The day he moved out I came home from work late one day. I still can’t help but think that had I not come home late that day, would we still be together? I’ve gone over that day in my head a thousand times. As soon as I pulled into the garage, my heart sank. I had a sinking feeling that something was wrong. I came home and all looked well. Then, about to start the very menial task of laundry, that’s when I realized all his stuff was gone. I couldn’t believe that after everything we’d been through and everything he’d put me through, not a note nothing. Just gone. I called him. No answer. He eventually came back to at least give me a goodbye. His eyes were dead. I couldn’t believe that this was actually the person who I thought was my lifemate and who I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with nine months ago.
I told him that if he left, my door was closed. Forever. I’ve never been one of those people to look back. Once I break up with someone, that’s it. Done. Once he left, I felt the need to immediately clean the apartment of every trace of him. First to go, wedding pictures. I was frantic. I was running around the place crying and throwing everything that had a hint of him into garbage bags. Friends and family came over to console me. All I wanted to do was rid the place of him. I threw out the sheets he had slept in, threw out shoes, clothes, you name it. Anything he left behind. For weeks, I would wake up in the middle of the night and remember something that belonged to him. When the garbage can got so full of his stuff, I remembered that it was his garbage can. So that went to. There was something so exhilarating about clearing the place of any sight, smell and sound of him. Now, I could concentrate on picking up the pieces.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Taking it all off for the camera
It was coming up to the 1 year wedding anniversary. It killed me that I didn’t even make it to year one of a marriage. Through everything that happened, I still couldn’t help but feel I was somewhat of a failure. I was less of a woman. As it was, I already had issues with self confidence. I was starting to come to the realization that I married someone with the opposite of low self confidence. Though at one point I loved him, I always knew he was self centered and self absorbed. If the conversation turned away from him, he would be bored and disinterested. I was starting to realize that maybe I picked this person because I had low self confidence and by him being the way it was, it took the spotlight off of me as he had enough confidence for the two of us combined. Knowing this wasn’t the healthiest, I was on a mission to build (or rebuild) my self confidence. First stop, a professional photographer.I’ve never been a photogenic person. To the point where friends would laugh at pictures taken of me. Rarely did they look like me. If a picture was taken, my eyes were closed, I was making a goofy face etc… so step one into building my confidence, I thought it would be helpful to have good pictures of me to look at. Friends and family have always told me I’m an attractive girl and other than the odd time catching myself in the mirror, I never believed them. I scoured the internet for professional photographers and found one that specialized in boudoir photography. That’s right, not only was I going to get pictures taken, I was going to get pictures taken of me in my underwear. Terrifying! Once the date was set, Laura told me to bring a number of lingerie outfit changes. I went lingerie shopping for the first time with not a man in mind, but the goal of being able to see myself in it. Another very terrifying thought! Most of Laura’s clients do the boudoir photoshoot to a boyfriend or husband as an anniversary or wedding gift. She asked me why I was doing this. I told her because my husband left me and when he left, he took what little was left of my self confidence (something about this whole divorce thing was making me brutally honest towards strangers, I felt I was starting to become the freaky divorcee- note to self… must work on this!)
The photo shoot was taken in a beautiful hotel room. There was a professional makeup artist who did my makeup. Laura started with the least revealing outfit; a black silk sleep shirt. The first few frames felt awkward. Other than my wedding pictures, I’ve never had but then she found the right lighting and angles and she started getting excited. She asked me if I wanted to see some of the first few frames. I said sure. She showed them to me and I looked at her and said “that’s not me” she said “of course it is!” As cheesy as it sounds, I finally saw what my friends and family were drilling into my head. Though I have been through this shitty situation, behind all that was actually a beautiful woman who could make it through anything. The photoshoot progressed through a number of different outfit changes. And though I still find it hard to look at some of the pics of me in my bra and underwear (and I think my thighs look fat, and I hate my chin) through it all, I was starting to uncover the fact that in the end, I was comfortable with myself and you know what? I wasn’t half bad looking either!
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Anger and 18 time zones
After my crazy trapeze adventure, it was time for my first trip. Friends, family and counsellor warned me that the first trip might be hard. The whole no one to pick you up from the airport and coming back to an empty apartment could be quite hard they said. I figured I was doing great. It had been almost a month and I didn’t cry that much anymore. I was getting out of the house and hell, I had even swung from a trapeze.
One of the hardest things to deal with was that most of the people I worked with were married and were either pregnant or had kids. Most of them were pretty close to my age or younger. It struck me for the first time that there was a very real chance that a family, kids or another husband/mate would not be in my future. Afterall, I was 36 and it had taken me until 33 to even find someone I contemplated settling down with. I tried to hold it together best I could at work but it was incredibly hard.
I got to Hong Kong after a 13 hour flight. Traveling always seems to mess with my sleep schedule and this trip was no exception. I woke up each morning at 5am and would go for a walk along the Hong Kong seawall. Oddly enough, it was the only time I had seen Hong Kong so calm and serene and it was a great feeling. Something about the cool breeze and grey clouds oddly suited my mood.
Most of the past month I had spent angry. Not angry that it had ended, after all that seemed inevitable. The anger was over the fact that he had walked away. Wasn’t it supposed to be me? Over the past nine months everything that I ever believed it was tested and everything that I said I wouldn’t stand for in a relationship had happened. I didn’t think that he had the right to just give it all up and walk away. Without even much of an explanation. I wanted him to feel. I wanted him to feel some of the pain that I dealt with and for him to acknowledge what he did was a very shitty thing. So I’d wake up in Hong Kong in the middle of the night and email him. Not a great idea. My ex was never known for his communication skills, he did afterall end it by just moving out. But when faced with a crisis throughout his life he chose to run. Why did I think emailing him my innermost thoughts would get the desired response? When I came home, I was overwhelmed by my anger, empty house and realization that it was completely over that I fell apart for a few days. So much for progress. Eventually, I got over the anger, only to experience frustration.
One of the hardest things to deal with was that most of the people I worked with were married and were either pregnant or had kids. Most of them were pretty close to my age or younger. It struck me for the first time that there was a very real chance that a family, kids or another husband/mate would not be in my future. Afterall, I was 36 and it had taken me until 33 to even find someone I contemplated settling down with. I tried to hold it together best I could at work but it was incredibly hard.
I got to Hong Kong after a 13 hour flight. Traveling always seems to mess with my sleep schedule and this trip was no exception. I woke up each morning at 5am and would go for a walk along the Hong Kong seawall. Oddly enough, it was the only time I had seen Hong Kong so calm and serene and it was a great feeling. Something about the cool breeze and grey clouds oddly suited my mood.
Most of the past month I had spent angry. Not angry that it had ended, after all that seemed inevitable. The anger was over the fact that he had walked away. Wasn’t it supposed to be me? Over the past nine months everything that I ever believed it was tested and everything that I said I wouldn’t stand for in a relationship had happened. I didn’t think that he had the right to just give it all up and walk away. Without even much of an explanation. I wanted him to feel. I wanted him to feel some of the pain that I dealt with and for him to acknowledge what he did was a very shitty thing. So I’d wake up in Hong Kong in the middle of the night and email him. Not a great idea. My ex was never known for his communication skills, he did afterall end it by just moving out. But when faced with a crisis throughout his life he chose to run. Why did I think emailing him my innermost thoughts would get the desired response? When I came home, I was overwhelmed by my anger, empty house and realization that it was completely over that I fell apart for a few days. So much for progress. Eventually, I got over the anger, only to experience frustration.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Could I possibly run away and join the circus?
One of the first things on my newly single adventure was sign up for a Trapeze class. It seemed fitting after all. The past year couldn’t have been filled with anymore ups and downs and my grandmother used to tell me about her cousin that had run away and joined the circus, so maybe it was in my genes right?
I signed up for the class not knowing what to expect. When I called in and registered, I asked how old the average participant was. I was told the average age was 20’s to 30’s. I was sold. I was excited for my first class. I already had visions of outfits I’d wear and planning ahead to a future as a trapeze artist on the Cirque de Soleil circuit.
The class was in an old school gym. It was a circus school. Prior to googling trapeze classes, I had no idea such a place existed. But there it was. A high school gym full of unicycles, trampolines, silks and a trapeze set up. In my mind, a trapeze was where you swung from one trapeze to another and did it all with elegance and grace. There were 4 people in my class. 3 13 year old girls and I. Needless to say, I already felt out of my element and I hadn’t even climbed onto the trapeze yet. The 3 girls were BFF’s and had been taking trapeze lessons for over a year. I’m not lying when I say they were about one step away from auditioning from Cirque de Soleil. The first girl gets hoisted up onto the trapeze. She starts swinging. She does these amazing graceful swings, let her hands go, dangles upside down, pulls herself back up and proceeds to gracefully climb 8 feet up the ropes of the trapeze. Yeah. Definitely out of my element. I’m about as old as their mother, weigh about 60lbs more and I can barely touch my toes. I break out in a cold sweat. Finally it’s my turn to climb the trapeze. I’m aware of the absurdity of the situation. I’m easily the oldest and clumsiest person in the gym. I start swinging with the guidance of the coach. I do as I’m told and let go of the ropes being held by nothing but my ankles wrapped around the ropes. It is an amazing and exhilarating feeling. I get down high from adrenaline and told to practice on the low trapeze. The 3 13 year olds are giving me pointers on how to pull yourself up, how to do a “bridge” on the ropes and how to climb 6 feet up the ropes. It’s clear I shouldn’t give up my day job anytime soon.
As I’m resting my bleeding toe and blistered hands, one of the coaches comes up and talks to me. He happens to be hot and about ten years younger than me. He starts chatting me up (I have no illusions this is a flirtation but rather a curiosity since I’m by far the oldest person here) He asks me what brought me here. It took all I had not to deadpan to him and say “Well, my husband left me so I thought it would be great idea to take trapeze lessons so I could run away and join the circus” I’m pretty sure he would have thought I was nuts. So I just smiled and said “it’s just something I’ve always wanted to do” Clearly I was never meant to be a trapeze artist. But my love of heights and speed made me try it and I’m glad I did. I’m sure those 3 13 year old girls will do amazing in the Cirque De Soleil, but I think I’ll stick to my day job…
I signed up for the class not knowing what to expect. When I called in and registered, I asked how old the average participant was. I was told the average age was 20’s to 30’s. I was sold. I was excited for my first class. I already had visions of outfits I’d wear and planning ahead to a future as a trapeze artist on the Cirque de Soleil circuit.
The class was in an old school gym. It was a circus school. Prior to googling trapeze classes, I had no idea such a place existed. But there it was. A high school gym full of unicycles, trampolines, silks and a trapeze set up. In my mind, a trapeze was where you swung from one trapeze to another and did it all with elegance and grace. There were 4 people in my class. 3 13 year old girls and I. Needless to say, I already felt out of my element and I hadn’t even climbed onto the trapeze yet. The 3 girls were BFF’s and had been taking trapeze lessons for over a year. I’m not lying when I say they were about one step away from auditioning from Cirque de Soleil. The first girl gets hoisted up onto the trapeze. She starts swinging. She does these amazing graceful swings, let her hands go, dangles upside down, pulls herself back up and proceeds to gracefully climb 8 feet up the ropes of the trapeze. Yeah. Definitely out of my element. I’m about as old as their mother, weigh about 60lbs more and I can barely touch my toes. I break out in a cold sweat. Finally it’s my turn to climb the trapeze. I’m aware of the absurdity of the situation. I’m easily the oldest and clumsiest person in the gym. I start swinging with the guidance of the coach. I do as I’m told and let go of the ropes being held by nothing but my ankles wrapped around the ropes. It is an amazing and exhilarating feeling. I get down high from adrenaline and told to practice on the low trapeze. The 3 13 year olds are giving me pointers on how to pull yourself up, how to do a “bridge” on the ropes and how to climb 6 feet up the ropes. It’s clear I shouldn’t give up my day job anytime soon.
As I’m resting my bleeding toe and blistered hands, one of the coaches comes up and talks to me. He happens to be hot and about ten years younger than me. He starts chatting me up (I have no illusions this is a flirtation but rather a curiosity since I’m by far the oldest person here) He asks me what brought me here. It took all I had not to deadpan to him and say “Well, my husband left me so I thought it would be great idea to take trapeze lessons so I could run away and join the circus” I’m pretty sure he would have thought I was nuts. So I just smiled and said “it’s just something I’ve always wanted to do” Clearly I was never meant to be a trapeze artist. But my love of heights and speed made me try it and I’m glad I did. I’m sure those 3 13 year old girls will do amazing in the Cirque De Soleil, but I think I’ll stick to my day job…
Friday, September 4, 2009
Dirty Laundry
He moved out when I came home late for work one day. I came home and had a feeling in my gut that something was up. I did the usual after work stuff, check mail, email and went to start the laundry. That’s how I knew. There were no clothes in the laundry basket. I opened the drawers, no clothes in the drawers. “So this is how he’s chosen to do this” was my first thought. I called him to at least get an explanation. No answer. Sent a text. No answer. I thought that after everything I had been through for the past few months, at the very least, I deserved an answer. I put this in a text. Finally. A response. He came back, told me it was over and he didn’t want to try. That’s it. For over 3 years I had put my heart and soul into this relationship and he’s sitting here telling me he doesn’t want to try. Granted, the nine months we were married were sheer hell. But I couldn’t have given any more emotionally or been more patient.
How we got here is the definition of irony. You see, I never even wanted to get married. I’ve spent my life to this point running away and avoiding commitment. But it was something that was important to him and I respected that. When I walked down that aisle on May 3rd, it took me years of therapy, self-discovery and an atavan. But when I got to the altar, I honestly believed I was doing the right thing and didn’t have any doubts or regrets. Little did I know how things were going to explode starting the next day.
The wedding ended a little after 2am. We were getting ready to leave, but I wanted to make sure everything was covered off. He didn’t have patience to wait. We had both had a fair amount to drink but I was still coherent. But how I ended up on the sidewalk with my laptop broken, in tears with my new husband cursing at me is still a blur. I won’t ever forget the rage and hate in his eyes as he stood cursing at me on the street. That’s when I knew. Something was seriously wrong.
How we got here is the definition of irony. You see, I never even wanted to get married. I’ve spent my life to this point running away and avoiding commitment. But it was something that was important to him and I respected that. When I walked down that aisle on May 3rd, it took me years of therapy, self-discovery and an atavan. But when I got to the altar, I honestly believed I was doing the right thing and didn’t have any doubts or regrets. Little did I know how things were going to explode starting the next day.
The wedding ended a little after 2am. We were getting ready to leave, but I wanted to make sure everything was covered off. He didn’t have patience to wait. We had both had a fair amount to drink but I was still coherent. But how I ended up on the sidewalk with my laptop broken, in tears with my new husband cursing at me is still a blur. I won’t ever forget the rage and hate in his eyes as he stood cursing at me on the street. That’s when I knew. Something was seriously wrong.
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