New Day

This weekend was without a doubt the hardest weekend of my life.

Friday night, Jeff was supposed to be out for the entire evening. He was staying with his brother who was visiting and when I said goodbye to him Friday morning I did not expect to see him again. I was shocked and sad when he came back home at around 1 am. He said he still did not feel well, but having to sleep beside him again when I had already closed that door broke my heart a little more. I needed him to be gone. Seeing him again hurt. Part of me wondered if he did that deliberately to make it harder for me.

Saturday morning I pushed him out the door to go get his kids and Brad came to help me move out.

It was very emotional. I cried rivers. Oceans. I sobbed until I thought I would die. There were honestly moments when I thought I would just collapse. My body ached, I felt weak in body and spirit and I had moments that I just didn't want to keep moving. I wanted to make Brad leave, crawl into bed and hide. Still, I kept going somehow and we got it done.

Taylor and I are staying in a room at my former stepfather's house. It used to be my childhood bedroom. It's small and with both Taylor and I in it, there isn't a spare square inch. To get to my "cot" you literally have to crawl over furniture. I hate it. I hate it so much that it makes me resent Jeff every minute I spend in this room. Taylor's being a trooper, although she was vomiting last night. She does that under stress. Another reason to hate Jeff.

When I came by the old house Saturday evening to grab a few more things, Jeff was home and his kids were in bed. We said hello's and kept it simple. Before I left, he hugged me, patted my ass and kissed my cheek and said he'd call and we'd get together sometime. I doubt it was sincere. I left and met my sister at the Hard Rock Casino to get very, very drunk. I didn't go home until 3:30 am when I knew I could just fall dead asleep instead of crying all night.

Sunday, I returned to the house to grab my cats. I had arranged with Jeff to go while he was out with his boys. He said he would not be home until 9 or so. I drove the 30 minutes and had been in the house for 4 minutes when he called and said he was on his way with his brother and asked me to leave. Asshole. I left, went to have dinner at my aunts house, and returned a few hours later to get them. I avoided seeing him.

He then IMed me not to come by the house next weekend. Jill will be spending the weekend. In my house. On my furniture. I could fucking slap him for that.

So much for him needing to be on his own and alone to deal with his issues. He's out with a different girl every night. I think he is terrified to be alone and makes sure to fill every moment with some companion. He may have my house and he may have more money, but he's a far bigger loser than me in that area. I'm not happy being alone, but I'm doing better at it.

I'm tepid on the dating thing. I have 1 or 2 guys I talk to and have met briefly. I did kiss the one. I am not really "into" men right now since I am still hung up on Jeff. I suspect I'm going to get over that as he is more and more of an ass every day. I really wish I felt nothing for him - it would be so much easier than the 597 little slaps he delivers to me daily to hurt me more and more.

He is so cruel.

I am beginning to see all of the ways he is a monster. I believe that as I accept them, I will love him less and less. I hope so anyway. Right now, he still has my heart. I still believe somewhere inside of me that this is a phase or him "acting out" or some other horrible but temporary thing. I still hope in that deep and secret way that he'll come to his senses and realize what he lost in me and work to save it.

Fantasy vs. Reality. The reality is that there is a 99.99999999% chance that he really is just this big of an asshole. Still, I can't quite let go of that tiny .000000001% chance that the man I love is there somewhere and will come back to himself.

I'm trying so hard.

Life holds no joy for me at the moment. I could go out with a million men, but my heart's not in it. I feel like the victim of a pedestrian vs. train accident who is in ICU recovering. The doctors still aren't sure I'll pull through, but I'm breathing 1 minute at a time.

The only bright spot in my weekend? None of my clothes fit, so I tried on a few pairs of pants. I have dropped yet another dress size. That's 3 sizes in 2 months. I've struggled to lose a few lbs for over 10 years. I am now at my lowest weight in 12 years. If I drop 2 more sizes, I'll be back to my high school dress size. That's nice and I try to be happy about it, but ultimately it means nothing to me. Looking good is meaningless when the man I love doesn't notice, doesn't care and isn't there to see.

I miss him. I miss him, but I also wish he had never come into my life.

With Brad this weekend, he was a huge help. At one point, he just let me cry on his shoulder. I soaked his shirt. He managed to make me laugh once or twice and I was so grateful for it.

I am so unhappy.