The Slick Adventures of Downtown Girl

And It Begins

Friday, September 29, 2006 | posted by Kate | permalink | |

Hello, Again.
It has been said that writers should write when they are on the brink of things, that the drama is what moves them. I have never purported to be a writer, and I don’t think I will start now. The drama of my divorce/separation situation is certainly moving, but it doesn’t motivate me to write. What motivates me to be here at my keyboard right now is the feeling that typing these things out will help me to understand what’s going on and to remember what happened in a few minutes, in a few hours, and in a few years; because what’s going on right now is going to seem a lifetime away someday.

I should be packing.
So I’m here typing this instead of packing my kitchen dishes, instead of bagging up my clothes. I will get to those things soon enough. Tomorrow, I move into my new apartment, my little studio near the lake!! Emphasis on the word “MY.” “MY” with stars and hearts and glitter, as a matter of fact. For the first time in my life, I have been approved for a place all by myself. A place where I can drink Cokes in the morning and leave my wet towels on the floor, a place where I don’t have to worry if the color of the towels is masculine enough or if someone besides me has food they like in the fridge.

I am 24 years old.

What about my husband?
Well. Glad you asked. After some (nasty) joint and single counseling, we finally came to blows. If we couldn’t be civil to each other, we couldn’t live together. Angry and resentful, I knew that I would treat him in a way I would be less than proud of. For three years, my life has been all about him and his education, about working 8 shifts at the restaurant in a week to pay the bills. About selling my soul at a corporate company to live in the glitz and drama of downtown. Naturally, I am not an angry or spiteful person at all, so when I would wake up in the morning with a slight tinge of anger in my stomach, I knew something was wrong, something more wrong than the fact I was suddenly irritated that he had bad breath in the morning or that I was upset that he had messed up my alarm in the morning.

With the option to stay with some friends until I could find a place, I began looking for apartments. He decided to rent a car and escape responsibility for a few weeks, holing up with mommy and daddy a few states away instead of continuing to look for work or confront the situation. He didn’t call to let me know he had made it there safely. My blood boiled hotter.

Tiny Delusions
Every once in a while I imagine that he is going to call me, his voice cracking and emotional, begging me to not leave him. I start to feel sentimental but then realize that him doing this would not change what is happening. I knew he would take this “sitting down” so to speak, but that same part of me that hoped he would grow up, change, or improve himself all of this time we’ve been married pipes up occasionally, pointing out that he might still put up a fight for me. And to that, I say: “Yeah, Right. I’m not waiting around for that one.” He’s going to let me walk right out this door without saying a word.

On Being Stronger
Reflecting on the fact that tomorrow I’ll be in my new place makes me ecstatic BUT also makes me feel like throwing up, like I’m having a nervous breakdown. My stomach would like to go on the record and mention that it isn’t really sure what I’m doing right now. Lucky for my stomach, I have been leaning on some courage I didn’t know was there. It is the courage to step out of this pseudo-stability, into the unknown.

To not accept “okay” for the chance at “great.”
To not have to make a youthful decision that we’ve outgrown last forever.
To not stay because I’m afraid to be alone.
To leave because I don’t want to be in a relationship where I can sometimes be alone.
To not be afraid to sleep by myself at night.
To realize that while he is not my “ideal” mate, I, by definition, cannot be his, either.
To understand that they don’t mean that “no fault” thing literally: there are going to be sides taken and lines drawn. Who’s with me, here? Bueller? Anyone?
To face my fears and not feel scared.

On other people’s reactions
Something interesting is how sorry people feel for me when I express that I am getting separated/divorced. Smug marrieds: I know. It frightens you. I used to pull my ex closer when we’d hear about breakups, resolving to work a little harder so “THAT” wouldn’t happen to us. If I just kept working harder, kept writing “I love you” in greeting cards, kept buying steaks at the store and lugging home six packs, I could protect myself from the horrible divorce. I had it all wrong, kids. So, so wrong. You don’t love somebody or try to love somebody more or make appearances or whatever because you don’t want to lose them. You don’t love someone like crazy because you are motivated by the fear of loss, or a sense of duty or because it is the “right” thing to do, but because you are motivated by the very thought of being with them, and you are simply celebrating who that person is and the connection that the two of you have.

If I’m ever lucky enough to find someone that motivates me to love them with everything I’ve got, I’ll let you guys know. But I don’t need that to give my life “purpose” or “meaning” or any of the rest of that “Modern Bride,” “Cinderella”, “Lifetime TV” bullshit. I got to be a bride. It was a lovely day. Until then, I will be feathering my new nest, writing posts when the mood strikes, and waiting for some medical school interviews. I’m ready to pack some boxes now. This is for sure.

Let's all keep this nice and undercover, okay?
Love until later,
K.