I moved today.
With my four-year old daughter.
Right. Next. Door.
My husband moved downtown.
When I walk out onto the front patio of my new house, if I look up and to the right, I stare straight at my old house. The one where my daughter learned to crawl, walk and talk.
Friends keep asking me if it feels weird, to be right next door. I tell them it doesn’t, because I never loved living in that house. It seemed haunted to me. There was an uneasiness about it. Now that I am out of the house and have some perspective, I think the haunting was him, my Husband. He was so cold and withdrawn; he could not, would not, connect with me and that made me incredibly anxious and uncomfortable. But I didn’t know it at the time. I thought it was me. So I went on anti-anxiety medication. So I could stay with him. In that house.
So, no, I do not miss that house.
And I have begun to taper off of my meds.
Hello, brain zaps!
Our last night as a family in that house was fucking perfect, too, by the way.
My Husband, who has been staying at his ex-girlfriend’s home for the past month needed to sleep at our house the night before the big move because his ex-girlfriend didn’t have room for him anymore.
She had house guests from China and something was lost in the translation about who was sleeping where. She is a musician and big in China. Not in America.
Apparently she didn’t have room for herself either because two days ago she sent me a text asking if she could sleep in my new house, in my new bed, with her stupid fucking dog.
When I read her message, I felt like throwing up, then I felt like throwing my phone. Instead, I told her it was fine.
I was so not fine with her, the woman who was my nemesis during my entire marriage and the reason, I believe, that my husband and I were getting a divorce, sleeping in my new house, in my new bed, in sheets I had never slept in myself.
And yet, I said Fine.
I have no one but myself to blame.
I kept telling myself- just get through the night, just get through the night. You can make it through one night. One night of anything.
Before going to bed, I went next door to drop some stuff off and spoke to her briefly. She thanked me profusely for letting her stay there and said my Husband had suggested it when she told him she had nowhere to stay either. I felt sucker punched. This whole time I thought it was her idea. But it was his. What a dickneck. He knows how I feel about her. Why the hell would he suggest such a thing? Confused. I told her he had told me a different story, then I left. I didn’t say anything to him. I tried so hard not to care.
When I went to bed next to my husband, in the bed we had shared for almost five years together as man and wife, for what might be the last night ever, I will admit, even after all that, I missed him something bad. I laid there in the dark listening to him breathe while the tears streamed down my face, and the passive aggressive anger boiled up inside of me.
I did not sleep well.
We had planned on getting breakfast together, my husband, my daughter and I before the movers came. As we were driving to the restaurant, I heard him on the phone telling someone over and over, “Yes, she is coming.”
I asked him who he was talking to.
He told me that he had invited his ex to breakfast with us, and she kept asking if I was going to be there.
I swallowed hard.
Bitch. I was ALWAYS going to be there.
I seethed silently. I felt mute and powerless. How could he invite her to breakfast with us? How could he be the one to suggest she sleep in my new bed? How could he love her more than me? I was the one he married! I was the one that gave birth to his child! I…
Just get through breakfast, just get through breakfast. You can make it through one meal. It’s just one meal.
I gritted my teeth and bared it all. I hugged her when she walked in. I acted like it was totally normal that we four were having breakfast together on the morning that my husband and I were moving apart from each other. He sat next to her across from me. I sat next to my daughter. It was surreal. It was like some shitty fucking indie film that no distributor would ever buy because it was too fucking sad.
Was this my life?
Angry at him. So angry.
I am so passive it’s scary.
I throw daggers with my eyes every time I look at him.
I can’t help it.
He was not kind to me when I needed him the most.
He was downright mean.
And I convinced myself he was the same person I fell in love with when the person I fell in love with had left long long ago.
My capacity for self-delusion is astonishing.
I thought I was free of them. Free of him and his ex and their fucking drama. But then he sent me a text later because she was mad at him for telling me the wrong thing blah blah blah.
I lost it on the phone. I yelled.
I am not upset with you!!!!
I am sorry she is. But I AM NOT!!
I don’t care anymore. I am lying. I care too much. Still.
Their relationship triggers some painful shit for me.
I can’t believe I hung in there as long as I did.
I can endure.
That is for sure.
I am like a champion ultrarunner for shitty relationships.