Now You're Just Someone That I Used To Know...

I like this song. Not all of these words are exactly pertinent, but these ones in particular are:
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end

Now you're just somebody that I used to know

It's been nearly a year since our separation, and yes it's been a roller coaster of emotions. But after having overall what has been a pretty good couple of months where I felt happier than I had in a long time, plus embarking on a whirlwind romance with a guy that is disconcertingly lovely and great with the kids; for the past week and a bit I have had this weird feeling towards my ex.

Like he is dead to me.

It's awful to admit to myself, awful to write, and it was awful for him to hear this morning.

I don't hate him. But I don't like him or even feel any degree of respect. Right now, I feel absolutely nothing towards him.

I see him when we exchange the kids, but I can barely bring myself to look at him, to engage with him in anyway. At the moment, it is like he is not even there.

He knew I'd been 'shitty' in the last week and a half, so I explained on the phone - clarified, that no, I wasn't shitty...I just felt indifference.
Maybe it's the tiredness from our baby who is currently waking up pretty much every hour or two at night.
Maybe it's the hormones from the Mirena IUD I've just had put in a couple of weeks ago.
Maybe the emotions, and the thinking, and the processing from the last year, combined with the local show I worked on at nights while working during the day, has finally caught up with me, and I'm just exhausted. Too exhausted to feel anything else.

Or maybe it's that this very lovely guy, who really listens, who looks into my eyes, who engages with my kids and basically is present in a way my ex wasn't for years, has highlighted how unhappy I had been during the end of our marriage.

Happy birthday!

Tomorrow my youngest turns one.

A year ago, I was waiting to go into labour. A year ago, my husband and I were in the mad throes of finishing off our second round of renovations on our home. My in-laws had arrived to help out for several days. Our other two children were looking forward to meeting their sister.

A year ago I was absolutely exhausted after renovating, working full time, juggling two kids, not sleeping well and dealing with the anxiety caused by simulataenously knowing my marriage was in trouble but also certain that it wouldn't be about to end. When I arrived to hospital to be induced, I had no idea how I was going to get through labour. I felt absolutely exhausted, spent, shattered and labour hadn't started yet.

But he reassured me I could do this. That I'd done it before and I'd be fine. That I'd get the energy from somewhere, that it would be over and it would be worth it. He was quietly supportive, and during the day we laughed a couple of times, something we hadn't done for god knows how long.

He did the right things - passed me drinks and snacks, found me a trashy mag, made sure I ate, joked about bad baby names and tried to help me keep my gas intake under control. But I knew for certain then that the love was gone.

He was exhausted too; from work, from renovations, and something else I couldn't quite pinpoint at the time. He was going through the motions and I tell you there is no weirder feeling than giving birth in front of someone you know has become indifferent to you. Actually, it's not weird. It's fucked up and I don't wish it upon anyone. It is a terrible memory to have, and I work hard to make sure it doesn't define that day.

A month after I gave birth for the third and last time, he left.

There were many times since that day that I felt unfocussed, distraught, like I could climb the walls, that my world was falling apart. And at those times I kept reminding myself I'd somehow get through this, that somehow this would pass, that I would get the energy to keep moving forward for the sake of the children and myself.

I was lucky to have a couple of friends who would be a shoulder when I needed. Or pour me a drink.

Looking back now, I can also just begin to see that the pain was probably worth it too.