Every time I think I’ve had one of the hardest days of my life, or hit the biggest speedbump, I can be sure that there is another larger, bumpier and sharper one up ahead.  It’s good to have this mindset because life is definitely a journey, and it’s not always smooth. 

Ever heard of collaborative divorce?  Now you have. 

Mike and I had our first meeting with a “divorce coach” this morning.  If we proceed down the collaborative path, she will be our main point of contact.  Involved in the collaborative process will be a child specialist, a financial analyst, and two lawyers trained in the collaborative approach.

I could go into the details of how it’s supposed to work, but I’m really quite raw and very tired from this morning and I don’t feel like it.  If you’re curious you can read all about it at the link above.  One thing I came away from the meeting with:  if divorce is a shit sundae, collaborative divorce is a scoop of ice cream with shit sprinkles.  It puts the family first, especially the kids, and contractually binds you to negotiate the terms of the divorce in the most reasonable way possible.  There were a lot of tears during the meeting.  There’s nothing like saying the words outloud to make reality set in and force you to face what you may have been avoiding.  It was not easy and it was more than a little bit heart-wrenching, but we took that first step and it was a doozy.

Someone once remarked to me that ending a relationship is a series of tiny steps.  The doubt in your head, the acknowledgement of issues between you, the first vocalization that something is not right - they are all tiny steps in one direction.  Sometimes they can be repaired and turned back.  Sometimes they can’t. 

After all the head shaking and confused looks we’ve gotten after explanation how we are doing our separation, it was very validating to be commended by the divorce coach. She commended us for truly putting the kids first even though she can tell we are both suffering from our living situation.  For those who aren’t aware, the girls stay put in our house and the parental units rotate in and out of it.  We rent a small room about 25 minutes away from here where we stay on alternating weeks.  It is difficult even at its best; for Mike who hates change in any shape or form, it’s incredibly difficult.  She also told us that if the kids are still not acting out in school, we are doing something right.  The Child Specialist will help us to determine how they are actually doing and suggest therapists for them if it comes to that.  In the meantime we try to be open with them, answer the questions we are asked, and reassure them that we love the hell out of them. 

Divorce is a terribly sad thing, no matter what.  Mike and I still remain calm and mostly quiet with each other.  It makes it worse.  Neither of us seems to want to fight about things - at least not yet - and that makes it worse. There is no anger to propel me forward.  I’m sure there will be on his side, sooner rather than later, but I just have a large empty hole of sadness and it makes me want to take very long naps. 

This whole process will be draining, financially and emotionally.  It adds another layer of guilt onto a sandwich that is already piled precariously high with guilt meat and mustard and shamed lettuce and pickles.  This process is going to be expensive.  The divorce coach and child specialist run around $175/hour.  The lawyers require retainers.  If we both end up with a divorce coach instead of using one, it will be twice as much.  The financial analyst takes a retainer too. Emotionally the costs are not countable, at least not now.  We fumble toward some resolution, mostly in the dark, trying not to fall down.

Nothing lights a fire under your butt like a signed lease on an apartment you can’t afford unless you are gainfully employed. 

I’ve been job searching earnestly for about a month now. Me and 400,000 other people.  Marketing jobs are notoriously hard to come by.  Add this crap economy into the mix and it is nearly impossible.  Still, chin up, campers - something will come through.  With my shining positive attitude, razor wit and intrepid personality, who WOULDN’T want to hire me?  Really.

I got my first rejection letter. A friend told me about the position.  She knows the CEO well; she wrote a letter of recommendation that made me blush.  I’ve known one of the business development people for years; she also went to bat for me. The interview went well, I thought - the job was nothing particularly difficult and everything they wanted were things I’ve done a million times over the past 12 years.  I was flexible on salary - I know the base I need to make - and was willing to take less in exchange for flexibility with days/hours.  I did not tell them that - I know you wait until you are offered the job to start negotiating.  Apparently there was someone better than me (I know, unbelievable), and it’s entirely possible they had experience in this industry whereas mine was in a parallel industry.  I have to keep going - I have no choice.

Thankfully I had another headhunter call me today for another position that pays WAY more than I actually need to make to survive, but will probably require way more out of me as well.  It’s hard to let go of being a part-time mom and part-time business person.  However, I must.  Unless the ideal part-time job that pays me well falls from the sky, I’ve got to be prepared to slog into work between 8 and 5 daily and be grateful I even HAVE a job.

I signed a lease on a 1 bedroom apartment about 1/3 mile from our house.  Actually, WE signed a lease.  Since I’m completely dependent on Mike for money, I couldn’t qualify for a lease even if I wanted to.  Oh wait, I do want to.  The apartment is directly across the street from Lily’s school.  In my worst case scenario, if I do not have a job by January, I will pull Arden out of daycare which will free up about half the cost of the apartment per month.  The other half will have to be squeezed (blood from a stone, really) from my business or from thin air.  I looked at our budget; it’s already cut to the bare bones minus some little things that don’t add much to the bottom line. 

Mike and I will share it.  Each of us will do one week and weekend on, living at the house.  The other will be in the apartment.  At the end of 7 days, we’ll switch.  Although it’s about $100 more than some places per month, its location makes up for it.  We haven’t told the kids yet.  I don’t think we’ll have to until right before it happens - preferably after Christmas.  While looking at apartments, the leasing agent kept trying to steer me to the more expensive “upgraded” apartments.  They had granite countertops, polished nickle track lighting and black appliances.  The “unrenovated” apartments are exactly the same, except they have Formica, no microwave and *gasp* WHITE appliances.  I laughed out loud and said, “I’ve had enough granite countertops to last me the rest of eternity.  Formica is FINE.  White is fine.  It’s all fine.” 

It will take approximately 15 minutes to clean the apartment, and that’s being generous on time.  It’s tiny and I’d be even more excited if I didn’t have to keep cleaning the monstrosity, which takes more than a day.  Mike and I are of one mind on the house - we both know it’s a huge anchor pulling us down and we need to cut the chain.  Unfortunately, until the market turns around or we stop paying the mortgage long enough for the bank to take us seriously (and therefore consider doing a short sale), we are stuck with it, and I have a very large bonfire under my butt crackling and spitting and saying, “GET A DAMN JOB, YOU!”

So I’m looking.  If I can cobble enough small projects together, and writing gigs, I can scrape by without selling my soul to The Man again.  My business friends have banded together and are trying to throw me enough scraps to keep me in Ramen noodles (or just a tiny apartment), and I’ve been applying for a ton of freelance project work through a couple of legitimate sites.  I wish I could channel Julie’s old neighbor in the Fan, who was always doing things with Chakras and clicking her fingers together.  Her favorite saying?  “The universe will provide, my friends.  The universe will provide.”

Hey, Universe?  Pay up. I need you now, buddy. 

I’ve always heard “Bad things happen in threes.”  If this is the case, I’m home free, baby, because I have paid my dues.  If it’s not the case, please don’t enlighten me.  Positive thinking breeds positive results. 

Thanks for all of you who commented, emailed, DM’d me through Twitter and generally reached out after my last posting.  I know I’m a great big sobbing embarrassment to parts of my family and sharing it with “the world” (as if everyone in the universe reads here - if so, I’d be making so much from ad revenue I could retire) was hard for them to swallow.  I appreciate their restraint in not lecturing me about it.  Some of the most poignant comments were sent in notes, privately.  People came out of the woodwork to either share their own stories and their own experiences with behavioral health issues (i.e. going crazy!) or family members or the old-fashioned version, the “nervous breakdown”.  When I started to read the comments and emails, I knew I had made the right decision to share it.  And I’m probably not done sharing it.  So much happened there in 4+ days - it will take a while for it to come out.  Someone laughingly asked if it was like Girl, Interrupted.  Unfortunately, no one as hot as Angelina Jolie was roaming the hallways and there were no straightjackets or shock treatments.  I did occasionally long for a lobotomy.  I’ll admit I longed for one again today, albeit briefly. 

Life on the outside has returned to normal - mostly.  I worked this morning, did laundry, cleaned the downstairs, worked out.  I started returning the 42,000 emails and calls I got.  I’m hoping that my friends are patient with me because I am easily overwhelmed and I get tired of talking about my crap all of the time.  I’d much rather hear other people’s sad stories than my own right now. 

We start marriage counseling very soon and I’m seriously considering just giving up the whole separation and living together while we try to work through our issues.  It’s super hard on both Mike and I and frankly at this point, I’m willing to try just about anything.  Being away from the kids at night and in the mornings has made me feel even more detached and I don’t like it.  Friends of Mike’s reached out to him and told them about their marital issues last year; counseling helped them immensely and they still attend every once in a while to keep the lines of communication open.  Somewhere along the way we really stopped talking to each other, and we let life get in the way.  Distracted by work, children, obligations, financial worries, business problems, insurance, housework, a yard that never stops growing . . . it is easy to just push all the ugly things back into a dark corner and forget about them.  Over the years those ugly things were watered with Miracle-Gro and got bigger and bigger until one day they sprouted 18,203 legs and crashed through the door.  By the time they did, I felt it was too late.

I’m not sure it is too late.  I’m keeping an open mind.  I’m dealing.  I’ve had some incredibly self-esteem-destroying moments over the last few months.  I’ve lost a ton; I’ve gained a lot more.  It constantly amazes me that blogging opens so many doors.  @Snarketta - I’m looking at you.  People will help you in the strangest ways when you are weak enough - or strong enough, depending on how you look at it - to ask for help. 

I hurt a friend’s feelings on Twitter the other day.  I’ve apologized, but I’m doing it here as well.  Sometimes when I’m tired and beaten down I say things without thinking.  That was one of those times.  I could argue my point and say all the reasons I had every right to say what I said, but I never meant to hurt their feelings and I don’t like being mean.  Getting out of the hospital, I was confronted with more stress I wasn’t expecting and I just reacted.  This particular friend has tried to be there for me, even though I’m really a very difficult person to be around these days.  It’s another friendship that has gone down in the collateral damage of my personal bombing campaign.  Eventually I will stop hurting people on a daily basis when I figure out how to balance my needs against the needs of others.  I feel like an accident victim learning to walk again.  I fall a lot. 

On a happier note, I was able to repair another friendship yesterday. It’s one that is very important to me and I’m glad we were able to talk things out and make some progress.  I’m still not batting 100% on anything, including being a mom, but I’m making headway.  Maybe soon I’ll have an uplifting light-hearted rainbow and unicorns post to share with you.  In the meantime, I’ll point you to the review page where you can win some saucy stuff. 

Hey, internets.  I’ve missed you.  Being without any kind of connection to this part of my life was difficult, to say the least.  I did a ton of writing while I was on “vacation” but I had to do it by hand.  Man, has my handwriting deteriorated.  I could barely read it and my hand kept cramping up whenever I wrote for too long.  I would have sold my soul for a computer while I was gone.

When I finally reconnected today, I had 283 messages, a ton of voice mails, and 12 orders to process.  Thankfully I was able to do a lot of yoga breathing and only freaked out when I realized Mike had tried to “fix” the wireless and actually ended up connecting it incorrectly.  It took about an hour and a phone call to Verizon, but I’m online again and halfway caught up. 

This post is not going to be pretty.  I’ve spent a lot of time deciding whether I was going to write about where I’ve been since Wednesday, and in the end, I’m doing what I always do.  I’m accepting who I am and where I’ve been and if you want to ride this train with me, there will be ups and downs.  I went through, and am currently going through, the lowest point of my life, hands-down.  The blogs I read are other writers who can be honest and raw and brutal with their lives. It appeals to me, and has helped me immensely when I’ve gone through my own trials and tribulations as a wife, a woman, a mother, a daughter, a business owner, a friend, and a writer.  I wear a lot of hats - and this hat I’m wearing right now is not something to be ashamed off.  So much stigma surrounds mental health and depression.  Here, within the confines of the borders on my blog, I’m creating a bubble where it is perfectly safe to discuss what I’ve been through.  If a future employer or random person from my past stumbles on this post and thinks, “Holy batshit this girl is crazy!” then so be it. 

Wednesday was, um, a pretty bad day for me.  Some of my friends who know where I’ve been have asked what happened.  To the best of my ability to explain how this happened, these are the factors that lead up to Wednesday:

1.  I hadn’t been sleeping well in about 4 weeks (averaging 3-5 hours a night)
2.  I had separated from my husband and was going back and forth between two houses, all the while trying to keep up with the normal household duties I have. 
3.  I had a lot of stress and despair over a couple of relationships in my life and I was hurting pretty badly. 
4.  I was trying to pretend to EVERYONE, even my closest friends, that all was a-okay and I was fine and strong and clear.  With the exception of one person (hi Susan!), I didn’t let anyone know how hellishly bad I was feeling.
5.  Wearing a mask 24/7 takes a lot out of person.
6.  I was expending energy on things that weren’t giving any energy back to me.  Think black hole. 
7.  I wasn’t eating very much.
8.  I was trying to figure out my financial future, and it looked very grim. 

So back to Wednesday.  I had a realtor come to the house and give me a comparative market analysis on our house.  She looked grim when I came to the door, so I knew it wasn’t going to be good.  Because she is a friend of mine, she told me she cut commissions to the core (1.5%) and still had no good news.  We bought our house at the peak of the market and proceeded to renovate and redo a bunch of stuff.  We still had an equity line from our old house that we rolled over.  The short version of the long story is that we are upside down on our mortgage.  The house is worth $100K less today than it was when we bought it.  Yay us! 

Some other factors on Wednesday that will remain private happened right after the enlightening discussion with the realtor.  I literally felt like that last vestige of hope I had was stripped away.  I was thinking that if Mike and I stayed separated, we could sell the house and both of us would end up with a small nest egg and we could start over.  Even if we stayed together, I wanted to get rid of this house - it’s come to represent a lot of things that I feel are wrong and fake about my life.  I’m not stupid enough to think that it’s the house’s fault - it’s just brick and mortar and light fixtures - but it’s symbolic. 

I held it together while I picked up Lily from the bus. I smiled and waved and did my Robo-Mom impression.  I made snacks and got juice out of the fridge.  I changed a load of laundry and folded some.  I even ironed.  Then I just felt everything fall apart.  I literally stood up from the ironing board and felt as though my insides were falling out.  I sent the girls downstairs and put on the electronic babysitter (tv).  I started crying.  I called Mike at work.  I told him to come home, that I couldn’t take care of the kids.  I went upstairs and I got in bed.  I had my second panic attack in two weeks.  My heart was pounding, my face was tingling, and I couldn’t breathe.  By the time Mike got home, I had totally lost it.  I couldn’t form a sentence and I was trying to call my therapist and talk to him at the same time.  Somewhere in those two conversations, the therapist suggested going to St. Mary’s since they have a mental health unit.  We dropped the kids with a neighbor, called my parents to come up, and left for the hospital. 

Thankfully I have a few good friends in Richmond. I was able to text them on the way to the hospital and all of them immediately went into action mode, sending emails, canceling things, helping me with my website, telling me not to worry, sending love, just virtually holding my hand. 

I find myself unable to really talk about St. Mary’s and the time I spent there.  It truly was the darkest time of my life.  When one of the docs asked me if I was suicidal, I think I responded something to the effect of ‘No, but I don’t want to be here in this body anymore.  I can’t take one more piece of bad news.  I thought I was strong but I think I’ve broken and I don’t know how to survive this.” 

During a blood draw, I passed out and had some sort of seizure and kicked over a table and bumped my head.  When I came to, I was only conscious for another minute before I passed out again.  When I woke up the second time, I was in a bed and I was literally sweating ice.  I was shivering and nauseous and panicking because I had no idea where I was.  There were no beds available for me at St. Mary’s, so I was transferred elsewhere.  By the time I got through intake and was screened and searched by a nurse, it was 4 am. 

Thursday was a haze.  I looked like a b-grade zombie actor trying to function.  I kept thinking I was going to wake up from my nightmare.  When I realized I wasn’t allowed to have hairspray in my room (I might hurt myself with the aerosol nozzle), I knew where I was and the reality hit me like a ton of bricks.  I was ashamed, embarrassed, scared as hell, needy, isolated - you name it.  Unfortunately the first person I came into contact with was not very affectionately nicknamed “Bible Lady” on the ward - she got messages from God in her ears and by laying on floors and predicted things like the Lions winning the Superbowl this year based on God’s word.  She also said I was going to end up married to another guy on the ward and that another guy was going to become a professional boxer and be trained by George Foreman.  My first experience was waiting in line for vital signs while she sang “Amazing Grace” at full volume.  This was at 6 AM, and I had no caffeine in my system.  I thought that if I wasn’t crazy before, any more time around her would make it so. 

Then I met a couple of other people who made a huge difference in my stay.  I attended every group session, every group meeting, every activity, and I wrote like my hand was on fire.  I wrote letters to my daughters. I wrote one to Mike.  I wrote one to a close friend of mine.  I wrote to myself.  I forced myself to talk to people.  My medication, which had been at a literal pediatric dose, was doubled.  I learned ways to manage my panic and anxiety attacks.  And while I was there, I realized I was about to lose another friend in this whole process.  I could feel it coming, and I used some of my time there to deal with the sadness I felt.  Some people in my life can hang with me right now and just comfort me by being there.  Others can’t, and I respect the honesty it takes to admit that I am too much for them to handle.  At least I have no illusions about where I stand, and clarity is half the battle.

I got a chance to sleep a little bit.  When I met Chris and Amanda, both suffering from severe depression and some other stuff, I had my unit buddies.  We ate together.  I learned how to play Spades.  I had long conversations with Chris about what it’s like to raise kids alone (he’s only 29, and his wife died 4 years ago).  Amanda and I talked about our children and we shared the stories of how we ended up together.  We were an unlikely bunch from various backgrounds, but Chris said, “Hey, just because we’re in here doesn’t mean we’re crazy.”  That single statement sustained me.  I was there to get better for my children. I was there to learn how to cope better.  I was going to have to make some painful cuts in my life, and I needed to build up as much strength as possible in order to do so. 

People who give up and off themselves are the biggest cowards alive.  It’s such a cop out and it leaves the rest of the world to pick up your mess and your pieces.  I knew that I was hitting the wall, and I knew that I had to take drastic steps to get better. 

I will be honest and say that coming home today has been hard.  Dealing with the pile of work on my desk, a friend breaking plans with me, seeing how Mike looks, being hugged by my children and feeling the guilt of being gone wash over me - it was all a bit much.  I used some of the tools I learned in the hospital but I’m taking it minute by minute.  As usual, a bunch of people stepped up today and are there for me.  I’m having coffee with TCG, Bradley said I inspired him to do something major, and Dan has been listening to my litany for weeks now.  I made a difference to Chris and Amanda in the hospital, especially when Amanda got some bad news.  I made people laugh, which makes me feel better.  I realized what a great mom I was and how much better I could be if I only would focus.  I told myself the rest would work out, and it surely will. It’s just never the way you think it’s supposed to.

So that’s where I’ve been.  Can’t wait to take a shower and shave.  I look like Chewbacca, but the idea of shaving in front of a nurse held no appeal for me.  I’m mostly glad to be back. You can only hide out in the ward for so long before you try out the new legs you’ve grown while inside, and take the first few steps. 

First, the good news and the easy news.  I’m down 31 pounds - broke my first MAJOR milestone.  I’d like to lose another 15, but at least I can live with myself now.  I also got a haircut today. I desperately needed one - it’s been since June.

Second, the not good and not easy news.  Richmond’s a very small town, and some membes of my family have very large mouths.  That’s okay, we’re a bunch of height-challenged emotional Mexicans - what can you expect?

(Note to my mother:  Stop reading here.  Seriously.  Close the browser and step away from the computer.)

(takes break to allow mother time to stop reading)

Okay.  Blogging is a weird thing.  You develop an online persona, but it’s never truly who you are.  With blogging you choose what and when to expose, and you can make things look pretty or ugly depending on the way you shine your literary light.  During coffee with The Checkout Girl earlier this week, we were discussing the dreaded Mommy Blog and how someone she knew who was fairly famous was going through a divorce.  Unfortunately this person makes money giving parenting advice, so she was feeling like her life was over.  Or something like that.  We were talking about how refreshing it would be if people would just come clean about their realities.  If you’re divorcing, just say it.  No one expects us to be perfect.  Well, maybe some do, but we can just ignore those people.

Because I have had such trauma in my head over the past few months, and because I have to self-censor here to protect the innocent, I’ve been really feeling neglectful of this blog.  I’m holding up a Photoshopped version of my life right now because that is what is expected of me and that is what certain others are comfortable with. 

Again, if you are becoming uncomfortable, stop reading and go to your happy place.

Obviously I am not going to discuss the deep and dark specifics of my issues.  This isn’t because I’m embarassed of them, but it’s because my drama involves someone else (my husband) and I can’t tell those stories.  For every inch that I am open, he is a closed door. 

That being said, I’m just going to cut down on the speculative emails I’ve been getting today and say that yes, Mike and I have separated.  It is not a bad thing. It is not a negative thing. It does not mean we are getting the big D. It means that he and I have some stuff to work on individually, and we are both working very hard on that.  The space gives us the chance to do that without feeling like we are walking on eggshells all the time.  It allows us to both focus all available energies on our children, and that’s really the most important thing right now. 

Marital problems are a big no-no in our family.  That doesn’t mean our family has none, it just means that they aren’t discussed and no one divorces.  Stay married and be miserable, dammit!  That’s just how we roll.  Even though most of us are non-practicing Catholics, Catholicism has a way of seeping into your bones at a young age.  It’s hard to forget those lessons beaten into us during our tender years. 

I’ve just found that I’m already so very tired of being asked, “Does so and so know?  Oh my god, what about the holidays??? Who will go where?  And so and so wants to come up, whatever shall we tell her,” complete with hand-wringing.  It just seems so much easier to tell my family and friends:  yes, we are separated, no we are not getting a divorce tomorow, yes the kids are fine, no we don’t hate each other, and let it go at that.  It is private, between Mike and me - but I’m not going to pretend the reality of the situation does not exist.  Is it serious?  Yes.  Is it sad?  Yes.  Are we surviving?  Yes. 

The great thing about my husband (and myself - hell, I might as well give myself some kudos while I’m writing this):  his primary concern is our children.  We are doing everything we can, at great personal cost, to keep their lives stable and as comfortable and normal as possible.  Although we’re doing it in a fairly non-traditional way, we’re doing what works best for our family as a whole and trying to put our individual needs and wants aside.  Those of you with opinions on the details or the hows or whys will just have to be satisfied knowing that we have discussed everything and are a united front.  We always have been. 

It’s been a simulatenously amazing and sobering experience to realize that some of my friends are going to be there for us and some are not.  People I didn’t think gave two craps about me have come out of the woodwork.  Others that I thought would support me no matter what have not supported me.  In a few cases, my perception tells me that a back has been turned on me.  Family members I thought would be judgmental have shared their own stories with me.  Other family members have freaked out on me.  It’s like living in Bizarro Cristina World where everything is upside down.  I realize that when you admit you are having marital problems, many people with their own panic because it makes them insecure or afraid.  I remember when a close friend told me she was divorcing. I felt personally threatened. I went home and clung to Mike and said, “God I hope that never happens to us.”  Thankfully I was still able to support my friend, even though it scared and saddened me.  Not everyone is able to do that right now, and I am trying to forgive and understand. 

So there you go.  This post negates the need to put unicorns and rainbows up daily, which is good, because all of the graphics I could find were getting progressively more disturbing. 

At the end of the day, this is my blog.  It is my space.  If you are uncomfortable with what I’m sharing, please do yourself a favor and don’t read it.  You can be assured I won’t be sharing any more than this in terms of details, but I will be free, in my own space, to say that I am having a bad day, or that I am doing better, or that I am concerned for myself or for Mike.  Otherwise, this entire blog becomes a big fat lie and a huge waste of my time.