We all have those moments (days sometimes) where we feel like getting in our cars, filling our tanks and speeding off to somewhere ALONE to hide and start over. Even if we are on little pink ( yellow, blue or white) ‘happy’ tablets, at therapists and psychiatrists and have a good supply of Rescue remedy (with a straw), chocolates, alcohol, coffee, suppositories (I put that in for good measure – no pun intended), vitamins, minerals and a punching bag – there are days when nothing but nothing helps!!
When I was a tad younger, one of my favorite movies was called ‘Shirley Valentine’. It was about a middle aged woman who escapes her life to go on a vacation to Greece and while there, she discovers herself. Little did I know that many moons later, I would be Divorcey Girleytine (distant cousin of Shirley and younger niece of Thelma and Louise – another movie from my youth) and in a place of needing some kind of (post marriage explosion) reinvention.
I generally do my utmost best to be positive. I focus on my blessings and on what I can control but of course I have times of feeling like shit and wondering where the F to from here!? Sometimes when one or all of my children are having a bad day dealing with their own emotions related to the divorce and I feel lonely and anxious, it’s really hard to keep things in perspective. On those days, I feel like I may never have peace or joy again and I take it to a level of wondering if I was a bad bad person in a past life, who is now experiencing a dose of Karma. My head throws a pity party that would bring anyone to their knees. I’m talking chocolate balls, unshaven legs (yup – it’s like a hairy rebellion), listening to romantic piano til it’s evoked a special level of sad and messaging my closest friends and family to tell them that I’m not going to pluck my eyebrows anymore cause what’s the bloody point!!!
The hardest part is, that I will not allow my children to be guests at this pity party, so while I’m sing Solo meo, the full Italian version (with the ‘opera training carb diet’ to match) on the inside, I attempt to put on a smiley, brave face for my offspring. I don’t feel it’s fair for them in their already fragile states to see me so defeated. Mostly I don’t fool them – ‘ you ok mom, you been crying?’ … ‘Hell no, I have allergies and I kicked my toe..ouch’….sniff sniff.
The physical aspect of the sucky days include cramps, headaches, breath holding, neck spasms, feeling heavy and anxiety. Pretty much PMS on crack cocaine. Words used are ‘I’m ugly, how can I, how will I, I can’t and ‘pass the potato salad!!!’.
I don’t smoke but on those days if I did, it would be a joint (just kidding – I think) I don’t drink, but on those days if I did, it would be from the bottle. I don’t take drugs but if I did, I would call ‘the guy’ that everyone claims to know.
Instead I drug myself DG style and eat sugar, drink caffeine, carbo load and criticize all aspects of my appearance from my ankles to my earlobes – I mean if my earlobes were different, things would be better!! No one could be meaner to me than me on those sucky days.
And what can I say, on those days I cry and mope and running far away seems like it could be the best solution. I usually (eventually when my tissues are running low) call one of my best gal pals (let’s call her Thelma) and we fantasize about getting in my car and racing off to the coast, where we start a little gift shop (that sells sex toys obviously) and meet Brad Pitt and his twin brother Bob. Thelma declares to DG, ‘lets do it Lou!!!’, and oh it’s a lovely dream, even if only for a phone rant and giggly call to Thelm – where we both swear and snivel and tell each other that we love each other and to keep going for our kids.
There is no guessing when the dark, self hate day will end, because when you are there, you are not sure if there is any light at the end of the tunnel. Its often with a hug from one of my children and a reminder somewhere in my brain during a sad song that I’m pumping, about how much they actually need me. It sounds so damned cliched, but it’s this and my friends and family who I reach out to, that somehow pull me back to the decision that “ I can and I will and it’s time to get the razor and tweezers out”!!
The day after the Sucky day, I can never figure out why I ate so much junk food and why my eyes look so red and swollen and it inspires what I call guilt exercise – guiltercize!! I like to delude myself that ten minutes of jogging (ok slow to fast walking) will cancel out twenty four (give or take) hours of ‘food party’. I’ve learned to forgive myself for what ever it was food wise that got me through. I then carry on and try to resolve that when the Sucky day train pulls up again, I will take carrot sticks, running shoes and a grooming kit on the journey…. Xxx Divorced Gal