I wrote about you.  I read what I wrote about you.  Then I cried about you.  I cried about believing in you and in us.  I cried because I swore to you that no matter what happened, I would never leave you.  I am fiercely loyal, loyal to a fault.  I always have been.  But I left you.  I still can’t believe that I actually left you.  The act of leaving made me question who I was.  I thought I was loyal.  I thought, “You make your bed, you lie in it.”  I thought, “Us against the world” and, “No one understands Us.”  We didn’t understand Us.  Everything got darker.  I was afraid of Us.  Dying would have been easier than leaving you.  I loved you so much.  But I left you.  I had to.  I had to.

August 3, 2014, was the day.  Nothing has been easy since.  Ignorance is living in the dark;  No none can see well in the dark.  I pretended everything was shiny and bright.  Smile.  Snap a photo.  Post it to facebook and pretend that you have the best life ever.  “Blessed!” you say, but it’s bullshit.  When you are exposed and living in the light, nothing looks as good as it did in the dark.

Have you ever been drunk in a bar near closing time?  You think you are “owning it,” dancing like a rock star, looking hot, being hilarious and talking to the best-looking people at the place;  Hell, you might even be the best-looking person, in your mind.  BAM!  The lights come on. “Closing time!” The bartender yells.  You catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror.  Fuck!  Your makeup is uneven, mascara running down your face, lipstick smeared,  peanut shells caught between your teeth, some sort of liquid spilled down your pants that sort of looks like grape soda;  But you don’t even remember drinking grape soda.  Oh god.  You feel like everyone in the goddamn bar is staring at you. Disgusting, hot mess, minus the “hot” part.  You think, “whatever” and contemplate trying to convince the bartender for one last shot before you are thrown out.  Instead, you leave within a minute of that contemplation, your hand covering your face to hide the shame.  You don’t even know where the hell you are going, let alone how you are getting home…

Divorce is like closing time at a bar when you are trashed and totally unaware of yourself.  Now, the lights are on.  Everyone knows your marriage was shitty and all your social media posts from the last few years were probably fake.  Poor [fill in the blank] they seemed Okay.  What happened?  Who is to blame?  Rumors, the excuses, embarrassment and the worst…shame.  It just sucks.

I hate that I cried tonight.  I thought about taking a bath with a bottle of whiskey.  I thought about renting some unrealistic romantic dramedy and then crying some more.  “No,” I thought.  No more pity parties.  I went to a bar by myself.  I bought some dinner and a few beers.  I wrote this post.  I stopped crying.  I took a shot with the bartender.  She didn’t make me pay for it.  I went home.  My tiny apartment, home.  One year down.  I am okay.  I will be okay.  I am okay…

Happy Divorciversary, to me.

-Lou