KIDS! This move was the worst decision of my life. I’m done blowing smoke up people’s asses. I’m done lying to myself. Expect the worst and then you’re never disappointed.
My mom tells me to stop borrowing trouble and I’m sure it’s not easy on her to see me in such a funk for so long. But this is the way it’s got to be. It’s so much easier to not expect anything. Either my expectations come true and I’m no worse for wear because I expected things to be absolute shit, or it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Believing that things are going to be great and then having that not pan out is excruciating. It’s like death by a thousand paper cuts. I remain a pessimist to protect myself. I’m open to good things happening but I don’t count on it. Unfortunately, right now that’s just the way it has to be.