Its exactly a year to the day that my divorce decree was granted in the courts and all was finalized.
I was standing on a mountain in Mossel Bay with N and we kissed and he said ‘Here’s to no longer living in adultery’ and we laughed and hugged.
Then it was over.
Just like that – a judge signs the papers and 3.5 years is dissolved – just like that.
Today I decided to spring clean my flat…
I found many things, like shopping in my own wardrobe, notebooks, memories…
I found my wedding rings, my wedding photos, my guestbook and my wedding dress.
I read through every message that every guest wrote. Everyone was so loving and the messages touched my heart deeply. People had so much love for us as a couple and we had so much love for each other.
Where did the love go?
I don’t know.
But I remember it so clearly.
The way our hands interlocked, the way we sang in the car together and drank wine while cooking. How we made love at midnight under the moon in our garden, how we took baths together and the way he smelt. The way he would give me medicine when I was sick and tucked me into bed.
That is what I’m remembering.
There was so much hate and so much trauma – up until today I don’t think I fully grasp how much trauma it was. I still don’t think I realise what a struggle it was. I have the memories and the scars of the hurt and the pain.
But the trauma is something that follows you after a divorce. The fears you now have for your new relationships. You carry certain beliefs with you that your ex made you believe but went true. You’re scared and a bit skeptic and I think that is where the trauma and the hurt lies. Its what you carry with you and I think it will probably take me a while, maybe a few years even…until I fully get passed everything…
For now, I’m trying to remember the beautiful parts that shined and not the sadness and hate.
I went to my storage unit today.
Went through a few boxes. Saw all my glasses and pots and cookbooks and clothing and lamps and couches.
Everything from my past life.
As if my past is just living in that storage unit…
I spoke to my ex husband today about a few payments and debit orders that have been going out of my account for his medical scheme. Naturally he won’t pay me the money back. It’s fine.
Speaking to him brought on so much anxiety, I even drank an urbanol. I had a lump in my throat speaking to him and just his tone of voice makes me scared and want to cry. Which is so ironic because he comes across as the sweetest man ever.
Thanks for the reminder that leaving you was the best thing I ever did. Things are so much better now that you are not around.
Honestly I’m so grateful.
You drove by me today.
My ex husband drove past me in the traffic today and ironically he was wearing the shirt that he wore to our wedding. Blue with fine white stripes. I remember that I loved the way that shirt looked on him, the way it brought out the blue shade in his eyes.
The side mirror on the right side of his car was completely wrecked – I wonder what happened. I found myself hoping that he would look in my direction and see me, I wonder if we would have smiled, or waved, I know I would have, I wonder what his reaction might have been..
It feels strange to think that just a year ago I was in a complete different space in life. How so much has changed… Last year this time, he was away on a business trip actually and I was in the worst stage of my eating disorder, binging and purging up to 6 times a day – ironically I also had the flu – like I do now. My anxiety was at its absolute worse, my panic attacks were frequent and I felt that I was stuck in limbo. I didn’t realise how easy it was to lose the woman I was. She slipped out of my grasp without me even realising it. My confident core slowly faded into nothing day by day with each low blow. I had never felt so alone in my life and so lost. I was so scared of what the future had to hold.
But here I am, a year later, and I found her again.
And I hope that my ex husband is sleeping soundly tonight and that he is happy and that he feels he belongs and that he feels calm and warm inside.
I slept with my ex husband.
Honestly it was for my ego. I didn’t feel anything emotionally.
It was more of a ‘poor poor you’ and sympathy sex. I’m going to do this one last time, to make you miss me even more. To make you feel even worse and realise what you lost.
It was liberating and I felt powerful and that causes some shame – but at the same time I feel completely indifferent.
I felt in control.
Much like my eating disorder – I feel in control. I yearn for control. I don’t want to let go and I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do. I want to control everything.
I felt sad about Andrew however…
Back to the city. Year starting again.
I feel content.
Drove by my house I shared with my husband and I just smiled…
‘It’s really worrying that you wearing lipstick’ he said while I was explaining to him that I had called the psychiatrists and I would help him go to therapy if he needed.
‘Can we have sex one more time? Just one more time?’ he pleaded and picked me up and put me on the kitchen counter. I pulled him closer and stared deeply into his eyes. Those green eyes I made love to, the eyes that held my heart and a thousand memories. My future was in those eyes. They now looked blank. He hadn’t slept in days since I left, he hadn’t eaten. He was jumpy and agitated and anxious.
We stared into each others eyes and started kissing slowly and then more passionately. Our eyes were closed, he was kissing my neck sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to get lost in him, get lost in us and what we were, but it was gone. It was lost. It was no longer there.
I pulled away.
‘One last time’ and he leaned down kissing my stomach and lowering into me.
‘Come on, I have to go’ I said pulling him up and sliding past him as I jumped off the kitchen counter.
‘Come on, please eat this’ I’d warmed a croissant and put cheese and jam on it for him, his favourite.
I had to leave, I couldn’t stay.
We hugged good bye, I got into my car and I redid my lipstick while he was looking at me from the bay windows in the spare room where I had spent my last night sleeping in our house.