It's been a hell of a week. Between work issues and personal ones, I'm exhausted but I'm also feeling like my head is going to explode. Like I can't lie down and have any peace.
Some of you might've caught on that Chuck and I split almost exactly a year ago. There were stipulations on whether or not I would come home. Those stipulations were never met. We've argued about whether I should've come back all year long. But somehow through this whole sordid process I never completely let go of the hope that we'd get our stuff straight. That we'd find common ground. That one day we might even be able to be in a room together for more than 15 minutes without getting angry.
Today, I found out and saw enough to make me finally stop hoping. Stop wondering. Stop expecting a partner. Today I was done. And it hurts all over again. You might be wondering what I mean when I say I was finally done today. I moved into my own place three months ago, I live as a single mother with Greyson. It's been done. But there was still some stupid, mad hope. Some part deep down that believed the best could happen.
I dropped Greyson off with Chuck today. I worked. I met her and her children. She's very nice. I bought some new decor for the house. Some makeup and skin care stuff that I've neglected to buy for myself for a while. I cleaned. I ate whoopie pies and drank a glass of wine for dinner. I half-watched Mad Men and the Tudors on Netflix. I did not read. Too much brain power required.
It's time for bed, and I keep sitting here wondering how on earth to wrap my head around everything I feel. A little cracked. A little broken. Stupid mostly. Really stupid. Like I wasted a lot of time.
I also know it'll be better by the light of day. It always hurts more when the day has been long and tiring. I know I'll get up in the morning, have coffee, grade papers, clean and straighten a little, listen to some music, pick up Greyson, and we'll go on about our routines.
I am endlessly thankful every day for that little boy because he gave my life new focus and purpose when he came into the world. He helped me find contentment. To not feel so lost. So while I'm feeling beaten down, I am not lost. I have quite enough purpose to get through whatever rises up in front of me.
I know I was not blameless in all this. It takes two...and all that. I know I've made him miserable too. That has to stop.
I also know what's good for me and what's not. Arguing is not conducive to contentment. Neither is distrust, jealousy, anger. I choose something else. I choose to cry no longer than the time it takes to get from point A to B in the car. Or the length of a phone conversation with my mom. Or the length of time it takes to write a blog post and get it all out and let it go.
I choose to live a happy life. A quiet life, maybe. But a good one. Always. And to make the best life for my son that I can possibly make.
I accept prayers, hugs, and good thoughts. It never hurts to have friends and family who can hold us up when we feel bad. I can't wait to feel better. It just may take some time.