Archives for posts with tag: happiness

It’s my birthday today. A time for celebration?  Well, yes, but…

I feel sad. I feel happy too, but I also feel like crying.

I feel like crying because I’ve been thinking about my birthdays over the past few years.  In 2011, a significant birthday, I went to a London show, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, with my husband and daughters.  I got a deal for a meal and best available price tickets and, would you believe it, they gave us a box!  It was a great night, but I organised it and paid for it and had to persuade husband to come, but who cares?  It was good.

In 2012, it my birthday fell on the day of the Christmas party at the dance studio where husband and I had been having ballroom lessons.  By this time, husband had stopped attending the lessons, but I was hooked and kept going on my own.  He very, very reluctantly agreed to come to the party. He sat in the same seat all night, looking miserable, and refusing to socialise, making it quite obvious that he didn’t want to be there and had only come because it was my birthday. I enjoyed myself because I’m that kind of person but it’s not a good feeling to be out with someone who obviously isn’t enjoying themself. It darkens the evening.

Last year we were supposed to be going out, where I don’t know. But a couple of days before he started making noises about him having to finish work early and the expense.  The expense!  I don’t need money lavished on me to have a good time. Anyway, to put him out of his misery, I told him not to bother. So he didn’t.  I had lunch with a friend and went dancing with another friend in the evening.  Husband didn’t even ask me what I’d done or if I’d had a good time. When I raised that with him later, he said he hadn’t asked because he didn’t care.

And presents?  He asks my daughter to get me something from him.  My daughter and I went along with this charade of her buying me something and us both pretending it was from him.  Until last year.  Last year, she gave me ‘his’ present of lacy underwear and I knew this wasn’t from him because the last time I put on lacy underwear, he asked me what the f**k I was doing and switched on Sky Sport (that was on a weekend away!). Then later on he saw the bag from the shop where she’d bought the gift and asked me who’d been shopping there. You, I told him, for my birthday present. He later chastised my daughter for not warning him. Should we laugh or cry?  Who knows.

So these are my past few birthdays.  Yet I am responsible and completely to blame for the failure of this relationship.

Little wonder I feel like crying.

But I’m also happy.  Friends who know about my situation have sent me cards and I know the messages have been chosen especially to show me their love and support.  And people I’ve only known for a short space of time show me such kindness when they really don’t have to at all, they have no obligation to, but they do it because they care.

And who knows when my divorce will come through and what I’ll be doing this time next year.

At the moment, I’m out having breakfast on my own and thinking about the past and thinking about the future and feeling sad and feeling happy and feeling…

Alive.

 

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I haven’t posted in a long time because I’ve been working hard on getting myself into a better place emotionally.

And it’s been successful.

The counselling has been a tremendous help. I’ve learnt a lot about myself and I’m changing my perspective, becoming stronger and braver, discovering things that I never knew about myself, and using that knowledge to make my world a better place.

My mind, body and spirit are coming together in unity and harmony.

It might be cold outside but inside myself I feel warm.

We must never give up on our fight to be ourselves.  It’s the only way to happiness.

And it’s worth the struggle because it will come eventually.

And it’s great.

I’ve not been posting much recently. Why?

Because I’ve been doing a lot of learning and thinking and implementing. The counselling is really helping. Every week I have another lightbulb moment.

Also I’m not being emotionally abused.

I started to doubt that I ever was, that it was all a figment of my imagination.

Then I realised that I’m not being abused because I’m not allowing myself to be abused.  I seem to have adjusted my thinking, altered my responses and constructed a force field around me, which any attempted attacks cannot penetrate.

And it’s been very effective.

I’m feeling strong. I’m feeling equal.

The eggshells are broken.

And I don’t care.

 

 

Husband’s back.  And with him, the mess.  His stuff takes over every surface.  He takes over every space.  I used to think it was me, incapable of keeping the house nice, but after the weekend, I know it’s him.

Did he have a nice time?  He says so but he’s in no better humour, grumbling and moaning and speaking aggressively about the things he’s unhappy with (my texts not getting through, the phone company being uncooperative).  I asked him not to talk to me like that and he put on a pathetic, girlie voice and asked me if he should talk like that.  Honestly, how childish. I’ve got no time for this anymore.

He complained about a pile of clothes on the landing – the girls had been sorting and clearing their wardrobes and we need to decide what we’re going to do with them.  “What’s happening with the clothes?” he asked.  That’s how he expresses his disapproval “what’s happening with…?”  I’ve got no time for this either.

Then I heard him tutting and sighing and reloading the dishwasher because he wasn’t happy with the way I’d done it.  Another thing I’ve got no more time for.

Because this weekend has reminded me how I want to live: with music and laughter and joy and cooperation and support.  And after four days of us living like this without him, I’m not going back to the old ways.  I’m done with pandering to his stupidity.

And when he came back, I realised that I might still be here as a physical presence, but in all other ways I have checked out of this marriage.

And I am not to blame.

Because I know how to be happy, and I know how to love life.

And I want to be happy, and I want to love life.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

And if he wants to be sad and miserable and look for the worst in everyone, then that’s up to him.  It’s his choice.

But it’s not mine.  And it’s not my children’s.

And the woman who went along with his miserable way of living?

Well, she’s gone.

There are two MEs: Happy Me and Sad Me.

I often meet Happy Me but she’ll only occasionally come into my home.  She comes back with me but rarely steps over the threshold, although she often looks through the window, just to check I’m OK.  Sometimes she waits in the car for me, or she’ll be there when I turn a corner or stop at the traffic lights, or I’ll meet her at the gym or in a coffee shop or she’ll come to lunch with me and my friends.  She’s always there when I go dancing.  Life’s great when Happy Me’s around: she’s so positive; full of fun and laughter and ideas.  We have a fantastic time together.

The only problem is Sad Me often drags along with us, spoiling our fun.  Happy Me and I usually manage to shake her off, lose her in the crowd or just ignore her as she sits in the corner and sulks.  But sometimes she’s more persistent and no matter what we do, she’s still there, with her miserable face and her negative outlook.  She’s not frightened to come into my home.  She’s waiting on the doorstep when I get back from the fun times with Happy Me.  She pushes past me to get in first and she trails from room to room behind me, looking sour.

Happy Me and I are plotting to eliminate Sad Me for once and for all.

We’re going to bombard her with our happiness.

Until she can take no more.

 

We’re having a weekend away, for no other reason than husband won a competition.

In the past, I would have felt excited about the prospect but now my desire for a change of scene and the novelty of a new experience and the opportunity to spend time with husband are clouded by my emotions and feelings.  I feel I am going with a stranger.  I feel sad but, more than this, I feel guilty, incredibly guilty.

I don’t know what we’re going to talk about.  So many subjects, ie my life, are taboo. He doesn’t want to know about my hobbies and interests or my new friends: it’s understandable, it’s the life I’ve had to create without him, that he’s chosen not to be a part of.  We could talk about us, but that feels like the most dangerous topic of all.  I could tell him about a friend who took me to lunch, a friend that I dance with, but I don’t think I will.  I suppose we will make polite conversation about the place, the weather, the children and work – safe subjects – but subjects that just avoid the issues and give an illusion of normality.  When I feel far from normal.

The problem is I don’t feel he likes me or wants to be with me.  I don’t bring him any happiness, only misery.  It’s really difficult being with someone you feel is disapproving of you.  We normally avoid people that we get negative vibes from and gravitate to those who seem to like us.  He’s only taking me out of habit and because he doesn’t have the guts or imagination to take anyone else.  Saying this sounds awful, cynical, and I hate myself for it.

But that’s how I feel.

Anyway, I will go and I will enjoy myself, because I am resourceful and resilient and seem to have a bizarre ability to be happy even when I’m sad, and who knows?  Maybe he will romance me and seduce me and thaw my frozen heart.