By Maryjay l’mour
Getting divorced is not something that just happens. It is not like –“Mmmmhhh…. Today I feel like having French toasts, an orange juice and…yeah…I think I will also have a divorce”-
It is an extremely painful, devastating, overwhelming and scaring process that starts in a very slowly almost unnoticed way. Like a hidden bacteria that makes its silent road to your organs and when you finally realized is there, it already infected half of your body.
In our case the unseen bacteria started growing three years before it finally consumed us. We start growing apart, losing interest in each other, filling our conversations with misunderstandings and recriminations that always ended up escalating in to fights, shouts and tears. By the time we realized we where having really serious relationship problems we were so torn, so weary and broken down that in our defense I should say that it was very honorable that we were still willing to give it a shot.
After some deliberations we decided to go to a relationship counselor. We were both already going to our personal therapists so together with this new one there were already three of them.
Our third shrink was a nice lady with a very rounded pregnant belly and a jolly radiant face. At the beginning it felt almost insulting to have an all happy-married-pregnant-woman to help us deal with our problems. I mean, how on earth was she going to be able to relate with our issues? How was she going to stay professional about the disappointments of love, relationships and trust when she was just embodying the opposite? Yet she did, so we stuck with her… for a while.
Sometimes the three shrinks got together to discuss our case in what I imagine to be a long and exhausting session. Sometimes they invited us to join them. Like a surround stereo shrink system. Still, despite all the efforts and our professional trio, our relationship was sinking into a dark, freakish deep, no salvation abysm.
I was so confused that I didn’t know what to feel anymore, what to think, what to choose. I was so desperate, so lost and so clueless that sometimes while biking to my work I used to pray to the universe for solutions: Please, let me know what to do! Please, please, please. Give me a sign! The weirdest thing is that most of the times my prayers went on with something like this: – Oh universe, I beg you, please, find him a lover! A superhero woman who could take him away from my back. Oh, that would be such a blessing, I thought.
When the universe failed to listen to my prayers, I changed the option and start buying lottery tickets. My hope was not to get rich and buy me a new house or hire a very expensive lawyer; I was just aiming to win a couple of thousands to buy him a one way ticket to a far, far, very far remote island. Somewhere like Polynesia or Cape Horn. Some of those places where you really need to work your ass out to get the money to fly back in to civilisation.
I know, I was actually trying to hide the dirt under the carpet. To close my eyes to the inevitable reality that was starting to present itself as the only possible solution. And yet I was not able to end our relationship, our family and all the dreams and hopes we build up together. I was not strong enough to be the one making the final cut. It was for me way easier to pray for an external miracle to solve the problem for me.
In my defence, I can say that somehow my wishes were very altruist. I mean, normal people wishes their ‘soon to be’ ex’s ugly and nasty things like biblical diseases, impotence or eternal loneliness. But there I was, wishing the guy a new lover in a nice tropical exotic island!! Come on!
As the month’s passed by and the shrinks-trio didn’t seemed to be helping, the relationship went from really bad to awful ugly and then to totally disaster. The relationship counseling became just another battlefield where we either spit out all our rage and resentment or just shut down from any possibility of communication and contact. Dialoging became impossible, the environment around us became toxic and neither the counselor nor the other two shrinks seemed to find the way to help us out the persistent miscommunication spiral we have fallen in. I could not help but wonder: are all relationships salvable? Or as in sickness and disease it could sometimes be too late?
I was very worried about the kids growing up in such a marital war zone, about traumatising them and about us, getting in this blinding outrageous hate. I was scared to end up crossing that very thin line that separates the friendly a la Gwyneth Paltrow conscious uncoupling kind of divorce from The war of the Roses situation. When you lose all perspective and respect and end up fighting to death. My increasing desperation became so unbearable that I could not stop thinking that divorcing was the only answer to our problems and that the time was right now.
Still I needed a final push. An entity or sign able to assure me that I was taking the right decision. Like an emotional cheerleader yelling me to that intense, painful moment: – give me a D, give me an I, give me a V…Gooooooo for it!!!
So, after some hesitation I finally decided to go to a psychic. Also known as: the witch.
With love from She Dares writing group. This is one of our many blogs written by group members, if you feel inspired to contribute…. don’t be shy, write with us.