Really for the benefit of my now-ending marriage, I will not be saying anything except the truth and my perception of that truth. JB, I know you read this blog. Trust me when I say that everything I write in here is MY truth at the time. If the situation changes, I will usually edit my entries (by adding an addendum at that end) so that everyone’s side is represented.
In your case, I’ll really have to think about it. You have proven through your actions that you care about your image.
This is MY interpretation of our divorce and what I’m going through. MY blog, MY thoughts, MY business. If you want to complain about me, get your own blog.
Yesterday was our one-year anniversary. We are still technically married, so I guess JB felt it was appropriate that his gift of paper be the draft of the marital dissolution agreement. He could have brought it Saturday when he came by to pick stuff up. He could have brought it Monday after he was off of work. But…he brought it Sunday. Our anniversary.
He also gave me a deadline to have it looked at and signed: Tuesday afternoon. Um, maybe in Covington lawyers are jumping out of the woodwork to take a case, but my lawyer in Collierville actually works on other stuff, so I was put off until Thursday, which is actually VERY fast in terms of getting appointments. Patience, grasshopper.
Because there is no docket number on the agreement, it is still editable…which was the point: to make sure I was getting what I needed to get back on my feet.
I won’t go into details of the document, because that’s not only bad form, it’s also illegal.
What I will say, however, is that every time he’s come over since the day he left me two weeks ago, he’s caused me nothing but panic and pain. My prescription list has to be turned in as proof of medical costs, and yes, there are a lot of muscle relaxers in there. There are also a lot of anti-anxiety pills. JB expressed concern, and started tearing up, telling me to please be careful because he doesn’t know what he’d do were something to happen to me.
Can we just stop the train for a second?
He left me.
Okay, moving onward…I assured him that I’m a big girl, and my family’s watching out for me (bless them…seriously, if anything turns me toward religion, it will be how much my family has helped me during this whole ordeal).
As I tried to read the legal document while we both sat in the living room (in case I noticed any discrepancies…I have legal experience, so I just pretended I was proofreading for one of my former employers), he kept saying things that he was unhappy about with the marriage. I mean, seriously, he wouldn’t stop. Every time I tried to defend myself, he’d try to one-up me with how much more misery he endured than I did.
Here are some facts, and I know some of you readers can attest to this:
Before I married Bennett, I was fairly active. I went to Boomershoot (he came with me, first time on a plane, so proud, etc), we would ride his four-wheeler around the property, etc. The big snow earlier this year was the last time I really did anything physical outside or around our home.
Whatever their side of the story is, I don’t know, but I felt confined to the room that Bennett and I shared as husband and wife, when we lived with his parents. His mom was apparently hurt that I didn’t come out more – I never knew she even wanted to hang out or anything. As a result of my being basically in bed all the time, my condition worsened. I was eating regularly, but wasn’t moving enough.
Since our wedding day and last week (the last time I weighed myself), I have gone from 190 to 250. That’s a gain of 60 pounds. I gained most of the in the six months we lived with his parents, but the rest came along when we moved into this house.
This home is a rental, and hadn’t had a proper cleaning before we moved in, because I was having a flare. I did what I could, and there it was. We moved in, settled our stuff a bit, but it was just so cluttered. It was much too small of a house for two people as big as we are. And that was another stressor.
JB never saw the messes that he made. He even said to me yesterday that he didn’t leave messes behind. But he does…he’s so used to his mom picking up after him that he’s lost touch with that part of reality that dictates that tissues, napkins, cups, and soda cans are a mess. It took me a couple of weeks to get him to stop leaving his towel on the floor. That’s just how his life was – everything was taken care of for him.
I know I made messes, too. I still make messes, but my mom put a garbage can in every room, and that has minimized the clutter considerably. That’s all I needed…a little help getting small items of trash into the garbage, and he didn’t do it very often. he just doesn’t see it.
Anyway, the point of all this is that while I actually am an adequate housekeeper (my former roommate can attest to that), I happen to have a disorder that makes moving around too much nearly impossible. So the messes got higher, and I became less able to deal with them.
When we married, JB told me he knew about my condition, and knew about how I wouldn’t always be able to take care of stuff. He promised to love me and care for me until we died. He promised to take care of me, no matter what.
I can’t help but feel that the worsening of my condition over the past year isn’t part of what pushed him away. He always wanted sympathy, but I guess because I’m sick every day, I don’t deserve any recognition or support. I had to cry before he would pay attention to how I felt, physically. He’d say he knew, he knew that I felt bad, and that we were going to do something about it.
I had tests planned to try to figure out once and for all if this was an autoimmune disorder or not.
And he left. Took his stuff, and left.
Back to the health stuff related to my weight gain, the more weight I gained, the harder it was to just take care of MYSELF, let alone a house. On one hand, he seemed to truly want me to not have to work or worry about anything. On the other hand, his example of the lady of the house is his mom, who does everything and then some, even with some pretty serious back problems she has.
I can’t just power through stuff. I can’t take a lortab and suddenly be able to conquer the world. In fact, lortabs make me want to sleep for hours and hours. And that’s what I’ve been prescribed for my pain, because it’s gotten so bad with this stress I’m under that my hips are popping out of place at random times. I’m that tense, and my muscles are that weak.
The blogmeet I had two weeks ago was the most fun I’d had in months. Actually, it’s pretty much the most fun I’ve had since we’ve been married. And you know what? THAT is sad. I hadn’t shot a gun in nearly a year.
Sure, I paid for it, physically, the next day (and emotionally, later that afternoon), but I can’t remember having that much fun since I lived in Memphis, over a year ago.
Since this past weekend was to be our anniversary weekend, I wanted a distraction, and my friend Phro, whom I’ve known for at least 12 years, wanted to hang out. I invited him over to watch movies and chat. He left before midnight.
By Sunday morning, half the town of Covington though I had been carrying on with some random guy, and OMG SCANDAL I’m still technically married! JB came over with the paperwork and all but accused me of having an affair. Yeah, sure, because being in the middle of a big fight involving lawyers makes me SOOOO hot. *rolls eyes*
The fact that I’d interviewed for a job here in town was apparently cause for concern, too. I think the line of thinking was that I was going to get a job here, live here (in Covington, that is…not this house), and…spy on him? Stalk him? Honey, I’m just trying to get back on my feet. I want a job so I can feel useful again…not because I’m trying to screw you out of anything.
So he was here yesterday, and I haven’t really been able to leave bed except to pee since last night. My cats are keeping me company (I’m literally surrounded), and I’ve been drinking Gatorade to keep myself hydrated and make sure I get potassium.
The absolute worst part about yesterday?
His last words to me were, “If being married to me has taught you anything, I hope it was to never stop believing in yourself.”
I thought, You stopped believing in me. Why should I take your advice?
I’m angry and miserable. My anti-depressants are taking care of the misery, turning it into just a kind of “flat” affect, but the anger…I can feel it in my brain and my chest and my stomach, and the only way I can express it is by crying. I’ve turned into the stereotypical divorcee woman. I hate myself right now. And I resent JB for putting me in this position.
I regret getting married.