Today was terrible. I’m packing to move, and I’m trying to pare down and not just move everything to my new apartment. So I started going through my files. Some of that is easy; I got rid of guarantees that had run their course, and, like, tax records from 1999.
But the hard stuff was really frigging hard. My husband was getting migraines a lot in 2013, and I created and kept up a journal with him to try to figure out what was causing them. I remember doing that with so much love, and so much concern. I was bawling as I pulled each document from its file folder and put it in the recycling.
Then I came across the documents from when he backed out of seeing my family in the US. He had a sort of panic attack before getting on the plane, and we were able to get some money back from our travel insurance because it came under a medical emergency. I’d kept files on the insurance claim, with flight information and whatnot. That was hard, too, reminding myself of one of the reasons we’re splitting up. He’s never been to visit my family once in 17 years of marriage.
My stomach hurts, my back hurts. I don’t want to be doing any of this. I want things to be like they were before, when we were intimate, when he would caress my back and we could just lie in each other’s arms.
We don’t do that anymore. Now I do that with my ex-cop, who doesn’t want to get too involved with anyone. I’ll take what I can get for the moment. At least in all of this, he’s there being nice to me. It helps enormously. He’s a good guy. He had a terrible divorce and to be really honest, I don’t think he’d be the guy for me, anyway. I just like him because the sex is great and he’s a decent, honest person.
I’m doing the wait-and-see with Mr. Wonderful. There’s no fire under our feet making us rush into anything, and he can’t be the one to solve the roller coaster of my emotions. I need to do that on my own.