What would you say

Editor’s note: So – the rest of my posts are going to be out of order because I never published them…but I feel my story needs to be heard.

So, I’m a Jesus lover. Like really. I love me some Jesus and He loves me. Well. The church found out that I left my husband…..

Okay, I know I drop the f bomb a lot, but I still love me some Jesus…He hears my heart, and knows I have a sailor’s mouth…

So, since I go to such a small church and am best friends with the pastor’s wife, loving unconditionally has been the theme of every service for a month. Fuck that shit. I do love unconditionally…but I also love myself enough to walk away from the shitstorm and realize I have a need to be healthy. And my kids should be seeing a healthy marriage, not some idiots screaming insults and absurdities to each other. Tell me how that’s Godly…. ugh.

Then, there’s the rest of the congregation… Please stay married and honor God. Honor the promise you made before the Lord. I honor and value what God has in His plans for me. And let me tell you – He didn’t plan on me being in a marriage where I felt worthless and abused. He has better plans for me. He has forgiven me for breaking that promise because He loves me unconditionally…

Now, let me publish this and hear all the comments on God and what He thinks. I talk to Jesus. We got it going on.

There’s that.

#iheartJesus #welltheresthat #fuckthatshit #sailorsmouth #stillachristian


Doing the deeds…

I decided to change my name back to my maiden name.  Because I didn’t like his last name in the first place.  That’s why.  (Did you read that in your best eight year old sass?  Because that’s the way I wrote it, damn it, read it that way.) I never liked his last name, but was always too embarrassed to ever say anything.  So there you have it.

I had to move out of the house we lived it, because he would like to buy me out of it and keep it.  Keep the damn thing.  Ugh.  It leaks.  The basement, the roof, the bedroom, it fucking leaks.  But it is a good idea for him to have it because I get all the rest of the stuff in the house and this way there is some consistency for the kids.

I get a new license.  Like update my identification.  With a new/old last name.

So there are things to do.  Here’s the list:
1. Go to the Social Security Office and change my last name.   – done!
2. Buy/find a house.  – ugh…..let the house hunt begin…..
3.  Go to the DMV and update my license.  –  Fuck that shit.  They’re ass holes and they made me cry.  I hate crying.

So here’s the story.  The Social Security Office has a nice little check list of things you need to change your name.  That was so easy!  I brought in all the stuff and I didn’t even need it.  They must have seen my cute face and thought – awwwwww, let’s not give her a hard time.  Let’s let the DMV do that for us.  Poor thing.  Just got divorced.

Then, find a realtor.  That was easy.  Next select a list of things you want in a house.  Okay, I can do that.  See houses.  Seven in one day – it’s on the schedule….we shall see how it goes.

DMV.  These people, well not the people but the bureaucratic mess, are ass holes.  Funny enough, they have information on the internet to check off what you need to do to update your license.  I bring in all the recommended information sans new address, because I live with my friend, I have no bills there, I have nothing there, I do not permanently live there.  Many people probably have this problem, correct?  Not everyone owns part of the house they are living in.  There are people in my situation and other situations that need to update their names on their driver’s license in order to use it as proper identification for credit card purchases, etc., right????  So, I wander into the local DMV, and surmise that it will be as easy as updating my social security card, because that’s a little more secure than a damn license, or it should be.  But no.  They politely explain that I need a current address.  So, I leave and come back again later….new person helping, this really should be easy.  I explain that I really don’t live anywhere, I’m between houses.  I’m staying with a friend and I could be staying with my parents off and on, but I will be finding a house.  But in the mean time, I’d like some identification with my name on it, my current name, the one that is on my social security card.  She explains that I need an address.  I am armed with retorts, including the fact, but not limited to,  “I don’t need to have a home, just a car to drive.  I could live out of my car for all intents and purposes.  I don’t have to have an address!” Damn it, as the tears fall down my face, damn it all to hell.  I don’t have a fucking address.  I don’t have a place to call my own.  I am lost at the moment, wandering, finding my fucking journey to peace and happiness and it doesn’t have a house number or a street attached to it.  The tears are streaming now, I am loudly sobbing, as the woman apologizes and hands me a tissue, I take my things and try to leave with some semblance of confidence and dignity.  Truthfully, I leave like a homeless vagrant who hasn’t showered in three days, embarrassed and shamed for having attempted to follow the law and update a piece of identification necessary to drive the vehicle I’m about to utilize to go to a location that I cannot call my own.

It hasn’t changed

Funny enough, when I woke up nothing has changed since yesterday.  I am still scared shitless.  I wanted out of the relationship.  I ended our marriage.  I wanted happiness.  I wanted to model for my sons that life was not about arguing, not about breaking things so you wouldn’t have to put them away, not about yelling and screaming, not about bad words.  Relationships were better than this.  Yes, we went to counseling.  Yes, I put forth full effort – even the first time we separated.  Did he?  Did he know I was serious when I said that I needed change in our relationship?  Did he know that I was serious when I told him that he may need to change his medicine or go to counseling?  I saw in our counseling sessions that he did what he had to do and put on a good front.  I never called him out on that.  He knew what he needed to do.  I also knew he wouldn’t follow through.  Now, again, here I sit.

Happiness is a journey.  Happiness is a choice.  I want happiness.  I had struggled being happy when being called stupid and worthless and whatever else he called me.  Do you know he called me a slut?  I, a slut?  I had slept with one other person before we even started dating.  How does that make me a slut?  So, does this add to my happiness?  No.  Is it changing?  No.  I guess, I needed to eliminate the toxicity in my life.  Mission accomplished.  Except for the fact that I still have to deal with him until he dies or my sons disown him – which won’t happen, and that’s okay.

So, cheers to happiness.  Cheers to this fucking cluster fuck beginning.  What’s next?  I don’t know.  But I’m on a journey to healthy relationships and happiness.  Fuck that toxicity!

No, it hasn’t changed.  I am still a divorced woman.  But I have changed!  And I am excited to be changing.

Well, there’s that.  I think I’m going to go work out.

Here I sit….

Here I sit.

Age:  33

Kids:  two

Marital status:  Divorced.

Life status:  A.  Mess.

Here I sit.  Realizing what a cluster fuck I have embarked on.  Who the hell wants their own happiness anyway?  Geesh.  Is that too much to ask for?  Really?  I’m a 33 year-old mother of two sons and I am newly divorced.  Like today’s the day.  There are so many questions to ask myself.  And I guess, I’m here to help the next girl who’s going through the same shit, but on a different day.  It’s July 11.  Really.  You couldn’t have picked a different day other than 7/11…..well 7/11 is open 24/7, so I guess this shit is on.

Life status:  Living with a friend and her soon to be husband.  This friend, whom shall not be named, is  so wonderful to be lending us two bedrooms of her new to her home.  Her fiance isn’t living here until they’re married.  At this point, after my ex-husband took “half” the money out of the bank account – which in reality there wasn’t a half to take, there was just enough to cover the bills since our spending has been off the charts, I’m broke and she’s not even charging me rent.  I’m paying for groceries, which, until August, my ex-husband has to pay for half of the cc bill!  Charge away, my friend.

At 33 years old, I can’t get my own house (my name is still on the mortgage of the old house), I am living with a friend, I have two kids, my finances meek, and I am………….





Well, there’s that.  Guess I’m going to go exercise.