Monthly Archives: April 2016

If I Can Do It, Anyone Can II

I’m in a good place. I’m feeling mostly at ease. I’m relatively hopeful even in the midst of some car troubles which normally freak me out.

Spent four nights out of town at a work conference. Got to know the doctor I’ll be working closely with. She’s not a normal doctor. She made the decision years ago not to be a wealthy doctor since she works for non profits in the child abuse field.

I met her and her partner for a musical which was fun. Later in the week I went to dinner with her. On Friday we were extremely busy but as she left she said, “Thanks for your help today.” And that meant a lot to me. I feel that she has my back. She’ll teach me and she won’t give up on me. We’ve already shared a lot about our lives with one another.

It’s official. I will have that promotion and a raise (no idea how much) effective July 1st. In the meantime I’m doing two jobs and it’s extremely challenging. I guess the only up side is that the week flies by, but I don’t feel I’m doing my best. No one expects more, after all, I am one person doing the work of two. I don’t think I could do it if they told me Aug. 1st instead of July 1st. I am barely holding on.

So I pray that later in the summer when the rush dies down I’ll be able to buy my little modest home. I will be super poor then, but it means so much to me that I am hoping it’ll all be worth it.

My ex and I have a lawsuit and we finally have dates. The depositions will be in July. The trial, if it goes that far, will be early November. The money may be a little or it may be enough to help me, but more important than the money (and I mean this) is that after the trial I never have to speak to him or hear from him again. He swears he will leave and I pray he will keep his word.

The day he tells me he is gone will be a glorious day. I will have MY town back and I can go anywhere without fear of running into him and his young girlfriend, or his pimpish, 50 year old Iranian friend who also fucks college students.

I found myself a little nostalgic over the fact that he packed my stuff for me. He had his girlfriend move in almost immediately while all my stuff was still there (and I still wanted him back) but he would not let me come in and pack it. So I have no idea what I will be missing because it went directly into storage.

I find myself worrying if he’s keeping a favorite knife I’ve had for twenty years, etc. Then I just have to remind myself that it doesn’t matter. It was the price I paid to get rid of him. If I can’t find my good knife, I’ll buy another one.

I do get attached to things, though, and I know that when he leaves that apartment he will leave everything behind that doesn’t fit in a suitcase. That’s how he is. And my stuff will still be there and be abandoned like I was.

I wrote to his landlord (a sort of friend/acquaintance) and asked him to please contact me if the ex leaves stuff behind but he never responded to my message so I doubt that he will contact me.

But would I want that shit anyway? Knowing it became part of “their” household? And probably smells like cigarette smoke? No. I don’t. In the 2.5 years we’ve been apart, I’ve bought so much cool stuff (mainly kitchen stuff, my passion) to make my new abode MY house and nobody else’s house, that I probably will not think too much about what I might have left behind.

The most interesting development this week is that I feel I have outgrown the need for my old therapist. I saw her again (I forced myself to go) to talk about dealing with my stress. It was okay, I guess, but so much effort to get there in the middle of a work day, and then have her tell me the usual stuff that I already know. I don’t think she has more magical ideas up her sleeve. I think I know what I need to do to manage my stress. I just need to do it. I may cancel the remaining appointments I have arranged.

Don’t give me any grief about that either! It’s clear to me that her arsenal of ideas has already been relayed to me. And much of it was provided by me. I need to:

Get exercise.
Be mindful — try breathing exercises and meditation.
Be creative.
Enjoy music.
Enjoy nature.
Rely on God.
Put myself OUT there to meet new people.
Get better sleep.
Forgive myself.
Love myself.

It’s not rocket science. It’s stuff we all need, right?

I needed her desperately in the early days after my ex cheated on me and kicked me out. The discard happened in October but by December I finally saw her photo and found out that she was 30 years younger than me. That news utterly destroyed me. I had been on a waiting list for a therapist and I finally got the call in January.

My therapist saved my life. I saw her every week for over a year. There was even one time where I pulled over in my car and thought I could not take any more pain. I was screaming and wailing. I called and left her a message. She called me back and talked me down. I was so, so grateful for her. The pain that day was horrific.

But I’m not that person any longer. Yes, I can recall the pain, (I’ll never forget it). And now I know that that 26 year old did me a favor. I had been trying to dump his ass for years. Apparently it had to be his idea. And wow, when he was done with me he was D.O.N.E.!

Thanks to my therapist, my doctor, my church, my family, my volunteer job, I just kept trudging through each day, putting one foot in front of the other.

And here I am. Things aren’t perfect but in regards to that horrible experience, I have survived, I have move on, and I am truly at Meh.

If I can do it, anyone can.



Just Hold On

I really do embarrass myself when I get so down that I can’t see the bigger picture like most grownups seem able to do. Then I remind myself that I have not had an easy go of it and try to cut myself some slack.

I’m a little damaged. I’m wound too tight. I expect too much from myself. I’ve made a few (many) wrong turns and I’m in a precarious place at nearly 59 years old. When I compare myself to my mythical peers then I think surely I am a failure. I have no partner, no home of my own, no plans to retire any time soon.

But you know it’s all relative, isn’t it? Yes, it is.

I’m relatively healthy. I managed to get a job (at 58) that I truly love, with people I love and admire. My only regret there is that I didn’t find this job 20 years ago. My young co-workers seem to like me. They invite me to stuff and sometimes I say yes. They’re amazing young women.

I’ve repaired my credit score after cheater-ex left me bankrupt. I’ve saved a significant amount of money for a down payment. And I’m poised to buy a very modest house this summer or fall if I’m able to find one I think I can afford.

My relationship with my parents is as good as it’s ever been. We’ve forgiven each other for our youthful mistakes and are making the best of it. I’m grateful for this time I have with them.

I’m not a lush. I don’t hang out at bars. I’m not registered on any dating sites. I’m just living day by day and getting the swing of things and learning that I actually, for the most part, like myself. I’m comfortable in my own skin. I can entertain myself.

I have attainable dreams that make me feel excited about being in my very own home such as getting back to painting. Listening to Bach (loud). Having a treadmill in the living room. Cooking for myself. I’ve never lived alone. I’m excited and scared.

I returned to God and to church, having left it when I was 12 or so years old. When I take the time to remember God, I find him loving and reassuring. It’s my job to try to remember him more often. He’s not a habit for me yet. But when I think of him, I feel that he is there for me, waiting patiently as he has all those years we were apart.

We should really never compare ourselves to someone else — there’s simply no point to it. Comparing myself to school chums who didn’t marry four times and stayed in one home is pointless. My life has been sort of a mess, but which part would I skip next time? Which part would I erase if I had that ability? Very little of it. Apparently I needed the excitement.

Even the eight years I spent with my cheater ex would be hard to give up. It allowed me to live in the outskirts of London, yes, in poverty and despair at times, but being there enriched me beyond measure. I have found that I’m an insatiable Anglophile who goes out of her way to watch British television illegally and watches a documentary about English history every night at bedtime. Something about England clicked with me and it’s now part of who I am at my core. I count the days until I can go back on my own terms and experience it anew.

I’m weird. I spend a lot of money on the few pairs of shoes I own, but very little money on clothes, hair, or make-up. I have no home of my own nor many friends, but I recently purchased eight gorgeous champagne glasses (made in France, of course) at a charity shop and I find it a little hilarious that I would ever have occasion to use them. And I would not have bought them if I didn’t know where they were made. I’m incredibly snooty about certain things. It’s weird. I’m weird. And I’m finding that people don’t mind me for it.

I did see my therapist last week and immediately felt better because she looked at me and more or less said, “Whoa, back up. You’re not seeing yourself as you really are.” And she’s right, I wasn’t. I do that sometimes. More often than I’d like to admit.

So I have made five other appointments with her, one every other week. And I will work on my work/life balance and cutting myself some slack over the fact that I can’t keep up with all the extra responsibilities they’ve given me at work. I will keep my eye on the fact that I will have a raise and a change of position in July.

I may not be able to get out my floor easel and work on large paintings, but I can get out my watercolor pencils and have some fun on a smaller scale.

I can ask my parents if they’d mind if I bought a treadmill and kept it on their patio until I move. I think I’d use it and it’d be good for me. I need it desperately.

I can make an attempt to get out into the beautiful nature that is not far from me here in the Pacific Northwest. A MeetUp hike, for example, or a photography group. I know for a fact that nature makes me feel more calm.

For all of next week I’ll be out of town for a conference for work. I’m so grateful that they decided it would be worthwhile for me to go — it’s another sign that they value me. I’m going to really enjoy being out of the office and I now have very few outward signs that I was sick for the last 5 or 6 weeks.

I just needed to hold on and know that I would get better. Tomorrow I’m going to church for the first time in many weeks. I’ll light a candle to acknowledge that I still have so much to be grateful for.

And the people who read and/or comment on this simple blog are among the things I’m thankful for.

My cheater ex just hated this song, so I’m happy to include it here:


I’ve been sick for over a month and am on my second round of antibiotics. They’ve ruled out pneumonia and are sticking with bronchitis. I’m so depressed I can’t function.

I missed five or six days of work and then got permission to work on the weekend for twelve hours to try to catch up. Things fell apart while I was gone.

I cannot handle the pace of my job. Pure and simple. I don’t know if it’s me and my high anxiety, or if it’s the fact that they won’t listen when I point out my very heavy workload. It’s probably both.

I’m the least paid person there and I have the heaviest workload and they keep giving me more. I show them how behind I am but I guess it doesn’t bother them that much. Perhaps it should not bother me, but it does.

My work mates sit in the back from 4pm and say “we’re spent. we can’t do anymore.” But me, I’m the fool who by 4p.m. is changing toilet paper roles, taking out trash, filling the fridge with more bottles of water, answering phones, helping every person who walks in the door, and balancing two positions which require actual planning, organization, and thought.

They tell me I will have a new position in July. How can I cope until then? I honestly don’t think I can. I’m ashamed of myself.

You may recall that I have not worked for over ten years and have been on disability. I pulled myself up when my cheater ex-husband bankrupted me and found a job at 58 years of age. I figured I had no choice — I had to find a way to be strong and stand on my own.

But all I’ve found is that I’m weak, frightened, scared, and now, feeling very suicidal.

My daughter rarely calls me. I have no one to talk to. I’ve been too sick to go to church in a month.

Price of houses are skyrocketing. I can no longer find any that I might be able to afford. It seems my opportunity to live a “normal” life has passed me by.

I have an appointment, finally, with my therapist on Tuesday at 4pm. I am hanging on until then because I simply don’t know what to do.

I’m ashamed to admit that the reason I can’t handle the job is because I can’t handle working. What will become of me?

At the same time I feel they really are taking advantage of me. They are asking me to do 2.5 jobs. I realize they are a struggling non profit, but this is ridiculous.

I love it there, but will begin to see if there’s anything else out there I might be able to do. Such a shame because it’s an amazing place to work. On the other hand, maybe I am getting tired of hearing about every single child sex abuse case in my county. How much can a person take?

I’m going to meet with my therapist on Tuesday and then I’ll sit down with my supervisor and the director and tell them that I can’t keep this pace until July. There is simply too much work to do and I can’t get better due to the stress.

If I had a couple of bottles of pills I would take them, I think. No, I wouldn’t. I could not do that to my parents. But I feel it. I have no hope. I am giving up.