The Middle

Most stories start at the beginning. But this is not the beginning of my situation. Not really sure this is actually the middle, but it sounds good so that is what I am going to go with. Over the years, writing has been something I have gone to on a number of occasions to help formulate my thoughts or act as a release to get some of my thoughts out. When I was deployed to Afghanistan I actually wrote in a journal quite a bit — I have a hard time reading a lot of it but it also brings me back to what I was thinking of a lot over there. Most recently I starting writing a journal to put all my thoughts down on paper in early January. I don't remember exactly what day, but pretty much right after my wife dropped the divorce on me, I needed to start venting and putting my thoughts down on paper. Mostly it was my thoughts that I wanted her to know because she was either not around, or had already moved out for a while before I sold the house, because I did not really know what else to do. In the end I left all the letters there at the home for her to read. There were some real personal thoughts in there, but she had been one of only a couple people I have ever had in my life that I felt comfortable talking about anything with. I have no idea if she ever ready any of it — did she read and cry? did she read and laugh? did she just toss them out and never even look at them? In the end it doesn't matter, because nothing I said or wrote ever changed anything, but I did feel better putting myself out there.

So now we are here. 4 months to the day from when all this bullshit started. Sold the home (Jamie is still parked in the garage but that will change soon) to her and have everything out of there. I am over in an apartment with my cat (Uno) and playing fetch with him most days while he sits there and yells at me all the time. My days are pretty simple, waking up around 4 to a cat yelling in my face, off to the gym by 5-515, working out until 8ish and then off to work. Sometimes its a second trip to the gym and other times is home. regardless, there is almost no social interaction besides work, and I am actually pretty ok with that right now. For a couple weeks I have been struggling to come up with a the words to explain how I am and what my thoughts are that did not sound like a cry for help. That is most certainly NOT what this is. Sure I am depressed and not a fan of myself, but that is no different than the last 34 years of my life really. Where things are a little different now, is just how mad I am all the time. Its a perpetual thing and it only gets worse when I get in my own head and start having conversations with myself about what could have been or things I should have seen/known/done. Ruined many a good gym days with those.

What is really embarrassing to admit though, is that spending time around my friends and family actually makes t.hings worse and make me even more mad. I find myself finding excuses not to see them, or leaving early when I could/should probably stay around longer, because seeing them reminds me of what I thought I had. I'm not getting mad at them (thankfully) but just at my situations. I have been an incredibly boring person as of late, doing nothing more than reading, writing and going to the gym, but I also have no real interest in changing that. I've been given very nice offers from friends for places to go and hangout and see them whenever I want to, and as much as I appreciate those I hope they also know that I will likely never take them up on it.... because I am dumb like that.

Though I think I understand, I am still kind of sick of people telling me to get out and start talking to / meeting people again. Want to know how messed up I am? Despite everything that happened — even the stuff that I don't know about and will probably will never be told — I am still married. Isn't that messed up? The person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life kicked me to the side, showed me I was not important to them, and yet because there is a piece of paper that says we are still linked, I refuse to allow myself to try and move on right now.

The interesting thing with journal writing is that it just ends when you are all out of thoughts. Like this.