It’s been three years since my life as I knew it was destroyed. Or, more specifically, it’s been three years today since I got the message from The Saint letting me know that my husband had not, in fact, been spending weekends with his dear sweet mommy, but rather was spending them with Harley.
I will admit the date has not clubbed me over the head like it did the first year. I actually had to keep track this time around. Oh hey, August 10th! That’s kinda significant. When is it again? I know, right after the 9th and right before the 11th, but I keep losing track of time.
Last year I brought a cake into work to celebrate my freedom. The date still had a place of prominence in my life; I didn’t have to think hard at all to remember it. It was front and center although I put a positive spin on it.
Maybe next year it will pass right on by without me noticing at all. It seems kinda strange to think that a date that has affected my life so greatly would pass by without a second glance from me but it seems that’s about where I am.
Has it really been three years? Wow! In that time I have started writing this blog, sold off what I could of my possessions and left the other 95% behind, moved out of my home, moved back to my old city, saw my house foreclosed on, started working full-time, met the mobster, was able to quit my second job, got my daughter through her last two years of high school, kicked the ex’s ass in court, and will soon be taking my daughter down to college. My life is still not where I would like it to be financially. I HATE depending upon CF for money. I’m still in a much better place than I was three years ago.
I think Janis Joplin had a point when she sang: Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose….
I emerged from my divorce with my two kids, my three dogs, and my car. Almost everything else was lost. I make a fraction of what I used to live on. But, I AM free. Free to start a new life. Free to make my own plans. Free to do what *I* want to do. Free of him and all his baggage, all his lies, all his shit. Free to finally be with someone who genuinely loves me.
I won’t thank him, but I am thankful that he left me. I would have never left; I would have stayed until the very end, convincing myself that life in the gilded cage was perfectly fine and all that I desired. So here’s to three years of freedom. Three years since I got my second chance at life. Now that is worth celebrating!