Is This the End?

"Do you think we would ever be happy together?"

My fingers automatically stopped typing.  I could feel my throat starting to close up on me; my heart jumped and was already racing at twice its normal rate.  I found it hard to breathe.

He sat up from his reclining position and was now sitting with his feet flat on the ground, facing me.  

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, glad to have the desk and my computer screen as a make-shift shield between him and me.  

We hadn't even begun to 'talk,' and there I was already wishing for the conversation to end.  Various emotions fleeted through my mind all at once: fear, sadness, anger, hopelessness.  Panic and a sense of foreboding slowly made their way from the tips of my toes upwards, invading my peace and sense of security.

I remembered asking myself, "Oh God, what is it again this time?  What have I done now?"  I fought the tears that were threatening to escape, afraid he would roll his eyes and see it as another 'flaw' in my personality.  These days, there really was no limit to the amount of 'wrong' things he saw in me.  I didn't even know why I would bother worrying about disappointing him even more.  It seemed to be my specialty lately.

I was never one to articulate my feelings well verbally.  Perhaps that was why all my attempts at communication with him had failed.  Maybe that was why I've given up talking.  It only led to more tears and heartbreak for me.  

If I thought there was no way I could possibly feel any worse than what I was feeling, I was dead wrong.  What could be worse than being told that your husband's having a midlife crisis and the one thing he felt unhappy about was his wife?  And then shortly after, you heard him confessed that he didn't love you anymore, and that to him you were simply a mother to his child? 

Well, this: being told that the last time he felt happy with me was during the first two or three years we were together and then when I was pregnant.  Recap: we've been together for twelve years, and my daughter is almost seven.  It didn't take long for me to do the math, really.  Basically what he's telling me was that he had not been happy for the last nine years.  Nine f*cking years out of the twelve years we've been together, people.

Oh, wait.  There's more.  He felt that he needed to make one more clarification.  About not loving me anymore.  It didn't just happen, you see.  He's stopped loving me waaaaaay back.  At least a few f*cking years back.  Try five to six years back. 

Well that was just great, wasn't it?  Just kept on shooting more bullets at me, would ya?  Stab me, turned the knife left and right, and might as well pour some salt while you're at it.  

At the end, I asked him, "What do you want me to say?"   

What were you hoping to accomplish by saying this?  Did you want me to make the divorce decision for you?  Was this meant to be cathartic for you, even if it was at my expense?  Didn't you care?  Oh wait, that's right.  You didn't.

Divorce Journal Entry #4: Cease-Fire, For Now.

He said he didn't love me anymore.  He's given up on our marriage.  He has even talked about giving me the full custody of our daughter should we proceed with the divorce.  

My husband was also too chickenshit to end the marriage right away.  Yes, you read right.  The dude had the nerve to tell me he no longer loved me, but he's too scared to be the one who ended it.  I knew he wanted me to be the one who took the first steps into making that "divorce" happened, just so that he wouldn't have to feel responsible for having ended our marriage. 

And what did Sweaty do?  Well, what Sweaty DID was different than what Sweaty WANTED to do.  What Sweaty WANTED to do was:

1. Tear off Mr. LA's hair one fistful at a time until there's nothing left.  Or maybe I'd play nice and leave a few strands behind.
2. Shove Mr. LA's shiny golf sticks up his arse.  Elin (Tiger Wood's ex-wife) would be proud.
3. Scream a long string of curses on top of my lungs right in front of his face.  Possibly covering his face with my spits...  after I chewed a handful of garlic.
4. Kick Mr. LA's balls until they're black and blue.  You betcha I'd check.
5. Wrote a huge L with a permanent marker on Mr. LA's forehead while he's asleep.
6. Throw him out of the house and change the keys (ala Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive").
7. Play darts with his face (or his black and blue balls?) as the target.
8. Empty his bank account.  Ha! Who's gonna want you now, Mister?

What Sweaty DID was:

1. Took a really, really deep breath.
2. Count to 65.
3. Told him no, I did NOT want to get a divorce and that I wasn't going to give up on us that easily.    

I know that I don't say this often, nor did I ever write much about it, but I love my husband.  Despite all my rants and ramblings, my sarcasm and my jokes, I could never imagine a life without him.  When I fell in love with him for the first time, I fell in love with him for life.  Lord knows he's far from perfect, and he had done some pretty shitty things, but he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Always has been, and still is.

Here's what I didn't tell you before.  Four years ago, our marriage was forever altered by a certain life event (which, unfortunately, I cannot disclose).  Since then, I had built a wall so high to protect myself from being hurt, I was emotionally (and physically) absent from my marriage.  I was so ridden by fear, that I had trained myself not to care about my husband "too" much.  I had ceased being a wife; the only role I played in my marriage was that of a mother to our daughter.

We began to lead separate lives.  The thing that attracted us to each other at the beginning--our very different traits and personalities--became the very thing that killed us.  As an extrovert, my husband has many hobbies and interests.  He's also social and has many friends.  On the other hand, I am quite the introvert.  I prefer to stay home because being around many people exhausts me.  I have a group of close friends whom I meet with regularly, but other than that I don't socialize much.  At first, I used to accompany my husband on his many activities.  But it all changed four years ago.  

I stopped going with him, whether it was to have dinner with his friends, to visit some art galleries, or to just have a nice Sunday brunch at some new restaurant.  Always opting to stay home, I immersed myself in raising my daughter, in my books, in my own little world.  His hobbies no longer interest me, and after a while I've lost touch with what he likes and what he doesn't.  With nothing else in common other than being parents to our daughter, we found ourselves unable to connect or communicate.  We've become strangers living in the same house.

So what happens now?  

For me, it has been hell to be living in such a limbo on a daily basis.  It hurt every time I remembered what he said, about no longer loving me.  At the same time, I reminded myself that when I married him it was for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and if this was what it meant, than so be it!  Despite my bruised ego and pride, it is time for me to step up and fight for my marriage.  I owe it to myself, to my husband, to my daughter, and most importantly, to God.  It's an uphill battle that I must struggle with, not only day to day, but minute to minute of each day.  But I am a wife, one half of the marriage equation.  I have just as much power to build or to destroy my marriage as my husband, and I choose the first.

And what about my husband?  His response was a no response.  I honestly don't know what will happen in the days ahead.  

All I can say is that it's cease-fire.  For now.

  

Sh*t, I looked like SH*T!

If I sounded like I've been such a tough cookie lately, it's because you couldn't see me.  I cried, like, all the time.  I cried while typing on my computer, I cried myself to sleep, I cried in the middle of a conversation with my daughter's dance teacher, I cried while reading Joyce Meyer's Never Give Up, I cried watching my daughter played, I cried seeing the door to my old bedroom, and just the other day, I've even managed to cry while I was taking a dump.  Amazing how I was suddenly able to multi-task.  That coming from someone who thought she couldn't breathe and blink at the same time.

I looked just as bad.  I hardly looked at myself in the mirror these days, I didn't comb my hair (sometimes having really short hair did help), I was in my pajamas until it's time to take a shower and put on another pajamas, and I haven't gone out of the house for days...  I did notice, though, that going bra-less for days  really felt kick-ass liberating!

Another thing I've been doing of late was lying.  I've lied so much, I could go to hell just for this week alone.  I lied when Ms. Lips and Ms. Mouthy texted me and asked me how I was doing (I'm doing great! Uh, one big fat lie), I lied to my daughter when she asked me why my eyes were teary (Mommy's sleepy, so Mommy's been yawning), I lied to myself the most, every single time I told myself that I was alright.

So no, I'm really not a tough cookie at all.  I feel like sh*t, look like sh*t, thought about a lot of sh*tty things, and basically have been doing sh*t (read: nothing) so far.

But I allow myself that.  I have to, or I'd go insane.  I've never been good at pretending.  My face is like one of those lighted billboards in the middle of Times Square: there's now way you'd miss seeing what's written there.  One look at me, and you'd know I've got a lot of sh*t in my mind.  Add to that my tendency to look bitchy without even trying.  Not a good combination, really.  It's the kind that might scare little children away and give them nightmares.  Maybe it's a good thing I've been staying away from public places.

How much sh*t can a person endure, I wonder?  I figure must be a whole lotta because it certainly felt like I've been buried to the hilt two months ago, and yet the sh*t just kept on coming and... holy f*cking SH*T! it looks like I've got to make room for some more! 

I've been looking at the requirements for medical schools in the UK, and I felt ancient!  I didn't know they actually have a term for prospective students like me (those whose last time in school was at least a decade ago) and it's called "mature."  Mature, ha!  And it looked like I would have to take the full 6 year-course at the very least, and that is if I manage to score high on UKCAT exam and complete my applications by October 15th, 2011.  Oh, and that is for those who have a science degree.  Mine is arts.

Sooo 2011 2012 it is! But seriously, am gonna make it there, dammit! 

In the meantime, I just have to get my sh*t together. 

    

Divorce Journal Entry #3: a Lesson in Humility

A cousin of mine who is in the restaurant business just opened another branch at one of the big malls in the city.  Her mother invited my mother, me, my husband, and my daughter to come and try the new restaurant.  She of course didn't know of the impending divorce yet.  My mother, who is still fuming in the tradition of "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" didn't want to see my husband, so I came alone to accompany her.

Clearly my aunt was proud of her daughter's accomplishment.  The restaurant was full even though it has only opened for a few days.  Other than me and my mother, she also invited several other relatives.  Many of them were my cousins from my other aunts or uncles, who came with their families.  Family *being*: wife, husband, and child/children.  One cousin was pregnant with her second child, and we were talking about how time flies because it seemed only a while ago that I visited her in the hospital for the birth of her first child.

It all hit me at once without warning.  The fact that soon news of my divorce would be known by all these people.  Concern over my mom and of having disappointed her with my failed marriage.  Fear of my daughter being perceived differently, either pitied or ostracized because she comes from a "broken home."  The loss of control over my present situation and the uncertainties looming in my near future.  Anger at my husband for "taking" all of my life and dreams away.  Feeling guilty over things I could no longer change.  Jealous at how unaffectedly life passes by, at the unfairness of it all, at my cousins and random strangers I didn't know for having their families intact.   And to top it all, I was hormonal, irritable, and in the middle of my period. Could things be any worse???

But, this is the new reality for me.  One I must face whether I want it or not.  I learned one thing sitting there, amidst my relatives and all those thoughts bombarding me. I learned a lesson in humility.

It wasn't that I had anything against people who experienced divorce.  My parents were divorced when I was three years-old.  A lot of my aunts and uncles got divorced.  I have friends who've had divorce.  I thought it was sad, and I felt bad that they had to go through such an experience, and I would never wish it on anybody.

Now that I'm facing the dissolution of my own marriage, I realized that even though I had always exhibited appropriate responses when it came to the topic of divorce, I had never felt real compassion on the subject.  Pity yes, judgment yes, but real honest compassion?  Maybe not.

Looking back, many of my fears now (a few of which I mentioned above) must be based on my own prejudice and preconception, many of them unconscious until now, about those who were divorced.  It's a modern world, divorce is no longer news, and yet there is still a certain stigma attached to those who has been touched by it.  I'm not sure if this applies equally everywhere, but in the society I grew up and now live in, there's an invisible line that separates those who are divorced from those who are married.  It's all hush-hush, but it's there.  The details don't matter--you could be the victim of a very unfortunate circumstances, or on the flip side, you could be the one having mini affairs in an open-marriage.  But those belonging to the divorce community would always be "second-class citizens" to those who are married. 

Predictably, the rule applies twice as hard for divorced women than men. 

Now that I'm on the other side of the invisible fence, my eyes are truly open.  For the first time, I really understand why my mother chose to leave me under the care of my dad for the first three years of their divorce to pursue her studies 9000 miles away.  I understand why some of my divorced friends slowly "disappeared" from social gatherings and events.  Those who didn't were often gossiped about, their every moves judged and condemned.  We the (un)happily married people didn't mind being friends with those who were divorced, but um, it's probably better to keep them away from occasions where our spouses were around, shall we?  We wouldn't want them to (whisper) steal (God forbids!) our spouses, would we now?  Besides, it's not constructive to socialize too often with those who are divorced... different values and morales and all that...

What a bunch of bulls*t and bollocks! 

Still, it's a reality that I must face.  A reality that those before me had to and are facing every single day of their divorced life.  I know of those who have come out a winner and become the better because of their experience because they didn't give a damn about what other people think and fought to pursue their dreams.  But that's not what I'm talking about here.  I'm talking about embracing this ugly reality and being at peace with that.  To be a humbler person, one who has learned to have compassion, to have a heart big enough to accept all the ugly and negative realities surrounding divorce, and still come out a winner.

A lesson in humility.  That was what I learned as I was sitting there, surrounded by my relatives not yet aware that my marriage was over.  To have a big enough heart to take it all in, the good and the bad that comes with my imminent divorce, and still move forward. 

Divorce Journal: Entry #2 - My *New* Bachelor Pad

As of right now, my husband and I are still living in the same house.  We have not talked in details yet about what will happen to our living arrangements etc. once the divorce procedure is underway.  So we're sort of stuck living under the same roof, trying to avoid one another as best we could.  At times when we had to interact, we kept our conversation to a minimum--that way *I* wouldn't get too emotional.

That doesn't mean I didn't feel like slapping the bejeezuz out of him, or kicking his ass all the way to Mars every time I see his face.  I do have a black belt in crazy after all.  So you betcha my mind's been brewing with all kinds of ways to hurt the bloody arsehole back, but with the divorce in such an early stage, maybe I should wait and see.

I know this sounds crazy, but we still tried to eat dinner together whenever he's home to do so, for the sake of our daughter.  This of course was the last thing I wanted to do; the longer the minutes past, the angrier I felt, just looking at him sitting across the dinner table.  I was in the middle of my very satisfying imagination, which involved poking him over and over again with the dinner fork, ala voodoo doll, when my daughter suddenly said, "Why am I the only one talking on this table?  Why aren't you talking to each other?  Mommy?  Daddy?"  And my damn heart broke again.

I've moved out of the bedroom my husband and I used to share into what used to be the nursery.  He didn't ask me to, but I just couldn't go on sleeping next to him at nights knowing he doesn't have any feelings for me anymore.  And I prefer not to wait until he's the one who moves out when he couldn't stand it anymore.   

So moved I did, next door to what used to be the nursery. 

Ever since my daughter outgrew her crib and moved to her "big girl" bedroom, the nursery's been converted into a playroom/storage for my daughters' toys and knick-knacks.  We had taken down the baby crib a long time ago, but had replaced it with one of those Little Tikes bed so that my daughter could take a nap there during the day if she wants to. 

Who knew after all these years, I'm back to having a bachelor's pad, eh?  It does have a few resemblances to my old bedroom... Here's a few takes on what it looks like:

Back to sleeping alone on a single bed!  No more arguments over room temperature, ha!  And I have the blanket all to myself.  I can wake up in the middle night, jump around on the bed, and nobody would know!  So without further ado, this is where I've been sleeping for the last few weeks...  on a Little Tikes bed that looks exactly like this:

Because I had the walls painted with murals, my 'new bachelor pad's wallpaper' looks very similar to this:

Although I'm thinking of changing it soon to something like this:

Then add the margharitas, some mojitos, a few beers... 

Back in the days, I used to have 'cool' posters in my room.  Now I have these:

My own personal library?  No problem, my new room has an extensive collection:

Among my favorites are: "The Specky, Pecky Egg," "Tina Ballerina's Ballet Class," and "The Never-Bored Kid Book" (very insightful, especially for those ghostly hours in the early morning when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep)

And it also came equipped with the latest gadgets:

It even has unopened boxes, most probably full of junk from years ago, on the corner:

And yes, that is my DIY waxing kit stashed away together with old baby clothes and some Christmas lights from last December.

Oh, did I mention that my new bachelor pad resembled my old bedroom, as in, my bedroom when I was 6 years old? 

Divorce Journal: Entry No.1

It's amazing what could happen in a blink of an eye.  That pretty much summed up the recent events in my life.  I still find it too difficult to write/talk about, I hope you'd understand.  So please forgive me if my writing goes all over the place, or if it's disorganized, not really having a theme, title, or even making any sense.  In truth, if one were to take a glimpse into my mind right now, that's exactly what my mind would've looked like--like a bomb had exploded, obliterating everything into unrecognizable pieces.  It definitely felt like it.  Indescribable pain that seared you into an almost-numb state, but not quite.  Leaving you suspended, unable to escape--your own personal hell on earth, if there's one.

Having said that, life goes on and waits for no one.  So here's what I've been doing in the meantime:

• I decided to keep my hair short, after having grown it a bit longer than usual in the last few months.  What is it about bad endings and the need to chop off one's hair?  I know I've done it more than once in the past, and I know of friends who cut their hair, consciously or not, following an unfortunate incidence in their lives.  Maybe it's like some sort of a rite of passage.  Get rid of some bad luck and cut off your losses.  Or maybe it's emotionally therapeutic--unless you managed to end up with a really bad haircut, in which case, you probably have to look elsewhere and try more extreme cathartic measures.  Like shaving your head, for example.  That's very rare though, I hope.
• Bloody effin hell, my monthly period just started.  Enough said on the subject.
• Trying to calm my mother down.  I had to finally tell her about "the end."  This was just as painful for me to do as accepting the fact.  My mom just decided to semi-retire, having worked her butt off most of her life.  She had just learned not to get too paranoid over the future.  I wanted to keep the news away from her until the very last moment, but it had come to that point.  Predictably, she freaked out... in the usual pattern of increasing stages.  Here's an example:  (3 days ago) "I'm sad for both you and your husband..." vs. (yesterday) "That jerk! I don't want to see his face ever again!"  Yes, I'm sure you get the picture.
• Telling those who are closest to me.  My best friend, Ms. Lips has known for quite some time, but yesterday I finally told Ms. Mouthy.  I wanted her to hear it straight from my mouth, before rumors had a chance to distort whatever truth there is.  I hurted to have to tell her while she's on vacation and going through her first few weeks of pregnancy.
• Praying.  I think praying is the only thing that keeps me standing right now.  I pray for God's peace and strength, and for His Will to be done.
• Oh, back to my hair.  So I had a haircut.  Same hairstylist, same request.  But now I ended up with hair like Justin Bieber.  F*ck.
• Thinking of going to school again.  Pre-Med. I know, am I nuts or what?  I'd probably be the only one above the legal age in class, but what the hell.  At least I know I'd be voted as the class' official drinks and beverages organizer, even making some serious bucks doing it.  Wink, wink.
• Making sure my daughter comes out a winner, no matter what happens.  This is work in progress.  I don't have a clue as to how I'm gonna achieve this, but I'll update you as I go.

It's gonna sound like a f*cking speech, but I've gotta say it.  To all of you who's emailed me, showing me your concern as well as support, thank you so, so much.  Really, from the bottom of my heart.  I thought about "meeting" some great people when I started my blog, but the truth is, you've proved me way beyond my expectations.  Truly, you've been real friends to me, even if we've never met.  I hope I can be just as much a friend to you whenever you need me.

OK, there's enough of this sentimental sh*t here to last me a few lifetimes over.

Do Sweat, Over and Out.