Tomorrow is my anniversary. Do I say it's still my anniversary even though it doesn't count anymore, when the counting officially stopped April 23?
It will be 35 years tomorrow since I married the guy I thought hung the moon. I remember thinking it was the happiest day of my life and here's a sad thought: life with him was never so happy again, but oh, at the time, I was so crazy for him.
Since April 23 his life and mine have both totally changed. He remarried in July, three months to the day since our divorce was final, six months exactly since he filed for divorce. He now has a much younger wife than the one he got rid of, one who actually works and earns an income, a couple of teenage daughters, and a shiny new house near Seattle. I live full time on the road "essentially volunteering [my] services and not lifting a finger to earn any [of the maintenance I get monthly]" as he put it, and my belongings fit in a 10x10 room with plenty of space to spare.
People say, and sometimes I even believe it, how much better off I am now, but is that supposed to erase or even mitigate the hurt of his betrayal? Does it excuse the unending stream of lies I was fed? Tell me why am I so torn apart, still, by the events since December when I finally see what he really is: the kind of person I would never choose to associate with.
I'm better than I was in February or April or August, but I still feel the sting of rejection. I'm still stunned by what happened. I'd still like to see someone hurt him as he hurt me - I would pay to witness that. Some days it's still pretty darned hard. But at the same time I acknowledge I am one lucky woman to be able to live as I do, to not have to scrabble for a living, and to have family and friends who care for me. I am lucky to have found a purpose and lucky to have the means to live the way I do. I am lucky to have not lost my way, at least for long, on my path with heart.
Thought of the day:
Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it. (Lou Holtz)