Restricted

Well, I found out today that my marriage was worse than I thought for much longer than I thought. That was annoying.

Also, my husband has started only using restricted numbers to call me. This is similar to a tactic he often used while we were married when he thought I was doing something that he didn't want me to do. He would block his number and call me, thinking that I would never catch on the the fact that he was the only one who ever called from a blocked number. And, because I would clearly never be able to tell who was calling me, he would expect me to answer and somehow incriminate myself. Who am I supposed to think was calling me from a restricted number at a quarter after midnight last night? Am I meant to assume that Commissioner Gordon is calling to tell me that the Penguin is at it again? He would clearly have to call from a restricted number so that the Riddler wouldn't trace his call.

I don't think so. The only person who thinks I'm that stupid is my husband, the Joker.

Public Meeting

So I did pretty much the stupidest thing I could have done. My husband got back from boot camp yesterday, and I saw him today. It actually didn't turn out as badly as I had anticipated. I only agreed to see him in a public place when I was under time restraints, which meant we wouldn't be able to talk long and there would be less risk of anything bad happening.

I expected to burst into tears when I saw him, but I didn't. Apparently he is supposed to wear his Air Force uniform until he visits his base near San Francisco. That was unfortunate for me, because he looked really hot. I, however, looked atrocious. This was not one of those scenarios where I got all dolled up so I could silently scream, "Wish ya still had THIS, doncha?" It happened kind of spur of the moment, so I saw him in jeans and a t-shirt that didn't match my shoes, pulled back hair with a confused color situation, no make-up, and I hadn't even showered. Absolutely no showing off was being done on my side.

Anyway, what happened when I saw him was...not much. I have to admit it was a little nice to see him at first, but it wasn't what I think I should feel if I hadn't seen my loving husband in six and half months. It wasn't an overwhelming hate, either. Even the nice feeling went away pretty quickly and I just felt...normal. I think I had sub-consciously expected to cry, and did, but only for that reason. Even when he tried to kiss me, the only reason I almost kissed back is because I miss kissing.

What I learned from seeing my husband is that, as much as I wish everything was magically okay, it's not because I want to be with him. It's just because I want to be with someone. I'm lonely, and I don't want to go through the divorce process. I also got a little gratification out of the fact that he was at least acting like he wanted me back. It's nice to feel wanted.

Out with the Ladies

As previously stated, I'm not real close with a whole lot of people. As also stated, I don't have much of a desire to interact with many of the people around me. I realize that this isn't exactly the most positive or healthy way to live, so I occasionally try to fight the urge to stay at home in front of the computer, the TV, or a book. Last night was just one such occasion. Someone decided it would be a great idea for any of the women in the ward who were interested to get together once a month for some sort of activity, usually eating(every woman's favorite pastime), and hang out. Feeling that this might be a good opportunity to at least let people know that I exist without needing to explain why I was the only one around without a significant other, I decided to go.

I really don't know any of the women in the ward, so I made sure to be with my sister when I got there. That way, even if people didn't know who I was, it would still look like I had been invited by someone. When we walked into the restaurant and saw the women in our group who had already arrived, the man in my stomach who screams when I'm hungry put a clamp on all my internal organs. A very large part of me wanted to walk right back out.

At the table, all the women, of course, talked about their husbands and children. I, obviously, remained silent. Unfortunately for everyone, there were a few times when the need to be polite overwhelmed some church-going woman or another who had clearly not been aware of the attempts of others from minutes earlier. The following are some excerpts from the evenings discourse with the inclusion of some things I was too polite to say. I'm using colors to distinguish different speakers because I don't want to use names and don't feel like being creative in descriptions. I'm green. Just 'cause.

"So who are you married to in the ward?"

Are you kidding me? How about asking MY name? I'm the one sitting right next to you.

"No one."

"Oh. Are you in our ward?"

Does it matter?

"Yeah."

"Really?" (look of confusion and disapproval)

I thought only Utah Mormons used a tone two octaves higher than the human range allows.

"Why don't you go to the single's ward?"

Why do you think for a second that it's any of your business, you ignorant cow?

"I'm getting divorced." (Due to the already existing discomfort, I started tearing up.)

"Oh! Well, when your divorce is final, then you can go the singles' ward activities!"

So that I can actually hear what people are so accommodatingly saying out of my earshot? No, thanks.

"I haven't decided if I'm going to go back to the singles' ward or not."

"You're so sweet to join our ward. You could've moved to any ward, but you chose ours. You're so sweet."

Actually, my choices were either my mom's house or a halfway house. My mom lives in your ward boundaries.

"Actually, I couldn't have."

"I'm trying to make you feel good!" (This lady already knew I was getting divorced, and was actually very funny.)

"I'm sorry. I don't want to be rude, but I haven't seen you before."

That's because I have an irrational hate for all of you and your stupid, perfect lives.

"How long have you been in the ward?"

Long enough that you should all be ashamed of your lack of fellowshipping abilities.

"Six months."

"How did you stay under the radar for six months?"

I didn't have to try real hard. The only reason you see me now is because I'm making an actual effort to be seen.

"I'm a hermit."

(uncomfortable laughter)

"So, did you get married and move into the ward?"

Just the opposite, actually. My life sucks, and I hate you for existing right now.

"No."

(confusion)

Again, I hate you.

"I'm getting divorced." (tears again)

"Oh. I'm sorry."

I bet you are. The Vaseline on your teeth just makes it impossible to stop smiling.

"No, it's okay." (more tears)

"It's hard, especially when it's fresh."

Hate hate hate hate hate.

"It's not fresh. It's just being drug out."

So, obviously, it was a successful evening.

In all honesty, I don't hate any of the women who were there, though some made me wonder which of the noble gases might be taking up all the room in their skulls. I completely acknowledge that none of them had negative intentions and that they just didn't know better, but it sure was interesting how they all found the quickest "polite" route to a conversation with anyone but me once I divulged the nature of my situation.

Interesting Timing

The day after my husband left for boot camp was when I decided that I couldn't take it anymore. We had argued too much, he had done too much, and I found something out that day that threw me over the edge. I couldn't take any more lies or abuse. It was time to stand up and be strong.

Two months into his training was when he earned enough privileges to be able to make a new Facebook account. That's how we got in touch again. He had sent a message to me via Facebook. I was weak and unprepared, so I contacted him in return. I didn't want to go through all that divorce entailed, so I listened to all his reasons for not going through with it. He started to sway me, but his inconsistency was what held me to my decision. Although he said that he wanted to stay married, and that boot camp had taught him to be a better man and how to treat me better, his Facebook stated that it was time to move on. He put his marital status as single and said that he was looking for "dating" or "a relationship." While I was wavering on whether or not I would be cancelling the divorce, I told him that he should change the things on his profile if he was going to convince me that he wanted to be with me. He didn't.

It's now been six months since the blow that ultimately destroyed my marriage, and I've been unable to get papers served to my husband while he was at his military training. He comes home within the next couple of weeks, at which time I hope to finally get the process started.

Today I got yet another request from my husband to be his friend on Facebook. Apparently, it was today that he decided to use his Facebook to admit that he is, in fact, married. He apparently is no longer looking for a new relationship or even dating. His current status is a long spiel (with many mechanical errors) about making choices and God wanting His children to be happy.

I've always been very forgiving, often more so than is good for me. Because I've shared so much with him, I want very badly to forgive him. There's only one problem.

He still doesn't think he did anything wrong.

Tears and Scars

I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Today was Fast Sunday. I ate before I realized this, and then rationalized it because I wasn't feeling well even though I didn't eat enough for it to help me feel much better. I wanted to finish my book before church, so I decided to walk instead of leaving with everyone else. For some reason, I completely spaced out and forgot about the shortcut. My heels gave me multiple blisters. Oh yeah, I'm also on my period. Basically, the day wasn't off to a real good start. I wasn't really in a bad mood or negative, maybe just a bit more sensitive than usual (which is saying something).

At church, I found out some stuff that I won't go much into because it involves someone else's personal life. Basically, it seemed that she was in a situation similar to mine, but possibly worse. Realizing that someone was feeling the same pain I was feeling, and then some, had a profound effect on me. Thinking about my own situation, and the possibilities of hers, made it impossible for me to hold back tears.

This made things pretty interesting when it was time to teach Sunday School to a group of seven and eight year olds. I usually have another adult with me, but she didn't show today. Someone else (who I'm actually a bit more comfortable with) was there to give one-on-one attention to a boy with special needs, but I was pretty much on my own to teach the lesson. I thought I could handle this, but I'm not sure how successful I ended up being.

It really wasn't all that bad until I checked the time. The only watch I have doesn't match all my clothes, so I rarely wear it. Instead, I was using my cell phone to keep track of time. My phone was on silent, but I tried to check the time just as my phone lit up with a call from my husband. Knowing that he will be back in town soon, and not having fully recovered from my recent episode of crying, tears and a suddenly tight throat interrupted my lesson. The children gave me looks of concern and asked what was wrong, but I brushed aside their worries, regained as much composure as I could, and continued the lesson.

Afterward, one girl stayed in the classroom until everyone else had left. She would be getting baptized in the evening. When we were alone, she asked me why I had been crying. I told her that I had just had a hard day, but she asked again. I tried giving the same answer, but this time I was fighting back the tears that would not be held at bay much longer. The girl looked very concerned, worried, maybe scared. She didn't know what to do, and I couldn't say anything more, so she left. I saw that same look on her face again when I appeared at her baptism.

I hope I haven't scarred her in some way.