Little Razorblade

I knew this girl once, like a sister.  She knew exactly how to get under my skin, to make me feel inferior, disguised with a friendly, helpful mask.  She was the person I had when I had no one else.  At the pit of my divorce, when friends were scarce and family was far, I turned to she-who-had-ultimately-betrayed-me because no one else was around.  I looked past the whining and the irritation and, time after time, I looked past her multiple betrayals because I just needed someone.  When I gained the confidence to stand up for myself, I set myself apart from the friendship, if that's what you could call it.  I told her it was time for us to part ways, and despite her begging, I told her the relationship was hurting me too much for it to continue.  Once I separated myself from her, I felt like I was finally able to breathe.  My esteem soared and I realized that all that time, she had dragged me through the mud to make herself feel only better.  Months have passed since we last spoke, and all in all, I am a much happier, more positive person.  So why do I still miss her?

Scars are not injuries. A scar is what makes you whole.

If you go back through my blogs to not-so-long-ago, there's a post that was written by a sad, lost, and utterly heartbroken me.  It detailed the feelings surrounding what I went through when I found out that my husband cheated on me, that things were really over between us, and I couldn't, for even a moment, bring myself to believe there was life on the other side.  I can't believe how much I've grown since that post was written just last April, but I am so, so proud of myself.

I was still reeling from the terrible feelings of my ex husband's infidelity until pretty recently, until I really stopped to think about why it still bothered me so much.  As I've said many times in my blog, and as I can only imagine I will say many, many more times, everything happens for a reason, and I stand by it.  Divorce is a nasty animal, and I wouldn't ever try to pretend that I didn't take part in the bitter, ugly slur fest that went on in my own divorce.  When you're in the depths of love, you don't picture yourself calling your husband horrible, nasty names or wishing things upon him that no one should have to hear.  And I don't think it's ever one sided - it happened to me, just like I did it back to him.  Everyone tells themselves and those around them that they'll be the ones who never face divorce, that they'll beat all odds.  And then when they are staring it in the face, their tune changes in that they'll never be the people that have a angry, difficult divorce.  It happens, and I've come to believe that it's all a part of the process of getting through it.

I forgive him for everything that happened.  I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day when I really meant that, but I do.  It doesn't matter what happened or why, just that it did, and we both survived.  Sure, we didn't survive together, but we weren't meant to, and that's okay.

When I fell in love at 15, and got married at 18, and even when I had my first child at 19, I thought I was the luckiest person in the whole world.  I was in love and our love had no boundaries.  We were perfect.  Perfect for that stage of my life.  I shrugged off the opinions of people who told me that I'd change a whole lot in my 20s and that things I desired when I was 17 (and newly engaged) wouldn't at all be things I'd want for myself when I was in my mid-20s.  If I could go back in time, I know I still wouldn't believe those people, and I'm okay with that.  I could never regret falling in love at 15, or getting married, or having two kids at such a young age, and I especially couldn't regret going through a separation at 22 and subsequent divorce at 23.  Nobody wants those things for their life, and certainly no one plans on those things happening.  But, me?  I can't imagine my life without that love, or those kids, or the traveling I did in southeast Asia because of my marriage, or the heartache I went through for so long after my marriage crumbled.  It all shaped me, made me who I am.  I'm far from perfect, and still changing as I grow, but that's who I am, and I'm pretty happy with who I see looking back at me in the mirror. 

If I had to tell my ex husband just one thing, it would be, without a doubt, 'thank you'.  Thank you for growing up with me, for taking my hand and being by my side as we guided each other through life during those eight years.  We grew apart and fell out of love, but what we did have was exactly what it was meant to be.I only hope that one day, you find love again.  I hope that you find the kind of love that shakes you from your very core, wraps you in its arms, and makes it so that everything else in your life that isn't that love, looks just a little bit blurrier.  Everyone should get to feel that kind of love in their life time.

I was nearly a child when I experienced falling in love for the first time.  I had no realistic idea of what adulthood would bring, but my first love changed me undeniably, and I learned a lot about life from it.  Now that I've fallen in love for only the second time in my life, it's unreal that it is so very different.  It makes me feel completely unlike my first love, very different, neither good nor bad, almost incomparable in fact.
 
At 24 years old, I look into a pair of eyes and see absolute warmth that I can't believe I ever lived without.  I can't, nor do I want to imagine my life any different from exactly how it is at this very moment.  I have two unbelievably smart, kind, beautiful children. They have not just one incredible male role model, their father, but two, to include the man I love, who has nearly submerged himself in the 'stepparent' role.  My children get to look up to two successful, respectable, kind, and loving men, and I think they're pretty lucky for that.  I hope that one day, they'll see their daddy fall in love like they've seen their mommy, and life for them will just be normal having two sets of parents. 

All you need is a little conviction.

If you've never gone through a divorce, there really isn't any way you could ever understand the emotional toll it takes, the way you feel battered and beaten to the core.  If you've never been cheated on, someone's explanation of such a thing doesn't carry the nausea, the confusion, the broken heart the moment you find out, and the lingering questions of how and why.  It takes time to move on, but it's possible.  Feelings are long gone, but the pain stings for awhile more, the fear and the 'what ifs' of future fuck ups.  I told myself the past can't control the present, but I'll be damned if that's not the hardest thing I face.  I've been through enough, the product of a cheating marriage and subsequent divorce, but my consternation holds me back from living forward.  I said I'd prove them all wrong, have the happy marriage from the example that was never set.  All wrong though, I was just like the others, incapable of sustaining a family.  I tried, and failed, and still, it stings.  If I'd been told years ago it'd all fall apart, I wouldn't have believed them, would have laughed in their faces.  Fear controls me now, and it's all but fair.  My past shouldn't have the power, but I'm having to learn, trial and error, how to allow a new love to blossom. 

In spite of it all, in spite of all the hurt I've faced, I am lucky.  I am loved, and I am lucky.  He is my hope, my breath of fresh air after such a long suffocation.  Through him, with him, I see love, and smiles, and laughs.  Just let it be, Hilary, just let it be.  Don't stifle happiness and that which is meant to be, with your unnerving fear of failure.  You know that feeling you get around him?  When you look in his eyes, and your heart starts pounding; all of the sudden, you feel like you're free falling, and your insides are stirring, wanting more.  Allow yourself to feel that, fears aside.  Believe in love.  Picture your life as you want it, and make your dreams come true.  Trust undeniably that good things can happen.  Love exists, but, Hilary, you've got to have a little faith.

Never enough.

Broken words

   and vows

   that scream.

Not enough,

   not ever enough.

Time ticks on,

   but the memory fades.

No more sorrow,

   no more pain.

Dusk draws closer,

   while dawn awaits.

My heart breathes hope,

    fueled by passion.

His touch brings warmth,

   to love, to life.

Enough, I said,

   I am enough.

The guy grabs the girl and gives her his hand...

And he took me away from that torturous land.

When I met Spencer, I was in such a strange spot.  I had not only been recently broken up with, but to really make things fun, I was just a month out from my divorce being finalized.  I remember seeing his pictures when he first messaged me on a dating website.  His profile didn't especially stick out to me, but I thought he was cute and seemed down to earth.  I wish, so much, that I could read those first messages back and forth between us now, to see what kind of sparks we had, what kind of things we talked about during those initial introductory messages.  I know the conversation must have gone well because we exchanged numbers fairly quickly, and began to text pretty much constantly.  We started talking on a Saturday morning because I remember him telling me "I better go, time to play Daddy for awhile, but I'll text you later on".  For some reason, it melted me a little bit.  He was a proud daddy, not afraid to let me know that his son came first.

We met in person within our first week of meeting online, and I can still remember the day very well.  We met at Carolina Ale House in downtown Greenville.  When I came up the stairs that day, he sat at the bar to my right, chatting with an acquaintance he'd run into.  I was nervous that day, afraid I wouldn't recognize him when I saw him in person, but I saw his smile immediately, and knew it was Spencer.  At the time, I never imagined he'd one day be my Spencer.  Our conversation was warm that night, with so much laughter, and so much chemistry.  We moved from upstairs to downstairs, and stayed for several hours.  When we left to walk to our cars, I remember wanting to kiss him so much.  The spark between us had been obvious, but my nerves kept me from leaning in for anything more than a hug.

Our texting conversations exploded from there.  I left for Louisiana within the next couple of days, and we talked our fingers off.  I swear we could have sent a thousand text messages for every day that I was away.  We grew close, despite the distance, and my heart made room for sweet Spencer.  For many weeks, we tested boundaries, and tried not to hurt each other.  We each had our own baggage, but we were two people who needed each other, whether it was for love or for friendship.

I don't know what made me recollect those memories, but they make me happy to think upon.  It's a bit unbelievable that I have fallen so hard in love with a man in so little time.  It's scary and wonderful and perfect.  He took my hand, and guided me away from a place where I didn't know what was up and what was down.  He wrapped me in his love, and he wiped away my fears.

Yesterday, he wrote a poem that turned my heart into a thousand little butterflies that floated up high into the stars.  It was perfect.  I feel like the luckiest lady on the planet with Spencer by my side.

Look for the stars as the sun goes down.

I truly had the best intentions of following up my last blog post with the rest of my MPFL surgery story, but... I just can't.  I planned to write it out, week by week, struggle by struggle by victory by victory, but I just can't convince myself to relive it right now.  I've come such a long way, and I am so proud of myself, but to be truly honest, that doesn't make the last three months of struggles and pain suck any less. :)

I had my brief moments of "why me?" when it comes to my injury and subsequent surgery, but they were short lived, as I just kept thinking about how absolutely minor this whole ordeal has been in comparison to what some people go through on a daily basis.  I just can't bring myself to play the self-pity game.  At least I have my health.  At least I have my legs.  At least I will be able to run again one day.  My situation could absolutely be so much worse.  But it's not, and I'm ever so grateful.

Speaking of self-pity... I've stepped away from doing that in the last several months, and I feel so much better for it.  I went through all the phases of "why did I have to face divorce?", "why did I have to get cheated on?", "why did I have to get broken up with?", "why did my kids have to move away?", yadda, yadda, yadda.  Finally, it was like something clicked, and I thought to myself, "Got it, Hilary, life sucked for awhile.  But look where you are because of it."  And you know, life is pretty damn good.  Granted, I'm a struggling single mother, full-time college student... but I won't always be.  I have an awesome best friend/boyfriend - all in one sweet, handsome package, two of the silliest, smartest, most clever children I could imagine, and the opportunity to do great things with my life via the college education I'm getting that so many people never have a fighting chance at getting.  I just can't look at those three things, and feel bad about my life. 

It's not always easy to skip the self loathing, woe-is-me route, but it's getting easier.  I started down that path this week when I realized that my kids are only getting one gift from me (well, Santa...).  But so what?  They don't care.  They'll still be getting gifts from their daddy, and their grandparents.  And even if that one gift was the only one they got, it's one gift more than a lot of children will be waking up to this year on Christmas morning.  And sometimes I start down that path when I think about how badly I want to throw off my brace and go for a run.  And then I remember the people who will never run again, for whatever reason they might have, and waiting three more months just doesn't seem like such a big deal.  Being a single mom sucks?  Yeah, until I think about the support system I have to make life so much easier.  A sister who watches my kids when I need to go to work or school without batting an eye.  A boyfriend who is so unbelievably good at understanding my daughter, and plays with my kids when I'm just trying so hard to finish dinner.

I look around at my life, and realize that I am such a lucky person.  This post is not in any way meant to be boastful, but just as a downright realization that it's high time to truly look at what I've got going on, and be so thankful for the all of the negatives I've faced to bring me to the positives I have right now.

Life moves forward.

I remember when I was a kid, and I envisioned what adulthood would look like.  Probably much like every little middle class kid does.  Or at least every little girl.  You know, white picket fence, flowery garden, pumpkins on the porch in the fall, Christmas lights during the holidays, the whole shebang.  When I was living in South Korea, in a 11th floor flat, I loved it as a newlywed, but I hated it as a soon to be mom.  It never felt homey enough to bring my baby girl home to, so I looked forward to moving back to America, hoping we could move into the perfect little house for our family.  As it turns out, we did move into the perfect little house in Louisiana.  It genuinely looked like it came out of a storybook, trees filling the shady backyard, and the most adorable little front stoop you can imagine.  As life would have it, we didn't get to stay in that house more than a couple weeks, and we moved, once again, this time back into an apartment on a military post.  We had noisy, rude neighbors above us, but some really great friends in the surrounding apartments around us that we eventually became good friends with.  We and our neighbors gathered every single night, our puppies chasing each other and one year old Cori, as we all talked and laughed until darkness covered the sky.  When our little monkey, Avery, came along, we realized we'd outgrown the tiny two bedroom apartment, and much to our luck, our housing company offered us a beautiful three bedroom townhouse to move into.  We moved in only two weeks after construction was completed, and it was modern, beautiful, and roomy.  I loved looking down from our upstairs bedroom into the backyard and seeing Cori and Avery's playset, and the way the evening light shined through the dining room windows when I was cooking dinner every night.  It felt more like home than my little family had ever felt. 

But life fell apart in that home.  My marriage crumbled, and my perfect family vanished.  I don't know if I'll ever forget the night that I left through that front door for the last time, with my belongings shoved into the trunk of my sister-in-law's car.  I buckled into the backseat, beside my sleeping 15 month old Avery, and I cried my way back to South Carolina.  I had lost the family I'd been envisioning my whole life, and I feared, for the next year of my life, that I'd never get it back.  It was a pretty dark spot for me, and I bounced around with what felt like no direction towards a solid future.  Even when I felt ready to date, I got into a relationship that I knew, deep down, would never progress to what I truly desired, the family I truly desired.  After all, nobody envisions the perfect family as a single mom and her two kids. And I feared marrying a man who wouldn't show love for my own kids as if they were his very own. I loved being married, and I love being a mom.  I was terrified that I'd never have the perfect little family that I'd once had and will always desire to have again.  I felt like I wore a badge of shame for a long time, both for the actions I'd chosen for myself, and the fact that I'd been the wife that was cheated on by her husband.  I felt sadness at the broken homes my children would forever bear as their upbringing.  Shameful. 

But I'm okay now.  Somehow, I made it through the last year.  Somehow, I made it into the arms of a man that I think could one day actually fit into that imperfectly perfect little family unit that I want to have so badly.  I see the way he loves his son, and it awakens my heart and warms me throughout.  My children are moving home this week.  There won't be any more kisses via video chat, and heartbreaking goodbye hugs.  My babies are moving home.  Several times a week, every week, my kids will be all mine.  I can, for the first time in a very long time, picture happiness and completion in my not so far off future.  I see myself cooking dinner for my family, and waking up to a full house on the weekend.  I don't feel so shameful anymore because even the worst things have a funny way of making sense.  Life does move forward, you see. Somehow, life moves forward.