Anniversary

Today marks one year since I filed for divorce, and I am SO ready to move on. I decided to try to go around my lawyer who has been repeatedly ruining things for me by mailing in a form to change the address for the court to use from my lawyer's office to my house. That way, if the papers ever get signed by the judge, they will be sent to me instead of the lawyer and my lawyer will continue to not acknowledge the existence of me or my case. This would, in turn, mean that I wouldn't have to go through the hassle of giving my lawyer a list of all the reasons she won't be getting the money she thinks I owe her for her incompetence.
Of course, I did mail in the form and I'm not sure it will be taken seriously since I was previously represented by an attorney and am now trying to do things on my own. Maybe it will get to the court, possibly even the wrong department, and get thrown out. At least I can say I TRIED to do something proactive today...

One AM and Wide Awake

I've been pretty stressed lately. Not so much about the divorce, though. It's taking forever, but it's already taken so long that I've become apathetic about it. No, my stress is from other things, like work, school, family, and the pressure I've been putting on myself to lose a few pounds.

One thing that happens to me when I'm under a lot of stress is that I have really weird dreams at night, often quite frightening. They always sound ridiculous when I talk about them later, but, when my mind is in the dream world, it's terrifying. It's currently one in the morning, and I just woke up from one such dream. Even though I'm no longer in the dream, and I realize it was silly, I'm not eager to go back to sleep and feel that fear again. 

It's times like this that the loneliness really kicks in. I wish I had someone I could wake up and talk to after having a bad dream, so they could agree that it was dumb and help me to calm down so that it might not come back when I go back to sleep. 

Instead, I sit alone in the dark knowing logically that everything is fine, but wishing I had someone close by to tell me so.

Dream

Last night I had a dream that I was doing something near the house I lived in with my ex. (He still lives there.) When I was done with what I was doing, I started on my way home. But I couldn't resist. I went and stopped by the house. I saw that he now had a lap pool outside the house, had painted the inside, and was getting new flooring. He had some people over, mostly women. I made sure to tell the one that liked him the most that he was married and stupid, but the main thought that kept running through my mind was, "No wonder you 'couldn't afford' spousal support, you jerk!"

A Little More Talk

Every now and then, I find it difficult not to think about the things my ex did to me. It's hard not to think about the physical and emotional torment I endured. And, even though I know this isn't logical, I now have a tendency to assume that all men are like him when no one is watching.
Usually when something is bothering me, I talk it out. I find someone dumb enough to let me start talking, and I keep talking until they can't stand the sound of my voice. Somehow, it helps me sort things out. Unfortunately, it's a little harder to get someone to even begin to listen when the subject is so uncomfortable. No one likes to hear about a woman getting abused by her husband. It isn't fun to hear about. I can't say I blame them. It would have made me uncomfortable before I had been the victim.
I think this is one of the reasons things like this continue to happen. Because people are too uncomfortable to talk about them. It took me a while to post on this blog that I had been abused, because I was afraid of what people might think. Smart women don't get abused...right?
The truth is that the abuse was so bad, I was relieved when I found out he was cheating. I was too far under his control to think that anyone would believe how much pain he caused me, so I was hoping people would understand adultery as a valid reason to leave my husband. Mormon or not.
Abuse is not pleasant to talk about. It's not easy to talk about. But it's something we NEED to talk about.

Letter to Dad

Dear Dad,

Thanks for the super impersonal ceramic snowman plate that looks like it came from the dollar store that you sent me for Christmas. Oh, and thanks for addressing it using my married name and being too chicken to send it to Mom's house where, no thanks to you, I was provided with a place to live after my entire life crumbled in front of my eyes. I suppose I shouldn't expect you to know that I've been going by my maiden name, YOUR name, again, because the last time we talked was when you called me to talk for a whole three minutes about that newsletter. You know the one. Your new family (the better one) was sending out a newsletter, so you wanted to be able to say something about the daughters you barely had a hand in raising. You called and specifically told me to talk about "something that's going well in my life," because, obviously, you don't want to tell the world that your daughter can't hold on to a man. Who cares that he was manipulative, abusive, and adulterous? It must have been all my fault, right? So I told you about my professional life and allowed you to flee the conversation.

I suppose I should be grateful, though. That Christmas present was better than what you got me for my birthday: a phone call that was two days late. I prefer the plate to the call. Every time I talk to you, it's painfully obvious that you're scared I'll start complaining about my crappy life again. As soon as I mention my divorce, whether the news is good or bad, you suddenly have to go. Well, I'm sorry my life sucks, Dad. And I'm sorry you don't want to be bothered by it. And I'm sorry that it's such an embarrassment to you and your perfect new family. Well, guess what! I'm embarrassed by you, too. I hate talking about you. I tried so hard for so long to defend you and the stupid things you do, but I'm done. I tried to get you to love me, but I can't. Sometimes I want to blame you for psychologically damaging me, but I don't. I know that you're just as screwed up as I am, and that's why you cling to the people whose lives look prettier on some stupid Christmas card. It's just an extra bonus that they happen to live clear on the opposite side of the country from your real daughters.

I'm pretty sure you don't read this, or even know it exists, which is pretty much why I chose to use this medium. Even with all the pain and anger I'm harboring, I don't have the heart to really say any of this to you.

I hope you've found what you were looking for.

Sincerely,

Who Cares?