I think the interview went okay yesterday. At least I did at the time. Now, a day later, I think I blew it. I’m too hyper. I say too much. Part of me still hopes they’ll offer me the job. Part of me doesn’t.
I’m meeting a man with the small business development center tomorrow (Friday) at noon. It’s Murphy’s Law that when I decide to open my own business someone will offer me a job. I’ve decided that if I do get offered a job, I’ll try to do the other one in my spare time. That way I don’t have to give up the dream of my own business.
The real reason I’m writing today is that today is the one year anniversary of the day my husband stood there in the doorway of our bedroom and said, “Either you get out, or I will.” I nodded and he put his coat on to go out for the night as he always did. He left me with the words, “Don’t do anything stupid.” And of course I did. I’m sure he knew I would.
It was a large overdose. The weird thing about a klonopin overdose is that you can seem relatively coherent and apparently even answer questions, but I was out of my head and don’t remember anything for about four days. After several days they finally moved me to the psych ward and the first two days there are also a complete blur. I think I really did a doozy. I was in the hospital for two weeks.
I won’t rehash any more specifics about that tonight. I’ve already stated them here in this blog several times. But I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d live through this year. I didn’t think I could get to where I am today. I never knew I had strength.
I’m working on myself, trying to become whole. But in the process I’ve realized that I’m more damaged than I originally thought. I’ve accepted that. I’ve told my therapist that I have to put most of that ugly childhood and early adult trauma in a chest and bury it for now. I was damaged. But I’m still a good person and I can still do good in the world. I am sure of that. But a year ago I was anything but.
I spoke to my husband today. He’s in an uproar about the money, about the lawsuit, he wants to kill people and fire people and sue people and maim people. For the third conversation in a row I had to interrupt him and tell him I had to hang up now, he was being too intense for me.
But over the course of this year, when he blamed me for the demise of our marriage, one of the things he often repeated is, “I’m a peaceful man. I don’t like to fight. You bring out the worst in me.”
But I am seeing the worst in him this week, and I’m not even in his life. He is an angry man, whether he’ll ever admit it or not. There’s so much he’ll never admit to, and I’ve accepted that.
I have a long way to go still, but I’ve come so far. I don’t know if it’s good old human nature, or if it is something inside me, but I feel generally optimistic about life right now, even if I never love again. Of course the thought of that makes me sad, but it just may be out of my control. I will be much pickier than I ever was before, and there are fewer candidates. You do the math.
I feel melancholy mixed with pride. A year ago I decided that suicide attempts would never again be the answer to my problems. I decided I would lose weight and work on my insecurities. I’ve done those things and I’m continuing to do them.
Life is beautiful and tragic and over far too soon.