Monday, December 2, 2019
I have written about crying before. I am not a crier. I do find that I tear up at happy news, like a town giving a parade for a terminal child, more as I age, and other friends have told me the same. I, of course, do not let the tears fall out, so I still do not cry. I did let a few tears fall when I told my mom I had cancer last year (I am sure it was not more than three).
When I was at the rehabilitation hospital after my automobile accident, the doctor told me it was not just my body that had experienced trauma, my mind had too. He told me I would cry for no reason and have mood swings when I went home, but they would lessen and get back to normal after a time. I thought he simply did not know me and did not think twice about it.
I went home to my adjusted life, spent thirteen months in the hospital dying and recovering, and went home again without an issue. Then it started. My significant other, Donald, suddenly was a tear trigger. If he raised his voice, I was in tears. If he said anything I could misconstrue, I was in tears (which was everything he said to me). I was a hot mess and we argued all the time. I was like one of the silly romance heroines who is told a lie by someone she does not even know about her new boyfriend and she believes it without talking to him about it first and breaks up with him.
My mind kept telling me lies and I believed them. I broke up with him. We were arguing over whatever lie my mind told me one day and I decided I was done. I told my son to go get the empty boxes out of the storage shed and I told Donald to pack his stuff and go. (I may have been a hot mess, but I was still a mean hot mess.) Donald has never forgiven me for that night even all these years (and another child) later. I do not blame him.
I do not regret doing it. I needed to do it to get my sanity back. I wish I would have had the presence of mind to have handled the situation better. I could have sat him down and told him we needed some time apart so I could get my brain back under control. I did not. I had his son bring in the boxes for Donald to pack. I would not forgive me either.
It took me more than two years to get my brain back together. I did not go to therapy (perhaps I should have), because I remembered what the doctor said about getting back to normal after a time. Donald and I were already in the process of getting divorced before this incident happened, so this was not a marriage ender; it WAS a relationship ender.
While I was originally in the rehabilitation hospital, we were told we would need to get divorced for me to get the medical coverage I needed. Thanks to the flesh-eating disease I ran through the $500,000 life-time cap on my insurance in less than two years. Our nine-year-old son cried when we told him we were getting divorced. We told him we were still a family first and we kept our promise.
Our three children have never experienced what it is like to have divorced parents. When Donald did not live with us for five or six years, we still did activities together as a family nearly every weekend. Our family was more important than our relationship. Donald moved back in when we bought this house and he now needs to work hard to push my buttons (he still can bring water to my eyes sometimes).
My piece of advice to you is to make the hard decision even if you hurt someone else. I would take back the pain of that decision if I could, but I needed to take that step to move forward.
Until next time,
Susanne
​Please check out my GoFundMe page.
I have written about crying before. I am not a crier. I do find that I tear up at happy news, like a town giving a parade for a terminal child, more as I age, and other friends have told me the same. I, of course, do not let the tears fall out, so I still do not cry. I did let a few tears fall when I told my mom I had cancer last year (I am sure it was not more than three).
When I was at the rehabilitation hospital after my automobile accident, the doctor told me it was not just my body that had experienced trauma, my mind had too. He told me I would cry for no reason and have mood swings when I went home, but they would lessen and get back to normal after a time. I thought he simply did not know me and did not think twice about it.
I went home to my adjusted life, spent thirteen months in the hospital dying and recovering, and went home again without an issue. Then it started. My significant other, Donald, suddenly was a tear trigger. If he raised his voice, I was in tears. If he said anything I could misconstrue, I was in tears (which was everything he said to me). I was a hot mess and we argued all the time. I was like one of the silly romance heroines who is told a lie by someone she does not even know about her new boyfriend and she believes it without talking to him about it first and breaks up with him.
My mind kept telling me lies and I believed them. I broke up with him. We were arguing over whatever lie my mind told me one day and I decided I was done. I told my son to go get the empty boxes out of the storage shed and I told Donald to pack his stuff and go. (I may have been a hot mess, but I was still a mean hot mess.) Donald has never forgiven me for that night even all these years (and another child) later. I do not blame him.
I do not regret doing it. I needed to do it to get my sanity back. I wish I would have had the presence of mind to have handled the situation better. I could have sat him down and told him we needed some time apart so I could get my brain back under control. I did not. I had his son bring in the boxes for Donald to pack. I would not forgive me either.
It took me more than two years to get my brain back together. I did not go to therapy (perhaps I should have), because I remembered what the doctor said about getting back to normal after a time. Donald and I were already in the process of getting divorced before this incident happened, so this was not a marriage ender; it WAS a relationship ender.
While I was originally in the rehabilitation hospital, we were told we would need to get divorced for me to get the medical coverage I needed. Thanks to the flesh-eating disease I ran through the $500,000 life-time cap on my insurance in less than two years. Our nine-year-old son cried when we told him we were getting divorced. We told him we were still a family first and we kept our promise.
Our three children have never experienced what it is like to have divorced parents. When Donald did not live with us for five or six years, we still did activities together as a family nearly every weekend. Our family was more important than our relationship. Donald moved back in when we bought this house and he now needs to work hard to push my buttons (he still can bring water to my eyes sometimes).
My piece of advice to you is to make the hard decision even if you hurt someone else. I would take back the pain of that decision if I could, but I needed to take that step to move forward.
Until next time,
Susanne
​Please check out my GoFundMe page.