I know that by the looks of it nothing has happened since Fred's untimely end, but there has been. There is a new chameloen now, named Grizzley Will, and Phil the frog has been moved to a new home.
In many ways this week has gone by like lots of other ones....work, work, work. Except that I am becoming less and less numb to my work-yourself-to-death coping mechanism. Maybe it was just in me recognizing that I work as much as I do in order to avoid. Due to the strangeness in my work hours this week I took Thursday off from Job 1. I had grand plans for the day, most notably taking the divorce paperwork to the notary and then filing them with the court. Most grand plans fall through...as did these. I started to go through the paperwork and unfortunately starting thinking about the situation that I am in. I'm angry. Angry that this is my responsibility.....my responsibility to bear being hurt so, my responsibility to be strong for all of the others who are hurt, my responsibility for all of the legal issues...it all falls on me.
When I went to that counselor she told me that I should be proud of how strong I am and how well I've handled all of this. So many people tell me that, and I wish that they wouldn't. Being 'strong' is the biggest burden of all. Being strong means that while I have bourne this well, that even though you want to show everyone how hurt you really are...that you can't. Being strong means that even the appearance of weakness destroys your self worth even more. Being strong means that stoically handling things makes your struggle more noble. In that nobility is the absence of shame. No one should feel shame in my situation....which means that being strong is of the upmost importance....and in so saying....being strong leads to you crying, curled up on your bed, trying not to crinkle up the divorce papers and being thankful that no one is at home to see you in such a shameful and weak position.
If this was Mr.3's purpose, then he did his job well. He caged me within my own strength.
It is at times like those where I don't even want to bother with the divorce....I'm married to someone who doesn't exist, to someone who even if he was going to be the one filing the paperwork wouldn't even have documentation to prove his identity enough to complete it.
Being single again has it's own levels of complexity. I've determined that twitterpation is not only bad for my anxiety levels but my skin. I've face has been broken out...and it hasn't been this bad since middle school. I've tried to be more social....and I have even been dating. Although I am not sure if my two dinners and one on one conversations with Craig could be called dating anyway. The first night where he made dinner at his house was marred with me being nervous and feeling stupid the whole time. I sent mixed messages, I know that I did. I agonized over every gesture I made for almost a week. Then Friday when it was my turn to make dinner I tried to not to be nervous....being in my own element helped a bit. And I talked alot about how much I loved Jimmy and how I was glad that he wasn't going to move out (another new development from this week) and I talked about Mr.3. Not too much, not in the depth that I wanted to....but I talked a bit about my pain. In any case, I know that I have a good friend in Craig and if whatever we have going on gets classified into something more he at least knows about what he would be getting himself into. He knows that I have baggage, but he doesn't know the full scale of how tarnished I feel. In many respects, I don't understand those depths either.
Since my anti-botic month, my system has been in a horrible state and I have been trying to fix it with probiotics. I haven't been doing enough though and was woken up this morning (and I really needed the sleep) by a tightening in my chest. It turned out only to be gas, but I was in pain for quite some time. I then decided that I needed to go to Wild Oats and get something that I can take on a daily basis rather than wait for the next time my system decides that it hated me. Going to Wild Oats and a local new-age bookstore sounded like a good idea. So I sent Libby a message this morning and started working Job 3 for a bit while waiting for her answer. She wasn't able to so I finished my four scheduled hours and went out by myself. Going out by myself felt like a huge extravagance... it feels easier to do things lately if there is a purpose, and someone else being there with me creates a purpose. The Wild Oats trip was fairly quick and I got a free sample of probiotic to try from the employee in that section....which I think was only due to her having recognized me as being from the Center. I had talked to her class earlier in the year. Then it was off to the bookstore.
I am not sure if I was looking for anything in there. I thought about getting a tarot reading but couldn't justify the expense....and even then, I am not sure what I would have asked anyway. As I was walking around I just felt that everyone in the store looked at me and knew that I was in pain. I felt emotionally naked. I was hoping to find something....some book....some object...something that would give me a puzzle or a riddle that I could sit down and use to figure me out, to figure Mr.3 out. All I have been hoping for is to find some little logical puzzle that I could work on and make me feel like I found an answer. Anything to make me feel like I am being productive....anything that will make the logic of things take away the emotional pain.
I wasn't even gone from the house for 40 minutes. I couldn't even make myself dawdle in a bookstore...I kept feeling that I had to rush home and do something. But there isn't anything to do. I've done with work for the day (nor do I have the attention span to do anymore). The house is clean. I don't feel like reading. Jimmy isn't home for me to listen to. I'm just left with myself.... and what is worse than that is that I am left with myself, and Ms. Fix-it that I am can't fix what is wrong with myself, I can't clarify the problem so I can't being to work on the solution.
I guess that I will just walk around the house, publish this banal post, and wash the tears away from my face before Jimmy gets home from work. At least it is movement..... an attempt to make my physical inertia match my mind.