Time to Think

Much of spring -- March and April -- passed by uneventfully.  The three of us continued our normal routines with school and activities.  I thought it was important to maintain our weekly traditions, like "Pancake Thursday" at Bob Evans or Denny's, in an effort to keep stability and predictability in the boys' lives as much as possible. 

Once I dropped my youngest off at daycare, I would take my laptop with me to McDonalds and while away the morning on the Internet, sometimes job hunting, and sometimes not.  I occasionally chatted with friends online over Skype or Facebook, but I spent a lot -- a lot -- a lot -- of time alone.  That gave me a considerable amount of time to think about all that had transpired over the course of the past six months. 

I knew that I was the one to initiate the separation between my husband and myself.  It had taken me almost a year to get up the nerve to take that step.  I could not have foreseen the issues that would arise concerning custody and the safety of myself and the boys.  My husband had always had a temper and a jealous streak, but that got taken to a whole new level of insanity once he was faced with losing his cozy existence as the "kept" spouse. (I had not counted on unexpectedly falling into the land of the unemployed while I was in the middle of this difficult process.) 

I had hoped that we could work amicably through the divorce process, but that was not in the cards.  I tried to understand that he was hurting and that my actions had taken him by surprise -- because I had expressed my dissatisfaction with our relationship numerous times and failed to follow through with any real and tangible actions.  However, everyone has a breaking point, and I had finally woken up to the fact that his "valiant attempts" at real and lasting improvements were merely smoke and mirrors to get me to stop nagging.  Word to the wise: A woman who has stopped nagging is a dangerous animal indeed.  

Even though I had valid reasons for the decisions I had made, I felt guilty for all of the upheaval on both a personal/emotional and maternal level that I can't even begin to express.  In high school, I had learned how to eat my feelings, and I spent many years punishing myself/trying to make myself feel better with various binging habits.  Thankfully, over the past year, I had channeled some of my bad habits into an exercise regimen instead.  I had lost 40 pounds and was feeling much better about myself physically. 

So instead of eating myself back into bigger pants, I slept.  It was not unusual for me to nap for 2-3 hours in the afternoon.  Then I would be up until 1AM or later cause I wasn't tired.  I knew that I was depressed, but without health insurance, I was pretty much on my own.  My parents were going through their own divorce (insert irony here), and my sister was always working 60-70 hour weeks and dealing with a boss more heinous than the Wicked Witch and Maleficent combined.  They sympathized with me to a point, but again, I didn't want them to worry.

And yet I tried not to think too much.  I did not want seeds of self-doubt to take root in my psyche.  I had made my decisions, and I was determined to ride out this tidal wave, even if it pulled me under the current.  And it did from time to time, but I always came up for air at the last possible second.  I didn't know if that would always be the case, and that scared me more than anything.  But as I said at one point, "Coulda woulda shoulda never helped anyone. And it is the worst possible advice you can give. So spare me the speech."  But I wondered how long I could keep going before I broke...