As I did my research for divorce paperwork, I made the observation that, although all divorces are uniquely different, mine involves a comparatively simple set of circumstances. We don’t have any children. We don’t any property. We aren’t using lawyers, and lastly, it isn’t coming as a surprise to either party.
We live together, and have been since we moved after getting married. (Not before, which is a completely separate story, but yes, I wholly acknowledge that this is a major factor in the “development” our relationship.) But yes, we live together. In a state where neither of us have lived before. After making the call on a divorce, she quickly took actions to move back home. I’m opting to stay here. I did, however, take a trip back to my childhood hometown for a week, and in that week, that part of the country felt more like a home than it had ever felt in my entire life.
Towards the end of my trip, a long-time friend had said before she left our group dinner, “I’m not going to say ‘Have a safe trip home,’ because that’s not your home. THIS is your home.” Instead of a rebuttal, I replied with a hug. I wanted to retort, but at the same time she was a little bit right. And so, the next day, I left “home” and hopped a couple of planes to get back “home,” where my wife (graciously) picked me up from the airport to take us “home.”
It has felt like anything since. I find reasons to stay out. I sit in my car. I go to restaurants that are open late. Anything from diving back into the awkwardness of the one-bedroom apartment that I should theoretically be able to call home, although it doesn’t feel like it. We barely talk. If we’re both here we sit in separate rooms. We don’t have a couch, so we’ve been sharing the bed like two strangers on a bench seat in the back of a tour bus. This is my side. That is yours.
It’s sickening, really. Coming back to the one place I should feel most comfortable at, where I should feel most at east, and it’s the one place I don’t want to be. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager, just graduated from high school, waiting to leave for boot camp, but more importantly the iron-fisted rule of my mother.
Yes, #mommyissues just happened.
Sometimes I think of coming straight home after work and trying to talk to her like we’re still friends. But then I think of all the things I really want to say to her that will only make it uglier, therefore amplifying the awkward that is living together before she leaves. So I stay out. Away from home. And I really just want her to go so I can have my home to myself and really let everything sink in so that the healing can begin.