This afternoon, I filled out the intake form for my counseling thing I’m starting next week. Under loss section, it asked which, if any, major losses I’d experienced in the last two years. There were eight listed. I circled four: Divorce, Job loss, Income loss, and Friendship loss.
That’s what happens when you get divorced. You lose friends. Good friends. Like, you’re ok with leaving your spouse because you’ve thought about it and reflected and made decisions, but you aren’t prepared for losing the friends.
Last Thursday, I went my friend’s comedy show and some of my ex-husband’s friends were there. I mean, they were my friends too. I’ve known the guy for as long as I’ve known my husband. Ten years? My boyfriend went with me to the show, we walked in, V was sitting there, and I was like, oh shit. Because who knows, right? Maybe he took sides. Maybe he was bitter. But he smiled very big, and said, “oh my god,” and we hugged, and I had this immediate sense of nostalgia and goodness. When he shook hands with my boyfriend, he continued to smile and it was nice. Even after the show, when we all stood around, it was like standing around in Old Times. I realized at that moment I hadn’t seen them or talked to them (V was with his wife) in two years and I missed them. No matter how much you know the relationship you’re in needs to end, there’s a grief period. You grieve what you had, and the friends you had, and the sweater parties and cookouts and afternoons at the brewery you used to have.
V’s wife asked me to lunch, so I said yes, and I met up with her yesterday. I apologized and said I just didn’t know how to handle seeing “his” friends, and she was like, it’s no big deal, we didn’t take sides, and we miss you.
We talked about what happened in the relationship, and I said, it sounds shitty but it was just over. It was just done. It just had nothing left. She told me that (at least in the time she knew me, which was only a few years) that my ex-husband often seemed callous and overly sarcastic to me. Not very loving. She said she thought we were a mismatch, but she figured things must be different at home. They weren’t. I was callous and overly sarcastic to him, too.
Lots of people on Instagram name their houses. Like, Casa de Lovenest. I used to tell him we should call our house “El Fuck Town” and he agreed. We laughed about it and then went to our separate rooms.
I told V’s wife how I knew my ex was married, how I knew he was married in Hawaii, how I knew that came from the sale of our house. I also slyly said, “I’m sure she’s pregnant. If not now, then soon,” and V’s wife said she hadn’t heard anything.
We talked about another friend of ours who went through two and a half years of fertility trouble. Our mutual friend had mild Endo, an ovary removed, a miscarriage, and lots of Clomid and Timed Intercourse before finally giving up. She decided she was so unhappy over everything, she quit her job to pursue her art, started to gather paperwork for domestic adoption, and then got pregnant on a natural cycle and had a healthy boy. It’s a cliche, but I know she believes stress was a major factor in her infertility.
In the last two years, I’ve gotten divorced, moved four times, suffered through eight months of fertility treatment, got a new job and lost a new job, lost my house and any profit that would come from sale of the house, was in a major car accident, still struggling to find full-time work, and acquired a child in the house and all the drama with his mama. In the six months before my divorce, my sister collapsed from a pulmonary embolism (which developed after gallbladder surgery and was a combo of the surgery, birth control pills, and what turned out to be a genetic blood clotting disorder for which I also had to tested). While I was trying to conceive with my ex, I was at the hospital with my sister dealing with the complications from the treatment they gave her for the blood clots. She had a brain hemorrhage. She nearly died, like, five times in one month.
So, yeah, I guess that’s why I spent Sunday night sitting in my bathroom sobbing hysterically after I changed a tampon.
This isn’t to say I’m not happy in my relationship or that good things haven’t happened. I am. They have. I’ve had some writing published. My boyfriend is amazing. Awesome. Wonderful. He is that person where I said, oh…THIS is what it’s supposed to be like. THIS is how it’s supposed to feel. We fought really hard for our house, but even that was a fucking shitshow. He had the job change. His boss was a nightmare. He got promoted and then demoted. That almost cost us the house. Even my boyfriend said, I don’t think we’ve had a span of time in which to have a normal, day to day relationship. That’s not entirely true, but it feels like it. When I moved in last summer, we got into the car accident. Had to get a new car. His new job started which pretty much took him out of the house for six straight months. The drama at the beginning of the school year with the kiddo’s mom. The list goes on and on. Now, really, a sperm and an egg is about simple biology. I’m not suggesting that I should just relax and it will happen (ha! IF humor), but I have been in emotional chaos.
I also recognize this is life. Life just happens and it’s good sometimes and bad sometimes, but I am definitely tapped out.