During the long Autumn following my D-day, I thought I’d live through all this if I could just get through the winter. Now that Spring is fully here and summer just around the corner, I’m not so sure.
There’s something about summer time that makes one think of vacations and significant others. Going places. Seeing things. Feeling romantic.
I don’t really do much. My volunteering is only two afternoons a week, 8 hours. I swim M-F and that takes up a couple of hours if you include the driving and showering. I go to the market nearly every day for my folks. If I’m feeling flush I’ll spent $20 or $40 at Old Navy. My world is very small. The rest of my time is spent on my website; I barely even watch any TV.
Yes, I want to hike, but I’m using the excuse of no suitable footwear to not do it. I’m already broke this month due to beginning to pay some back taxes. I would not owe them, of course, if I hadn’t cashed in a 401k, and had to pay fines for cashing it in when I was under 65.
I go to the market in the middle of the afternoon and everyone, and I mean everyone is older than me, which is funny given that I’m no spring chicken.
It makes me feel worthless when I know I have a tremendous amount to give to an employer, or to a business of my own. I’ve got stamina, good ideas, and a good work ethic. People my age and younger are at work. They’re busy earning a living like I used to be. I really miss those days.
My husband and I have pulled away from one another even more. When we have so little contact I begin to suspect he’s up to something, perhaps he’s left the area, maybe he got his settlement and he’s run off with it. So I don’t call him, but I text him once a week just to see if he’ll respond.
My last few emails to him have been me demanding stuff. Telling him he has until this Friday to arrange to pay for his own phone. Telling him I need to come pick some things up tomorrow. Telling him his attorney needs to contact me. Telling him I need to go into the home we shared and pick through my stuff.
I even went so far as to say that if he thought he was entitled to my posessions he was misguided. And if he wanted to play hardball I now know police, sheriff, and district attorney people so I’m sure they could set me in the right direction. Yes, I run across those people, but I wouldn’t have the nerve to ask them to help me with this. I’m just bluffing because threats are all he responds to. He’s always acting like he has connections when he doesn’t.
Last night I saw that a location we had been eyeing for some time for a restaurant has been leased and will now be a Cuban restaurant. I wanted so much to pick up the phone and tell him; then I remembered we’re not friends. We don’t share shit anymore. And I felt lost.
I am so tired of having these daily and weekly realizations that he doesn’t give a crap about me. I ran out of money. I stressed him out. He found someone else to use. I am so fucking ashamed and so lonely.
I’ve always been introverted and shy and so it was easy to isolate me. His interests became my interests. His world became my world. Now what am I left with?
I still miss the man I thought I knew in spite of his many faults. But he didn’t exist, I’m coming to understand, and the shame of that is overwhelming to me.
I will see my therapist tomorrow for the first time in two weeks. It felt like a bit too long between visits, but I have to try to stand on my own. This long term depression is becoming a weight I can’t carry any longer. I’m being crushed under the weight.
I’m worried that I will not love again. I’m worried about not getting any of my husband’s settlement money. I’m worried about keeping my car running. Not losing weight. My father’s very ill health. My daughter’s life choices.
We all have worries, but don’t they feel less if you have someone to share them with?
I did write to my husband’s attorney and I asked to see him this week. I have a document that both my husband and I have signed stating that he’ll give me half of his settlement money. The attorney is supposed to sign it too, and stamp it and seal it to make it something my husband can’t get out of. But — a big BUT here. He is my husband’s attorney, not mine. He reports to my husband and does his bidding. Therefore, if, after I leave they laugh and rip up the document, then it’s not worth the paper it’s written on.
When I meet with him I will ask him point blank, “How can I be assured that this is a binding agreement?” I will record his answer. If I am not happy with his answer, I will start calling around to see if I can find an attorney who will work on a contingency basis to help me. I hate to share the money with yet another attorney, but if he runs off with it then I’m fucked.
This attorney is a busy trial lawyer so he has not responded. I will give him a few more days. If he doesn’t get in touch I’ll try to get my own attorney.
And I’d like to get all my furniture out of his house, but I fucking have no where to put it. I have a storage unit that is full. If I take the stuff I’ll have to pay twice as much each month to store it. BUT what really has me worried is, if I insist on going in there and walking through and taking my stuff, what if it’s clear he’s living with someone and has set up house with her? I know that emotionally it would kill me. So I can’t push that right now. But I am stopping there before my counselor appointment tomorrow to pick up some things I remembered. He brings it to me as I wait in the car. He keeps saying tell me what you want and I’ll pack it. It’s not easy to remember a place you left seven months ago to go to the ER and then the psych ward for two weeks. I can’t remember it!
In the end I suppose those things won’t matter much. I won’t even know what’s missing until (if) I ever get to set up my own household again.
This is time wasted. And until I can get very busy and preoccupied, I will dwell when I do not want to dwell and I won’t move on. The truth is I could be busier now. I could be going around town trying to make my website more successful, but I’m just too shy. The truth is, while I have stamina, I also don’t. I’m tired. I never get enough sleep. I’m emotionally fragile and so insecure.
I still want to be rescued, and that’s not a good thing for a woman in my position to want.