Changed

Divorce changed me. I mean, that was the point. It was supposed to change my life, but something else happened along the way. 

It's been more than six years (seven years?) since I first breathed those words out, "I'm going to leave you," to my now ex-wife. The things I've gone through in that time — first trying to save the sinking ship of my marriage and then setting the damn thing on fire — have penetrated into the very core of my being.

There are phases of grief. We all know that. You don't really think about them as you're going through them, though; you just don't have that kind of perspective. It's not a linear process, but a back and forth, messy thing sometimes. But, after six years of having a heart "like a crime scene," today I feel at peace. 

A divorce is like a war, but a war no one wins. It doesn't matter who came out better in the end. It doesn't matter what was lost or who got the couch (I still miss that couch, dammit), or anything else. When it's over in your heart, you're just glad it's over. You're just tired of feeling those feelings. Closure comes in little steps, but when you realize it's done, there is a relief that comes over you. 

The changes, though, are profound. I paid a very high price for the way I exited my marriage. It's safe to say God punished me for how I left my ex-wife. I could have left her at any time and in a number of different ways, but the way I chose to do it was wrong. I asked God to punish me for that quickly and to get it over with, and He did. I got my spanking. Lesson learned. 

Before my divorce, I had a heartful of feelings — some jubilant, some painful, some broken, some resolute — now it feels like everything has simply turned off. The weight of so many emotions pressed down into a rock-like substance which cut off the flow of new thoughts and feelings until I no longer felt anything. But the turning off of feelings was safer than what I was feeling. 


Think of every negative emotion you can imagine, and I've probably had it over the last few years. They sort of coalesced into the following: cynicism, depression, moroseness, hopelessness, feeling done, over, nothing to look forward to, and anger. The anger was the worst. It was an anger perhaps similar to what I'm sure the Vietnam veterans felt when they returned home from war only to see their country torn apart and people calling them "baby killers." It's the anger of someone who has gone through hell only to be turned out into another kind of hell where people have turned against you. The unfairness of my marriage turned into the unfairness of my divorce. 

To restate it a little, it's like Job sitting in the dust after he had lost everything he owned and loved, after his wife came to him and told him to curse God and die, and his "friends" came to him and one by one heaped more grief upon him. The wicked counselors of this world simply cannot leave you alone after you've endured a great loss. They have to come to you in the guise of a friend and dump more awfulness on you. But, let's face it, I'm not Job.

So, after so many swirling, menacing emotions, it's fantastic (if I can use that word) to feel nothing for once, to wake up and stare at the blank walls and feel just as blank inside. What a wonderful feeling to feel nothing! 

This epiphany is accompanied by a thought about someone I used to know. My ex-wife used to house-sit for a coworker, an older woman who lived alone with her cat. She was the classic stereotype of a librarian. She was super smart, socially awkward, a bit reclusive, overly cautious, lived alone (with her cat), and was highly organized. When she would go somewhere, like to visit her parents in southern Ohio, sometimes we'd make ourselves at home in her house after feeding her cat and watch satellite TV (which was great because I don't think we even had cable at the time) and we'd eat some Mr. Spots wings or Philly cheesesteaks. It's actually one of the good memories from my former relationship, just us sitting and watching TV.

Honestly, I felt sorry for the lady. I thought she had a sad, limited life. I looked through her alphabetized VHS tapes and picked out Mr. Mom to watch and imagined her laughing, alone in her recliner, at that stupid movie, maybe with her cat, Nestle, at her feet. But she was happy, and who was I to disagree with that? Maybe something happened in her life way back yonder where she decided she didn't need the heartache of a relationship. Maybe she just never had the opportunity. Maybe her relationship was with the library and her friends there, the students, the resources — and all of those things hurt a whole lot less than someone who lives in your house. When your cat dies, it sucks. But that's the worst they can do to you. As I sit in my recliner (a recliner I've sat in many times and watched many bad movies by myself, many of which made me laugh), I no longer feel sorry for her. I feel like I understand her now. Except for the Mr. Mom part. 

There is a small part of me that still has feelings for my ex-wife. I don't feel for her romantically, though. It's the kind of feelings I have for a friend I've had forever. I care about her, but only up to a certain point. I think I will always care about her, though she treated me awfully. I felt sorry for her for so many years because she lived with me and she could have had so much better, she could have been much happier with someone else. When she came to me and told me she was in love with someone else, I was happy for her. I thought she would finally make her prison break. The feelings I have for her now are those of a friend, a friend who shared much, and many memories. But I don't want her in my life anymore. I'm happier without her. I'm glad I divorced her because we were simply bad for each other. I didn't want my son to grow up seeing me treat her poorly. It was better for him to see us be friends than mortal enemies. And that's all we are today — just friends. I am finally at peace with my divorce. It's taken me more than six years (seven maybe?), start to finish (with a desperate attempt to save my marriage which lasted about 4 years), to get there. All I can say is, I should have done it sooner. And I should have done it differently. And I'm glad my war is over. 

I've changed. I've made a lot of noise here about many things. I've talked about my life and why I made the decisions I made. I've gained a lot of clarity, realized a lot of things. My retrospective is not over. I'm not done feeling things. There will be more casualties, but the troops are returning to their homes, stripping out of their fatigues, and they're beginning to imagine putting their lives back together. But those lives won't look the same as they once did. Because those soldiers are changed.