A possible future

In the previous entry I mentioned that I went to Bavaria with Thing Two and that was another story, so here that is. My fledgling has left the nest – he’s going to do a volunteer gap year thing, and he’s staying with my mother-in-law until he gets settled into the volunteer gig enough to look for his own place.

Seeing my MIL was weird. That’s probably enough said about that.

I stayed with a friend in the town where we used to live; she was my neighbor when I lived there, and she now has a super amazing and beautiful brand new house where I spent two days venting and slurping up tea and sympathy.

And advice! She pointed out that I can go anywhere and I mentioned that I need to find work, and she said there’s work right here in town: she had a business teaching English and she was swamped. Had to give it up because it kept her too busy. It might take awhile to build up to making a living, but the demand is there. She also made some smart observations about the house that we own – for instance, that the rent our tenants pay is just about what I would have paid for that apartment in Heidelberg, so why not just pay the €900+ to live in MY house, which I love and miss living in?


So, yeah. I have a house. I could start a business (NO idea how to do that, but I’m learning how to ask people for help), and – this is crucial – I could leave Heidelberg. Because at this point I am literally afraid to go to work because I know he and his whore are living near my office and I don’t want to run into either of them. Yes it really is that bad. This is a small town and you can’t avoid people forever, or even for very long. And me learning to just fucking deal is frankly not on the horizon: I already had a minor meltdown when I found out he took her to meet his mother this week. I would love not to be this crazy, but I am.

I shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Also, the tenants are legally entitled to nine months’ notice, so I couldn’t do it before next May anyway. But I am really and seriously thinking about it.


Too much happens too fast

So yeah, it’s been awhile since Sunday’s crisis. When the tears had abated and the migraine was taking a firm hold, I decided that moving to the apartment was actually not a good idea, but I decided to sleep on it, and then the next day I drove Thing Two to Bavaria and was afk until Thursday but that’s a whole-nother story. This post is about the apartment.

I’m not taking it. It’s too much to deal with right now. Moving twice. Figuring out internet and utilities and whatever-the-hell-else. Everybody said it’d be good to have my own space to set up as I like, but the damn thing is fulla butt-ugly furniture that I can’t put in storage and anyway, setting up a whole apartment is definitely more than I can imagine myself handling right now. It’s all just. Too. Much.

The shared housing will do until I can get my feet back under me and figure out what kind of life I want, now that the life I thought I was going to have has been handed to a fluffy little side-chick. “Keep moving forward” is bad advice when you don’t know where you want to go.

I really wish I’d decided this before Mr. Husband signed the rental agreement, and I recognize that it was a very expensive mistake, but you know what? My life has taken a MAJOR FUCKING TURN WITHOUT MY CONSENT and anybody who expects me to make grown-up responsible normal-person decisions after I checked myself out of a fucking psych ward because it was too stressful and am still figuring out my meds? Deserves to lose a couple thousand bucks.

So there.

Every decision is wrong

Everyone keeps saying take it one day at a time but I had to find a place to live and I keep having to make decisions even though I keep saying I can’t think people keep making me choose and I do the best I can given the information I have but the situation changes and then I’m stuck.

I really wanted to leave Heidelberg so I wouldn’t keep running into my husband and the former friend who took him away from me: in a town this size that’s unavoidable, and it’s already happened a couple of times and each time undid every scrap of emotional progress I’d made. But I had a job here, so I figured I’d better stay. Then last week or the week before I found out that they’re cutting my hours, so after October I’ll be out of work anyway, but by then I’d already committed to this shared housing situation and also an apartment.

The shared housing decision was because everyone says the Heidelberg housing market is awful and I kept getting rejected and I didn’t think I was ever going to find something so I took the only thing I was offered. But then after that Mr. Husband found a flat.

I took the flat because the owner was a nice old lady who sympathized with my plight and had a plight of her own and I thought we could help each other. The flat is furnished, but I figured I could put that stuff in storage. Nope, there isn’t any storage and the furniture must stay in the flat, I found out after signing. And several people told me that landlords can’t legally refuse to let you have a cat, but guess what she just did. So now my poor beautiful Hekate, who’s been increasingly anxious as her people have disappeared one by one, will be gone from my life forever. And I shouldn’t have taken the apartment but now I’m stuck.

But I can’t move in yet because of some plumbing problem, so I’m still in the shared house. My room is right off the living room, so I can’t even go pee without having to talk to someone, and right now one of my roommates is on the couch watching TV and listening to me cry. I can’t call anyone because I don’t want him to listen to that conversation and I can’t ask him to go away because then I’ll have to explain why.

Everything is awful and just keeps getting worse. I know other people have endured far bigger things, but I’m not strong, despite everyone telling me I am, and I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.

First farewell

Today I got the last of my stuff out of the old house and left my keys on the table. I’ll be back on Tuesday to collect Thing Two and take him back to Bavaria to start his new grown-up life, but I won’t need to go into the house for that, so. Yet another brick in the “Oh my God this is really actually happening” wall.

It’s been awful, this forward progress, but the worst of it was in the last few days, as his stuff started gradually disappearing. I’m glad I won’t have to see any more of that. We do have to confer over a couch that I couldn’t move but would like to have, and over the cat – she can’t come live with me until I get back from Bavaria, and I don’t have keys, so he’ll have to bring her to me.

But after that, we can probably finally do the no-contact thing that is supposed to help me move on. God, I hope something does. I don’t blame myself for being sad, I know these things take time, but I’m just so fucking tired of it. Pain, whether physical or psychic, in addition to being painful, is also just exhausting.

Progress, or not

At my request we have limited our interactions to WhatsApp because every time I see him or hear his voice it breaks my heart again. Fuckin’ kintsukuroi bullshit.

So but then even the WhatsApp chats are patchy because I am occasionally snarky (who, moi?) and then he avoids me because, I dunno, I hurt his feelings or some shit? Look, all I said was “try not to sleep with any students at the Summer School,” which wasn’t wrong in any sense – apparently this is now a thing he does – it was just maybe not very nice. Not that I owe him nice, after what he did to me. Which he knows. So he can’t clap back, so he runs away. Which I think is cowardly, but probably also useful because we shouldn’t have too much contact, see above re break and heart.

Aaaaaanyhoodles. We had a perfectly civil WhatsApp chat yesterday about organizing all this moving business and when I can get my shit out of the house so he can start organizing his shit and getting rid of the shit nobody wants, and I handled it without any tears or hyperventilating or self-harm (or snark, yay me), and then I drove to the house to do some stuff. As I was driving up the hill I saw him walking down the hill and all my hard-earned composure disappeared with a vast flushing sound. And since then I have been in full-on Eeyore mode.

I was so attached to this future I thought we had together, and I can’t seem to let go, no matter how many times I tell myself that I have to let go, that it’s the only way I’ll ever be happy again, that I’m going to let go, starting right now! Okay… now! Em, howbout now?

I miss him, I hate him, I need him, he was bad for me, I’m better off, I’m so sad I can’t bear it. This tug-of-war is exhausting.

Moving. Twice.

Oh right, there’s this blog! Sorry, been busy. Also depressed.

So yeah, my step-mom and sons helped me move a buttload of stuff into the mini-storage, which is now very full, and we got me moved into the shared house that I mentioned in this post. But also…

Well, before I signed the contract for this place Mr. Husband placed an ad in the local paper and a few people contacted him and long story short, I looked at one flat right before I left for France (like, 9pm the night before I left) and I felt kind of pressured to make a quick decision but also YOU people told me that covering my rent was the fucking least he could do and I shouldn’t feel guilty about it (which, okay, that is true) so I accepted the place and now I will be moving into a 1-bedroom apartment across the river, right by the medical campus. At some point.

See, the previous tenants haven’t handed back the keys yet, even though they’re moved out, so the locks have to be changed, and someone has to put the new oven in and paint the kitchen and bathroom and we don’t know when that’s all going to be done and blah blah blah. I just found out today that I could probably start storing stuff in there this Friday, when it will be 37°C (that’s 98.6°F, body temperature) which doesn’t seem like the best time to be hoicking boxes up stairs.

But also: I have to move twice. Because apparently no matter how bad things get in my life, I just can’t resist the urge to complicate things.

Song du jour of the day: Blackbird. The Beatles.

Watch this space

Hi! Yes! I’m back from France and up to my ears in moving. My step-mom came back with me and is directing everything because I can’t think, but I will update the blog… at some point. When I can whittle the story down to something coherent because, um, it’s kind of a mess and you’ll want to know why it shook out this way. Or I, looking back from the future, will want to know what the hell I was thinking, because on the face of it, it looks like I’m complicating things unnecessarily. All I can say is that it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Yeah. Let me think about how I’m going to explain this.

Song du jour of the day: River, by Joni Mitchell.