Night and Day

This ... this THING ... the Hoosier Guy and I have is night and day different than my past life.  Night and Day.  Opposite.  Dark and Light.  Finally -- into the light I venture.

This weekend we went to Key West -- had so much fun, laughing, joking, people watching, enjoying.  It was lovely and peaceful, just what I needed after so much crazy at work and crazy with worry about school.  On Saturday we took a boat trip out to the Dry Tortugas -- the end of the Keys and a national park.  I love national parks, try to visit whenever I can.  The trip was to include snorkeling and exploring Fort Jefferson (the site of the National Park and its environs). 

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I last went snorkeling on my honeymoon with the Hex.  We took a boat trip to two separate locations off Maui and saw lots of pretty fish and beautiful reefs.  Then the ride back -- choppy, stormy, windy.  I could see the dock and yet could not imagine it would take us two hours to get there -- that is how horrid it was.  I became seasick.  Barfed repeatedly.  Felt like hell. 

My new husband?  Taking pictures of my misery -- because he thought it was "Funny."

Hindsight?  I should have divorced his ass immediately upon return to Indiana.  We hadn't been married four days at this point. 

Homicide?  My fellow passengers (and the crew) would have considered it justifiable.

One nice crew member I'll never forget.  As I barfed repeatedly and my Hex took pictures, the crew member brought me a drink and whispered to me: "I'm sorry."  So am I, friend, so am I.

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I haven't been snorkeling since.  First, I'm not a good swimmer -- not really.  I have never been in the ocean above my waist without a boat being within twenty yards (no kidding).  Second, those horrid memories still make me angry.  Make me want to scream and shout at being wronged. Make me angry with myself for staying as long as I did, with someone who thought it was funny that I was sick on a boat and took pictures of my misery for his delight.  Assclown.

So this trip was a leap of faith for me.  I like the ocean.  I like the pretty fish.  I like seeing the underwater world.  I scheduled this trip for Hoosier Guy and I, hoping that I could share this moment with him, enjoy snorkeling -- or not. 

The boat ride out there was horribly choppy in the middle.  Yes, I barfed.  Repeatedly.  Breakfast?  Returned.  Hoosier Guy?  Steering me to the back of the boat, getting me some water, getting me some ginger ale, getting my stomach right, and steering me away from someone else who was barfing (and who would have barfed on me).  He took care of me -- sweetly, kindly, considerately.  Made sure I was okay, did everything to make sure I was gonna be okay.

Snorkeling?  We snorkeled, hand-in-hand, through the coral reefs surrounding Fort Jefferson.  I was farther than I've ever been (on my own power).  I was scared, but not horribly so, because I had my dear Hoosier Guy at my side, making sure I was okay, enjoying myself and pointing out the fish and the reefs. 

It was his first time snorkeling.  We'll do it again.

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I didn't tell Hoosier Guy about my previous snorkeling experience before we went on the boat.  He knew I'd gone in the past, but didn't know about how it went.  He didn't know how Hex had reacted, he didn't know of my fear of deep water and fear of drowning.

He was who I've come to know and love -- a dear, wonderful man who cares for me and who wants me to be happy. 

I am so lucky to have gotten it right this time.  So thankful. So lucky.

7 Years Ago Today

It never fails.

An email arrived today.

Every October 19, I hear from the Hex.

It is our anniversary, after all. Seven years ago today ...

For the past four years, that hasn't been true.

I don't wonder, not anymore. While we were married, while I was in counseling, I wondered, hoped, prayed, wished, dreamed we'd work it out.

Now I know --

I am happy.
I am well.
I am okay.

Seven years ... and a thousand lifetimes ago ...

Repeating myself (again and again)

I felt better after my open letter to Jack so now I'll compose an open letter to the Hex. This post may get a touch rant-y so bear with me.

Dear Hex:

Or should I say just "Hex."

Your emails of late have come far more frequently than I care to receive them. Right after we separated it was a couple times a day, then after we divorced just once a day for a while then a couple a week, then finally it dropped off to once a month or so. Lately it has been at least twice a week. Last week, however, you did a one up. Yep, three times in one week.

Each of your emails come with a theme. The theme is consistently: "why can't we be friends" with an occasional "I miss you," "Your garden is looking great!" or "Don't you remember the life we shared" mixed in for my reading pleasure. Here's the deal, Hex, apparently you haven't been listening since July 15, 2005: I AM OVER THIS SHIT.

On the day I filed for separation, July 15, 2005, I was done. Done Done Done Done. I had been to counseling (alone, because you would not go) for nearly a year. I made plans to move back to La Porte (La Porte For God's Sake!!) rather than live in the same city as you. I knew that if I lived in Indy you would find a way to know where I live and want to 'see' me nearly constantly. So I moved. To La Porte.

Still you found yourself driving up to La Porte regularly, hoping for another chance. The same way you hope that your endless emails will afford you another chance. Let me tell you this: the chances of you getting another chance with me rank up with the following scenario.

% chance of being struck by lightening x % chance of winning PowerBall x % chance of winning Hoosier Lotto x % chance of the aforementioned three happening in the same day.

If all three things come together for you in the very same day I would still say: "eh, no thanks." So consider that before you invest in a lightening rod and buy some lotto tickets.

For some reason you felt the need to remind me this week that we had shared five years together. THANKS for that. Yes, I am aware those are FIVE YEARS I WON'T EVER GET BACK.

I've been ignoring your emails for the past year. I have nothing to say to you. I have said all the things I ever care to say to you. I am done explaining why things didn't work between us. I am done hearing how good your business is doing. I am done discussing your family. I am done receiving the 'soulful' eyes across the restaurant table as you tell me "it could have been so good, it WAS so good." I am done.

For the record, there are many things about our life together I enjoyed. As I weigh the good times versus the bad, I realize that life is short and I deserve happiness as well. That is why you are called Hex and not Husband.

Please stop emailing me. Stop emailing my family. Stop stop stop stop. We have been officially divorced since December 27, 2005. That should have been the clue that it was/is over.

Since you won't listen, I won't send this. You haven't listened yet to a word I've said, why in the hell would you start now?

-- Athena