Buyer’s Remorse

Well, I am already regretting asking my parents to come visit.

Apparently, when I say “everything is pretty much booked over Christmas Break”, it means that I am looking for excuses and don’t want to give them a straight answer. Because OF COURSE nobody else wants to go to Florida, Puerto Vallarta, or Bahamas over the holidays. Duh.

And then, because I am stupid, I called my cousin, looking for comfort. And got “maybe you are not being enthusiastic enough” and “you are more worried about what Bill’s family will think than how much fun your kids will have.”

Fuck my life.

I Can’t Make This Stuff Up

Yesterday, I told my parents that Bill and I are separated, and that he wants a divorce. Of course, they wanted to know when it all started. I said, “August”, because, technically, that’s when things got really bad. Had I said “November”, it would have opened a whole ‘nother can of worms, and I was so not up to it.

I’ll immortalize the details of our discussion later (tltr: it’s my fault, and I made my Mother sad), but here’s the email I received today from my Dad:

“Whether or not your marriage survives, in any case, you need to IMMEDIATELY start working on getting your citizenship. Do not waste time. DO IT RIGHT AWAY. That the first and MOST IMPORTANT.

Second. ALL your attention and free time should go to BILL and CHILDREN, not kittens, books, computers, and girlfriends. Call him more often.

We understand how you feel and feel sorry for you, but THIS NEEDS to be done, if you don’t want problems for yourself and us in the nearest future.

Pull yourself together and move forward.”

I have no words.

Suckstones

Sunday, September 7, 2014 – Bill tells me that he does not think trying to save our marriage is working out. When we talked at the airport before I left to pick up the kids from Russia, I hoped that maybe we had a chance. It took less than two weeks after I returned to prove me wrong.

Sunday, September 20, 2014 – I can no longer bring myself to sleep in our king-size bed, because it is painfully obvious that Bill does not want me there. I sleep in the study now.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014 – we fill out a family update form during the kids’ annual check up at the pediatrician’s office. The first question is asking about parents’ status. We circle “Separated.”

Still to come: talking to the kids. Telling my parents. Notifying HR office at work. Letting my family know. Changing relationship status on Facebook… Something tells me I’ll be crying myself to sleep more often than not in the coming weeks 😦

Broken

I’ll be doing OK, and then something will happen, and my bubble of denial pops, and I am confronted once again with the fact that my marriage is over. The eHarmony app on Bill’s phone. The printout of “Your Guide to Separation and Divorce” in the minivan. His casual, “I hope we can stay friends, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

Seventeen years. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health… Now that it looks like “for better” is finally here, I am no longer good enough. It feels like a slap in the face. Another proof of what a failure I am.

Some day, I will make my peace with what my life turned out to be. But today, and tomorrow, and as far into the future as I can see, I am just broken.

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Knowing me, knowing you…

Sometimes, when people ask me how I am doing, I think about telling the truth: “I am fine, except that my husband is tired of trying to make our marriage work, and wants a divorce.”

Awkward…

It’s been about three months since he told me that. Up until then, I was under the mistaken impression that things were actually finally starting to get better. Stupid me.

I was dealing with it pretty well, all things considered, but apparently this week my antidepressants decided to lose the good fight, and for the last few days I have been quietly falling apart. Pretending that things are OK is taking up all my energy. I am barely functioning at work. We have friends coming over this weekend, and all I want to do is lock myself in my bedroom with a book and pretend that the real world does not exist.

It is hard to accept that this is the end. That the last 17 years of my life have, for all intents and purposes, been a failure and a waste. My dead-end job, my dead-end marriage, my dead-end life. I am so terrified of telling my parents that.

The soundtrack of my life, brought to you by ABBA:

Happy Valentine’s Day. FML.