I found an old journal I started when I was first dating my now ex-husband. It was all flowery and mushy, like all 21 year old girls can be when they think they’ve found “The One.” Unfortunately, the longer we were together, the more miserable I became. One entry I wrote seemed a bit foreshadowing: two months into our relationship, I put ink to paper that “I’m going to marry Jeff. Mom and I argued about it, but I’m in love and we’re going to get married one day.” I remember her saying we were too young, too immature… She and my father have been married almost 39 years: she was 18 and he was 27 when they wed. Anyway, we did marry but it didn’t last, obviously.
Here is where the damage lies. I love my boyfriend. He’s fantastic. He witnessed a hangry break-down for the first time that involved crying and a lot of “I’m so hungry that nothing sounds good!” He patted my head, told me he loved me and everything would be fine. This completely stumps me. This is the kind of support I’ve needed my whole life, but I feel like it’s not real. I’m afraid one day he’ll say, “we need to talk…” and that’ll be it. I’ll tell him a deep, dark secret and he’ll run. Will he become bored with me? Maybe I’ll run. I seem to have a talent for ending relationships. I’ve been the one in all of my serious relationships to throw in the towel. I’ve had three of them: the first lasting over one year, the second two and a half years, and my third being my six and a half year marriage. How do I convince myself to let go and let it be? I don’t know that there are enough affirmations in the world to make me believe I’m worthy of the love I’m receiving, but I’m going to keep telling myself “happiness is my destiny” and “I am worthy of my love and another’s love in return” in hopes one day I’ll hear truth in those words.
I used to babysit WFB’s roommate. When we met, I thought she looked familiar. She and I graduated from the same high school, but she was 5 or 6 years behind me and I figured we didn’t know any of the same people. Then it hit me last night. The kids I babysat every summer I was in high school lived next to a girl with the same name as his roommate. I asked her on Facebook Messenger if she knew the two kiddos I used to sit. Yes! They had been her neighbors growing up and the boy I sat had helped her move last week. I told her I remembered taking the girl over to her house to play, and I actually babysat her a few times in the evening when my day ended with her neighbors. It’s pretty weird telling your boyfriend’s roommate that you were her babysitter 14 years ago.
Two unpleasant things happened last night. The first, was Jeff calling me around 10:30 pm, asking for my birth city and the date of our divorce. Seriously? He was with me for 7.5 years and doesn’t know where I was born? He said he was getting a passport and needed the info. This afternoon, he came by my office with his fiance to make his eye appointment. It makes me crazy that he does this. It’s so much easier to call, and it makes me think he’s messing with me. Anyway, he’s coming in tomorrow. I called him today to tell him congratulations and ask why he hadn’t told me he was getting married. His response? “Well it’s not like we talk anymore.” We don’t talk because he has a new woman in his life and he doesn’t want me as a friend, even though that’s what he originally said he wanted. I asked him not to bring his lady friend with him, and explained that he’s the only ex-husband who comes around the office. Everyone else’s exes seem to be capable of finding other eye doctors to see. I’ve been working there for 10 years, and we were together all but my past two years there. My co-workers know him, and those who don’t are still very protective of me. I’m incredibly stressed about what is going to happen tomorrow.
The other unpleasant thing? My brother, my niece, my nephew and I went to the KU basketball game, the first time for all of us. When we got back in town, WFB sent a text that he and some friends were going out for drinks. It was around 7:30 pm and I was tired, but agreed to go out. I want to hang out with his friends and get to know them a little better. He was blitzed when I showed up: glassy, red eyes and a drunk sway. Apparently he’d been out since 3:30 that afternoon. After we figured out how to get his car to my place and his friend back to her car, he was pretty feisty but I was ready for bed. Apparently I irritated him because he called me a bitch when I rolled away from him to go to sleep. I know he didn’t mean it, but that was the word of choice for my parents and my brother when I was growing up. Their favorite thing to call me was, “Spoiled Little Bitch,” so when someone calls me “bitch,” I get very upset. I started crying and he immediately apologized, held me and tried to console me. Shortly after, I started a tickle fight and momentarily forgot about the whole ordeal. However, as I write this, I’m tearing up. I know he didn’t mean it, but it’s the first time he’s hurt me. I love him, and it’s something that’s easily forgivable so I’m sure I’ll be over it soon. He’s a sweet fellow but I know he has a temper. Until last night he had hidden it well. Here’s to hoping it’s not a trend.