Almost 5 years after Bill told me he wants a divorce, the worst part (and the hardest to deal with) is how alone and abandoned I feel.
I hope that once he moves out next summer, I will be able to start to heal, but I am so afraid that I will be too broken by then. I keep telling myself that I managed to get through the last 4 years, that compared to that, nine months are easy, but it feels like the walls are closing in, and there is no light at the end of that particular tunnel.
Nine months, six of them with my parents. I can do it, right? Right?
Years ago, a friend referred to a particularly rough period in his life as a “donkey ride through hell”. I have never forgotten the expression. Lately, it seems like the donkey and I have been on a sight-seeing tour of hell’s outer fringes. It ain’t pretty.
In October, after Bill’s girlfriend downgraded their relationship to “friends with benefits”, he let me know that he wants to go forward with the divorce. Understandable, since at the end of this month, it will be four years since he told me our marriage was over.
On November 1, I was called into a meeting at work, and informed that due to budget shortfall the college is no longer able to employ me full-time. Starting on January 1, I will be down to 16 hours per week – about $1,500 a month, pre-tax. No benefits, of course.
I hate how my life turned out, and it’s all my own fault.
Yesterday was our 20th wedding anniversary. I should have known this marriage was doomed when the unity candle would not light.
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