Thoughts on Friday the 13th

I miss the South so incredibly much, more every day. I never want to live in the northeast again. There's no room to breathe here.

Sometimes I think about Justin, our meeting, falling in love, out of love, in love, getting married, having children....and I think, How dare we? Who did we think we were, to hitch ourselves together for life, honestly knowing so little about one another? About ourselves? The audacity.

There's a tumor in my neck. It will be another twelve days until they stick a needle in it and tell me if I have cancer or not. Two days after that I'll find out if this baby in my womb is a boy or girl.

I don't want to talk to anyone, to see anyone. I don't want to cry anymore.

"Mommy, I'm here to tell you that the sun is not as bright as fireflies." - Mateo, age 4

Things I love (an incomplete account)

Humans of New York
Belgian Ale
Clothes that make me feel special
Christmas lights
Dancing
Mateo's smile
Annie's eyes
Tom Hardy
Books that make me say, "YES"
Sixpence None the Richer
Scarlett Johansson
Fancy chocolates
Psalms
A perfect tree in an empty field
Spanish moss
Spain
Lagos, Portugal (where you'll find me in the event of my disappearance)
Limoncello
Seat heaters in cars
Paris
Sriracha
South African accents
Giraffes
Ex-boyfriends
Annie's hair
Mateo's feet
"I just love you"
Dead Poet's Society
Grace
Old buildings, old books
Taboo
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Whales
My mother's hair
My father's mouse
When Mateo/Justin talks in his sleep
Ceiling fans
Newborn babies
Trains

Day 3

Cervical position and mucus be damned, I track my cycle by the intensity of my chocolate cravings.

Lots of tears in church. Embarrassing, but oh well. Living is embarrassing.

Day 2

First morning in "new" bed, in "new" home. Sadness, but routine as usual. How can everything be so different and look exactly the same?

Mateo and I Skyped with Justin. Good for Mateo, hard for me. Angry eyes at the screen, quietly critical when Justin asked him if he wanted to come back to Connecticut. Well, I attempted to be quiet but I think it really turned into a tense, quiet argument that I'm sure Mateo noticed. More failure at parenting.

He wants me to be the person he tells things to, what she has been to him for the past year. Should I be happy about that? I'm still angry. I told him I was glad for that but I can't respond as he wants until we deal with stuff in therapy. Apparently his response to that was to (maybe) get drunk (?) and ignore my many calls and texts this evening. Trying not to let my anger, jealousy and fear take over and make me imagine the worst. He is an addict, he is an addict, he is an addict...this is not about me, this is about his addiction (my mantra).

Started reading "Carry On, Warrior" by Glennon Doyle Melton. This book may save my marriage, or at least myself. All these messages, stories, moments where I've felt God reaching out to me can't be coincidence, right? He is here with me, in this. How can I not forgive Justin? And yet, even God says that we must come to Him and ask forgiveness, though it is freely offered. I only ask repentance. Therapy, come quickly.

Day 1

The action is over, the rushing, yelling. Now there is the waiting, the thinking, the God awful feeling. There is the planning, the moving of stuff to make way for our stuff. The empty silences, the conversation of nothing else but this. They were my reason to get out of bed but this morning I wanted to forget that. My brain can't process this reality. Small motions are difficult.

Called for therapy, for me, for Mateo. The one therapist for Mateo is no longer seeing young children, or accepting insurance. I'll wait for my potential therapist to see if she'll see him, if not I'll call Support again.

It seems so hopeless. I pray he is more addict than narcissist. Everything I've read says that narcissism is hopeless.

Oh God, soften his heart. Transform him. Give him empathy, Lord. Nothing is impossible for you. Nothing is impossible for you. Nothing is impossible for you....

Stranger

And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.