I’m supposed to be devastated right now. I should be wallowing in misery, drinking excessively, wondering how my life had come to this. How my life as I knew it came tumbling down in the space of three weeks from the moment we first had the discussion: Are we going to try to fix this or go our separate ways?
That was nearly six weeks ago.
A lot of tears have flowed since then. Every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, I’d sink lower. Much peanut butter and ice cream was sacrificed. I treated myself badly. Far too many mornings were greeted with, ‘Not another day, I can’t deal with it. Can I just sleep some more? Just a few more hours of unconsciousness.’
Last night, I couldn’t sleep. Buzzing with excitement. Constructing a flow chart for life. There were no dead-ends, just infinite possibilities. I was literally wiggling out of my skin.
I feel guilty over this. I’m not following the rules. Regardless, I am ecstatic because of it.