What year is it?

I don’t think my body has ever been this exhausted. My back hurts from hauling a giant mattress in a box up the stairs and then setting it up. It hurts from the dozens upon dozens of boxes I have packed, carried, and unpacked MYSELF. When you move during a pandemic, you’re on your own. So here we are. Fucking 2020, man.

Here’s the thing. Separation is fucking hard. I am secure and confident in my decision, but that doesn’t make the logistics, nor the physical toll any easier. The emotional exhaustion is surprising. I think it’s mainly in worrying about my son. I keep checking in with him to gauge his emotions and I worry every step of the way that I am doing some kind of irreversible damage to him. The grief I feel is for things that never came to fruition and for lost time. I am also feeling apprehensive about starting my life over at 43. But that’s the least of my worries. I cannot even begin to imagine inviting anyone else into my life for a good long while. I am not lonely. I don’t want another person to care for.

Sound bitter? Sure. I’m a little sour on myself for what I’ve invested. I knew several times that it wasn’t working and somehow I went back.

  1. 2010. The shore incident. His father passed away while I was staying with a friend so I came back.
  2. 2014. I moved out for 2 months. I forget. My lease was up. I came back and told him to leave. He didn’t. He gave me a nice Valentine’s card and I was back. (Ugh)
  3. 2017ish. I had an attorney. This sort of ebbed back because of logistics with the house and with my son. It was too much and it was unclear. I was drinking REALLY heavily so I don’t remember specifics.
  4. 2020. Here. Clear headed. Ready.

I have 3 more days in this house. I feel like I am not going to get everything packed. I’ve asked him to clear some stuff off of furniture I’m taking. He’s been complying. We don’t speak. We exchange information. It is always me who has to initiate. It is what it is. I am trying to be understanding that just because I have worked through this, he is at an earlier stage than me. I can’t fathom how my leaving could be any remote surprise, but I digress.

I have so much more to pack up. My body is at it’s limit. My Apple Watch is very proud of me telling me I am breaking records. It’s all very strange.

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