One Year
Last year I visited family over Easter weekend. I left on a Friday. My son packed the car and went with me. I kissed my husband goodbye, told him I loved him and that I would see him on Tuesday when we got back. The man I married the second time around couldn’t make it on this trip. He had to work. But this was normal and I was used to it. Besides, our 12th wedding anniversary was coming up in June and we had plans already. We were happy.
So I thought.
Hell, everyone thought we were happy.
I am not going to rehash the details. I’ve written about it elsewhere and it was painful enough the first time. But when I got back I found out about Mona and his feelings for his “massage therapist” (who leaves him happy by the ending of the massage). I went through weeks of trying to save a marriage he didn’t want to save, and eventually found out he didn’t love me. When he told me he hadn’t loved me for the past 10 years, we were 2 days away from our anniversary. But everything started with this major life change about 3 days ago….last year. When was Easter last year? On Sunday, April 17th. Not an exact date but damned close. Close enough for this grieving woman. What’s two days when you‘re still grieving?
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My first marriage lasted 15 years. We had just celebrated the 15th anniversary on March 31st. It fell apart quite dramatically on, you guessed it, April 17th. Complete with him trying to kill me, holding my kid hostage, and keeping S.W.A.T. at bay all fucking night (not to mention, keeping the neighborhood evacuated and most likely awake, as well). I used to be a homeowner. Tear gas gets into ducts, carpet, and quite literally everything. Not to mention, S.W.A.T. driving an urban assault vehicle through the back of the house because they don’t know the difference between a gas pedal and a brake pedal. And they aren’t responsible for damage to the home. I was the victim and I lost that home anyway. I loved that house. Oh well. After all that, I wouldn’t have been able to live there, anyway.
April 17th… Fuckin’ April 17th. Y’know, FUCK April 17th. Fuck this fucking month. I had 2 seizures this month, too. Fuck, I would have made it 3 years if I hadn’t had those seizures, goddamnit. Oh, and some goddamn uninsured bitch cunt rear ended my car when I was making a u-turn because she wasn’t paying fucking attention. She left the fucking scene, refused to let me call the cops, just gave me an expired proof of insurance and fled the scene. Meanwhile, I’m left with a damaged car and an injured body (yes, I have a back and neck injury on top of everything else).
FUCK THIS FUCKING MONTH!
Really. April hit and everything went to shit. And it has kept going downhill. So now, for the past 3 days I’ve been just randomly breaking out into tears over …. just nothing. I can just be talking and see a leaf blowing in the wind, and that might trigger a train of thoughts that just start cascading into a waterfall in my head, all in a split second, and these tears just stream down my face while I keep talking because at this point I can’t stop the crying, and my voice just gets tighter and I just try to power through it. And I’m not sleeping. Three days, and I’m getting an hour or two here, an hour or two there. I don’t even know “when” I am in the day anymore — if it’s day or night — unless I look for some sign of daylight outside. No, I don’t want any open shades or blinds, thank you. It’s too bright. Just darkness, thank you.
I need to find the thread again. The thread to the happy. I’m back in the pit and I never wanted to be here again. Where are my handholds? I can’t find them…
