sometimes
Now I am married to him.
I am his wife. He is my husband.
Sometimes we just look at each other and smile, like we cannot believe it really happened.
Sometimes I look back at this blog – this journal – this everything that came spilling out of me when I was somebody else’s wife.
And I wonder how I got so lucky.
who I am
It has been a very long time since I sat here like this.
Fingers tangled through my own hair, tears hot on my cheeks, quiet, scared, pulling the pillow close – trying to pretend.
Even now I can never ask for what I need.
I am strong. That is what he says. Maybe he forgets.
I pretend. I have always pretended – because I do what I have to do. I do the homework, I kiss the tears, show up at the school, teach the ABC’s, stand up to the ex. It has to be done.
But that is not really who I am. It is just who I am forced to be.
I wish it was really me.
Because being so soft and small inside is scary.
But that is the girl he found 3 years ago.
It is the girl I still am. Needy, small and scared of the whole world. I just cannot say it anymore.
But he will probably decide that he does not want that girl anyway.
Just like the ex.
Who I really am is not ok.
Who I am is not good enough.
what he brought
She is beautiful.
Outside in her bathrobe, practicing tennis, because she has to get it right.
My dead mother – her grandmother used to play with the pros. I used to play every day, all summer. But it took the professor to buy her a racket. He brought that to her life. He brought jelly pancakes and boys night and eating dinner outside. He brought hula-hooping in toy stores and dictator breakfasts, and peeps in the mailbox.
He brought all of that.
cup
Sometimes I am like a cup that is too filled up.
Everybody else pours into me, and I lose track of the part that was me to begin with.
need
I feel the space between us, and I do not know what to do.
The baby needs me.
The girl needs me.
The boy needs me.
The show needs me.
The lawyer needs me.
But I need him.
And there is so much between us – that I can never get close enough.
I miss him – more than I should for a man who shares my bed, and works out of the basement. I don’t have words to tell him this. I don’t even try anymore. I feel like I cannot hold on tight enough.
all
The happiest moments of my life were not spent in a big house.
They were not spent at a fancy dinner.
They were spent in little one room cabins, out of the way coffee shops, and in his arms.
It does not take so much to make me happy. Maybe it seems like that – because I want so much for everyone else to be happy – so I wish for what they need.
But for me – all I need is to be whole.
All I need is him.
today
It is a cold, tired sad in my heart today. It feels like too much to hold inside, and some of me keeps spilling out the edges. I hate when that happens, because I never know where to go.
diamonds
How I got to where I am is not terribly important. People seem to be fascinated with the particulars – the “hows” the “why’s” the perceived seediness of it all. For a very long time it was humiliating, degrading, like I had been lowered a few notched on the social caste system, and would never garner any respect or self worth again.
But now I am beginning to see the truth.
People are interested – fascinated – they are hungry to hear the story, because believe it or not – they are more like me than they care to admit. It is everyone’s dirty little secret – and while nobody is talking – boy do they like to listen.
Which is making me think.
Why does it happen?
I know why it happened for me. And I suspect, that again – I am not alone.
I have blamed myself for quite some time. “If I had been prettier - smarter - less of a mother and more of a wife. If I had made better dinners, not hassled him about fixing the bathtub” maybe he would have seen the good in me. If I had only been better – at anything – at everything – maybe it would have been ok.
I know it is not true – that it can’t be true. Nothing would have made it ok.
Then why do I still feel like it is all my fault?
I have flaws. Too many to count – quirks and idiosyncrasies that would drive anyone up the wall. I know that is true of me. I don’t like it it – but it is true.
What I am slowly coming to realize – is that we all have them.
When I was little, I would visit my granddad’s jewelry shop. He would let me look at diamonds through his scope, and help me find all of the little flaws – the tiny pinpricks of imperfection. But no matter how many cracks, and spots and flecks we found – the product was always the same – a dazzling piece of near-perfection, dropped into a beautiful setting. It was always a diamond – always beautiful.
But I cannot see the diamond in myself.
I see the flaws, the spots – the cracks and gullies. And when someone else points them out,I became less precious, less of a jewel – I lose my worth. I am just a rock. Not a rare and beautiful thing – just a rock, like any other. And no matter how beautiful the setting is, there is no way that a stone with so many flaws can be brilliant or beautiful. I cannot see the perfection in me – and don’t know if anyone else can either.
The closest I ever got to being a diamond was once upon a time at a lake in the woods – and that is all I will say about that here.
so much
Sorry I have not been here much – it is not from lack of want.
The real reason that I cannon write here, is because I am in the middle of a custody dispute. And even though I know the truth – even though I know that the reality of how their lives are, I would hate for this place to be misconstrued.
But soon, when the dust has settled, I will be back. I have so much to say.
most like me
I am most like me when I am with him. Just me, just him, close in our bed.
Right now it is hard to be just me.
Custody issues, child support, house remodeling, subcontractors (no one in my basement speaks English), minimal sleep.
But when my head is on his shoulder – when my skin is warm on his, everything is ok. The whole world is perfect.
Fragile
“I am fragile,” I said to him.
“I know. What should I do when you get that way?” he asked.
“Just keep me close,” I told him. “No matter what – keep me close.”
Even now.
finding
I cry a lot lately.
I know I am doing it, know it is ridiculous – but I can’t make it stop.
I cry when I look at him, cry when I kiss the kids goodnight – but that is giving emotion too much credence. I also cry over Walmart commercials, ham sandwiches, and those stupid chain emails with an American flag waving at the bottom.
They are not real tears – they are hormone tears – whatever the hell that is. All I know is that everything makes me feel too much these days.
So when he kisses me hard – holds my wrists tight in his warm hands, and a tear tumbles down my cheek – we should not be surprised.
But I am.
Because I know what this tear is.
It is fear.
Fear of being stuck in the middle – of not being able to find my way back.
Fear of knowing exactly where I should be, and worry, that after so many months, all I will ever be is her mother – that I can never again be that girl to him.
even now
There are two songs that burn in me. I hate them and I love them. I wish they would never float through my brain again. But every time the notes flutter through the air, I am still, barely breathing – caught in the moment when I first heard the words.
They were back to back – I did not have time to catch myself. The first song ended and the next began. The tears rolled down my face, and I did not even try to explain.
“Your fingertips across my skin
The palm trees swaying in the wind, images
You sang me Spanish lullabies
The sweetest sadness in your eyes, clever trick
Well, I?d never want to see you unhappy
I thought you?d want the same for me
Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I’m trying not to think about you
Can’t you just let me be?”
And then:
“When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast.”
Even now those songs burn my soul, and I don’t really know why.
soon
He is sleeping with his brand new daughter on his chest.
Our daughter.
God I love him.
I wish there were words for the way it feels to crave someone like this.
I thought that when I watched him become a daddy that everything would change.
And it did.
But there are not words for it.
Maybe I will find them soon.
for billy
I will not say too much about him, because I would hate to blow his cover, especially when he saved my child’s life – but I suspect he still checks here from time to time, and I wanted to tell him thank you.
He knows who he is – and if he doesn’t I will just say, that my newborn’s bilirubin levels were checked 4 times this week. And now he knows for sure.
He stopped me from doing stupid things. It was he who said, “I suspect that you are much more intelligent and worthwhile than you are giving yourself credit for at the moment. You should stop messing around.”
And I did.
He told me that I should not throw my family life away unless it was something I really believed in. That I should not talk to strangers on the internet – him included, if it would risk losing my family life. He told me to make sure the risk was worth it before I got busted.
He was right.
I stopped.
I stopped messing around and just started being me, and it wasn’t until then that I found something worth leaping for.
If I hadn’t waited. If I hadn’t given it some thought – baby girl would not be here.
Thank you Billy.
You saved us both.
You saved us all.
