This has been an extremely hard week.
Divorce sucks like nothing has ever sucked but I know this is only a phase which will pass.
The last couple of weeks have been spent completing the nightmare Form E and gathering countless documents in readiness for court imposed deadline.
Every bone in my body is shattered. My back aches. My legs ache. My hips ache. My emotions are totally drained.
On Wednesday, I had therapy. I was in good form, full of positive talk for the future. We made diary plans to ensure I have some psychological support from her to see me through the first financial court hearing in January. I have a wonderful therapist who I have been seeing since June. She has been exceptional in getting our sessions extended several times and now trying to make sure I continue to have ongoing psychological support through the stresses of court hearings next year.
Only 10% of divorce cases go through a third and final court trial where a judge imposes a final judgment. My ex is crazy, totally unreasonable and a zombie being controlled by repugnant idiots. I am resigned I will be one of the unlucky 10%.
Our divorce will probably make his mistress’ sister a partner in her divorce law firm for the generous business from my ex. A fool and his money…
Yesterday, I had a follow-up with a consultant psychiatrist. The mental torture of the end of my marriage and my ex’s repulsive behaviour (if you’re new to my blog, see my About Me section), had resulted in a breakdown. I am not ashamed to seek help or to admit that I have been on medication since then.
The consultant was extremely nice and sympathetic. She talked about the unfairness of my situation. She will update my GP accordingly. The nicer she was to me, the more I cried and cried and cried and cried.
I thought I was done crying.
In addition to the pills I was given earlier in the year, she tells me my mood is still low, that I’m depressed. She wants me on more medication than I’m already taking. She prescribes some anti-depressants that will increase the happy hormones serotonin, supress adrenalin, help me sleep better…
Mental health issues are difficult to discuss.
I think there is something about anti-depressants that gets to people. My mother had a major panic when I told her about the doctor’s visit. She immediately writes:
“Please don’t ever give in to depression. Anger, yes. Occasional sadness, yes. But depression. Please reject it in the name of all that is good.”
I admonished myself for worrying her, as if she hasn’t got enough worries.
One of my best friends responds:
“No, we just need to get you out having fun. You don’t need to take any of that shit.”
She invites me to another girlie night I had already declined and she is now planning for the girls to descend to mine in January.
If the mountain won’t come to Muhammed…
I ask my sweet sister, who has been a rock about the specific medication. She’s a medical doctor. She calmly says:
“It’s okay. You could try it as people react in different ways. Everything will be alright my sister.”
I think if I’m honest with myself, the doctor is right about the anti-depressants and I hope they will help. I am more concerned that one of the side effects include weight gain but she had reassured me that it only increases appetite and if I don’t eat more, I won’t gain weight.
So in all of that drama, there is Christmas to think about. I still haven’t bought a single present.
In my pre-divorce life, Christmas was my absolute favourite holiday. This year, it fills me with dread.
I don’t want to think about 15 Christmases where my ex would overwhelm me with Christmas gifts like the picture below from last year.
He was certainly very generous when we were together. It’s a shame now he thinks it is entirely fine to pay me £0, while he keeps his City banker income all to himself.
I don’t want to remember that last Christmas, I somehow managed to get 11 people to sit down in my home for Christmas lunch.
There were 6 people in my house last Christmas, who have been me for 15 Christmases and who I will most likely never see again in my entire life, except of course the ex, who I will be seeing in court hearings next year.
It is a very sad way to end a marriage.
No, I don’t want to think about last Christmas.
But I really should think about this Christmas because this year, there will be three innocent kids in my home who haven’t done anything wrong.
There will be three young kids who will come with excitement to see their “fun auntie” and by God, I will do whatever it takes to make sure that she is still out there.
I owe it to them to make this the best Christmas I can muster.
It is not their fault that the shit hit the fan and it is unfair for them to think that life doesn’t move on and stay fun.
I promise myself that I will do whatever it takes, put on my big girls’ pants, suck it up like a fucking pro, fake it until I make it, to put on a happy show.
There will certainly be 99 times less presents this Christmas compared to Christmases past, (especially for me) but I make a silent promise to those kids there will be joy, laughter and lots of fun in my home this Christmas.
You know what, it’s not just about the kids; I owe it to myself and moving on to make it a brilliant Christmas.
Week Forty Two’s Verdict: today’s weight 88.8 kg, week’s weight loss 0.8 kg (1.17 pounds); total weight loss; 35.6 kg; 78.3 pounds; 5 stones 8.5 pounds