Boxes are packed and stacked. Renters insurance is paid for. Electric and internet will be on tomorrow. Water is billed with rent, so nothing to set up there. I hope I’m not forgetting anything. Oh! I need to change my address with… everything. Post office, bank, license, registration, on and on and on.

Tomorrow is the day.

He’s been crying on and off. I’ve been cycling between feeling empowered and feeling like a giant fucking failure.

I keep hearing the egg donor’s voice in my head. “You are such a nag. No wonder he doesn’t love you. How could you let your marriage fall apart? You’re pathetic! Now what will you do with your life?”


2018 Goals

2018 is going to be a new chapter for me.

Fuck that, 2018 is going to be a whole new book.

Here is what I plan to accomplish in 2018:

  1. Move into my own apartment

    My move in date is January 28th. Exactly four weeks from today.

  2. Pay off my credit card

    This is getting paid off, and I am never racking up credit card debt ever again.

  3. Pay off my car

    A paid off car will be my 29th birthday present to myself.

  4. Finalize my divorce

    No more of this bullshit rollercoaster ride. I am finalizing this once and for all.

  5. Get a tattoo of Fawkes on my right arm

    The symbolism of this is incredibly important to me for celebrating my divorce. In Greek mythology, phoenixes are reborn from the ashes of their own destruction. In the Harry Potter world, Fawkes has healing powers and super strength.

What are your goals for 2018?

More Yelling

Today was overwhelming as fuck.

STBXH had agreed to continue helping me at work for a few hours each Saturday until the end of the year, which would have made today his last day.

On the way to work this morning, he was driving my car. He was coming up to an intersection where we had to make a right, but he didn’t signal. There was a car coming the other way waiting to turn left, assuming we were going straight because STBXH hadn’t signaled.

“Can you please signal so they don’t wait for no reason?”

THUD. He clipped the curb hard turning right and didn’t respond.

“Can you please pull over so we can check the tire?”

That question unleashed a fire-breathing dragon.


“Do you understand the irony of you screaming at me to stop yelling? I think you should go home. Take today off.”

Cue more rage and screaming about how I need him at work.

I calmly asked him to pull over again. This time he did. He walked the few miles home while I drove off to work. When I got there, before going inside, a panic attack took over my body. The shaking, dizziness, pounding head, and crippling nausea were overwhelming.

I texted one of my friends who helped me pull myself together enough to get through work. I was pretty certain I was going to either pass out or vomit on someone, but I made it through without doing either.

I headed to my friend’s house after work. She immediately gave me a hug, wrapped me in a soft blanket and a neck massager, fed me a good meal, gave me a few ibuprofen, packed me a bowl (yay for living in a legal state!) and gave me a cider. I am so grateful to have her as a friend.

Five More Weeks

“Can you please not raise your voice at me. It’s really not fair for you to yell at me just because I don’t feel the way you think I should about something.” I sighed at him.

Five more weeks of living with this, I thought to myself.

“What the fuck does it matter? You’re leaving me. I’ll act however the fuck I want.” He retorted.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” I said before heading to the bedroom and ignoring the subsequent yelling at me from the living room.

Merry Christmas y’all.

Is A Shitty Proposal A Sign Of A Shitty Marriage?

Is a shitty proposal a sign of a shitty marriage?We’d been dating for two years. We had been living together in another state but were visiting his family where we both grew up.

One night during our trip, his mother whipped out a calendar. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“Um… he hasn’t proposed.”

“I’m sure he will soon! Let’s pick a date!”

A few minutes later, me not knowing what the fuck just happened, his mother and grandfather had decided a wedding date for us. The first date they chose didn’t work because his grandfather had a barbeque planned, but they were satisfied with the second date they landed on.

A few weeks later back at home, a package arrived. He came into the bedroom and handed me a ring box.

That was it.

The ring was a repurposed diamond he literally found on the ground of a parking lot.

At the time, I rationalized it as romantic. “The diamond found us!” And since his mother and grandfather had already chosen my wedding date, I put the ring on. Boom. Engaged. Just like that.

He didn’t leave the house to plan anything special. He didn’t get down on one knee. He didn’t give some romantic speech. Looking back, I’m not even sure he ever actually said the words, “Will you marry me?”

What the FUCK was I thinking??!?!?! How did I miss the glaringly obvious signs that this was never going to make me happy?!


Emergency Contact

I had planned to stay in the apartment with STBXH for a few more months to save money and pay off my credit card faster, but it’s not looking like I’m going to be able to stand living here for that long.

Paying off my credit card will have to wait. My sanity is more important than saving a few (hundred) dollars in interest fees.

“I want you to know that I’ll be moving out soon.”

“Good.” He snapped back angrily. Not a moment later, he was on his knees at my feet, begging me to “work it out.”

By “work it out”, he means continue on living the same way we have been for the last decade. With him just happy enough, and me absolutely miserable. He’s had plenty of opportunities to work on himself and change things, and he’s proven to me time and time again that he will never change.

Before I could finish my sentence about it not being up for discussion anymore, he stormed off.

Time is a precious, limited resource and once it’s gone, it’s never coming back. I’ve wasted almost all of my 20’s. I will not do that with my 30’s. It’s time to take control of my own happiness.

So I applied for an apartment.

On the application, there was a line for my emergency contact that hit me like a punch to the gut.

I don’t have an emergency contact.

Sure, I have a few good friends, some local and some who live across the country. But I wouldn’t want to burden any of them if I were to die and the apartment complex needed someone to deal with my corpse.

I sat at my computer crying hysterically over my lack of emergency contact for a good 20 minutes before submitting the application.

I heard back in less than an hour that I was approved. I have a huge fucking deposit because of my shit credit, but I was approved.

I have 72 hours from the approval yesterday to submit the deposit and secure the apartment.

I have so many mixed emotions and I’m not sure how to process them. I’m a fucking mess.


My only ‘family’ (if you can call it that) is a narcissistic mother (egg donor) that I haven’t heard from in over a year since I told her I didn’t want to talk to her until she was ready to apologize. (More on that another day.)

Christmas is something the egg donor used to use as a reason to buy my love and have something to hold over my head.

Now, not even a text.

The soon-to-be ex-husband’s family celebrates Hanukkah. Unlike my egg donor, his mother actually loves him and enjoys spending the holidays with him. (Don’t get me wrong, she has a LOT of narcissistic tendencies, but I do believe she loves him.) She does happen to get him pretty sweet gifts, but it’s out of love, not to buy his love. (Yeah, major fucking difference that my egg donor has never been able to understand.)

When he came home with a bunch of gifts after celebrating with his family tonight, I instantly started crying. Which naturally led to anger (because anger is easier to deal with than sadness) as I dealt with my emotions while looking like a spoiled brat.

I’m sure he thought I was jealous of the gifts.

It’s not that I’m jealous of the gifts, (ok, the Google Home and Waterpik are fucking awesome) but it was a stark reminder of what I have never and will never have; a (human) family that actually loves me.


Today we agreed in writing to how we’ll split up our debt. I am relieved to have all that decided and out of the way.

In addition to just over $11,000 for my car loan, I have about $5,000 in credit card debt that I am solely responsible for. Hello, emotional spending. It’s time to reign this childish bullshit in.

We’ve agreed that I will live in this (one bedroom) apartment with him and split the rent and utilities for a few more months so I can pay off my credit card before getting my own place.

I’ve offered to trade off sleeping on the couch and bed each night, but he says he’ll keep taking the couch. We’ll see how long that lasts.

He does not want this divorce, but he says he still wants this to be amicable.

Can a divorce when one party doesn’t want it really be amicable? I guess we’ll see…