I used to be alone overnight on a regular basis. I mean, I spent almost half of our first year of marriage hogging an entire queen sized bed while Josh was on TDY, sometimes for weeks at a time. People assured me that his absence would get easier over time and that I'd learn to cherish my "me time."
It never became easier, only more lonely.
This past weekend, Josh decided to take his new motorcycle up to our hometown to visit his friends and celebrate one's graduation from college. The moment he told me about his plans to spend the weekend back home - without me - my heart did one of those nervous flip-flops. You know, the kind you get when you're almost at the top of the roller coaster but can't see the drop yet?
We haven't shared a bed for a few months now, and I've kind of gotten used to it. Once I can convince myself to climb into the empty bed it's usually around 3:00 AM and I have no other choice but to sleep. But I haven't been alone alone in our apartment overnight in almost ten months.
Last time, it was under completely different circumstances. This time last year, we were both still blissfully unaware of how quickly we were unraveling. I knew he was having a blast with his best friends in Canada and that he would be home in two weeks. I knew that when he came home he would scoop me up into his arms, kiss me deeply, tell me that he loves me and missed me while he was away, and show me the gift he got me on his travels...like he would always do after his TDY's back in the day.
But this time, we're unhappily married and waiting on a divorce to be finalized. This time we're just roommates who happen to be best friends and kinda married, but only on paper. This was his first time away since our life fell to pieces and it scared me to death to be alone this past weekend.
When he left Friday afternoon, I laid in my bed and watched Grey's Anatomy until the sun went down. I decided that I was hungry and would need comfort food, so I ordered a pizza and poured myself a glass of wine. Then another. And another. By the bottom of the third glass I had enough courage and energy to deep clean my kitchen - like, super deep - and moved all of his stuff out of our closet and into his closet. My bedroom is now solely my bedroom (the bathroom is another transition for another day). And you know what? It feels pretty damn good.
|Left: where his clothes used to be in our shared closet/Right: all of his stuff in the guest room closet.|
|Maybe I'll post the recipes for both of these soon. They're worth sharing!|
I also learned that I am capable of living alone. I hated it. I was miserable most of those three days by myself. But I lived. I'm still breathing and my heart is still beating and I'm writing this post (while crying, of course). It's going to suck for a while, I know that, and maybe one day I'll be content living on my own.
But for now, I'll just survive one three-day weekend at a time.