I am in Orange County with my daughter and family of origin. It is the first major holiday without My Husband.

It has been so long since I have been solo at their house like this. I struggle around my family. I am not comfortable in my skin. My Husband was brilliant at buffering my anxiety. He made me feel more normal and less like an alien with his Mid-West Charm. He did all the work, so I could sit back and seem charming and engaged, from afar.

Without him I am lost, lonely, and weird again.

I spent the night at my first ex-stepfather’s house with my daughter last night and cried myself to sleep. It’s hard not to feel like a failure when faced with my little brother and his beautiful little brood of three boys and generous wife.

The day was hard. I am not going to lie.

Everyone did their best to seem understanding, but it’s fundamentally a pretty tough scenario to understand- The Why. I don’t have a good answer for them. It feels wrong to tell my family that My Husband just doesn’t want to fuck me anymore. It seems slightly inappropriate. So I tell them he just doesn’t love me the way I love him. Which is part of the truth?

I didn’t stay too long and returned to Los Angeles in time to go grocery shopping with My Husband and our daughter. Grocery stores fuck me up, it seems. This time, instead of crying, I was angry. At him. Wandering around as if nothing was wrong, broken, falling apart. He was cracking jokes, practically skipping through the aisles. I wanted to scream and throw frozen food at his stupid head. I felt a panic attack coming on. My anxiety is waving through my body again, regardless of the Zoloft.

I hate that there is nothing I can do to relieve this suffering. No drink, food, or person can take this away from me.

I just have to be uncomfortable. And hopefully, get superb at it.

Nevertheless, I would give my left tit if I could distract with Highland Park right now.  I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days, which is entirely understandable, as it is a major holiday, and he is most likely with his family right now. Thinking of them, and not me, the woman who fucked his brains out in the back of his Passat, like a savage beast.

I am like a drug addict wanting a dopamine fix. A little shot in the arm to get me through the day. A little hit. Tiny text. A few words. That is all I would need…

I wish I could just sleep right now and not feel or think about any of this. But I have such shitty sleep issues. Especially right now. I can’t fall asleep, stay asleep, or take a nap. I am sleep deprived on top of everything.

I want to buy something.

I want to throw shit.

I want to throw up.

I want to cry.

In that order.

This is the other shoe falling.

I knew my life was too good to be true. I have had terrible anxiety since my precious daughter was born that something terrible would happen. I couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard I tried.

I just thought it would happen to her. I had no idea it would be this.

And, to be honest, I am glad it is this. Because this, a divorce, is something I can live through. If something happened to her, not so sure.

So that is nice. I can relax and move through this pain with some equanimity.

I have always been somewhat psychic. I have found it hard to discern between intuition and fear until hindsight though. So it is not something I can rely on. But it is there. A sense. A knowing. A feeling. A nudge.

Something I know; I will see Highland Park again. I don’t know when and I don’t know for how long. But I will see him again.

My Husband will find someone else. Pretty fast. And it will last for him.

I will find someone else. Next year. And it will last.

My Daughter is going to be fine.

All is well.

I  think we should get a goldfish.

My Daughter wants to name it Goldfish.

She’s very literal.


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