Alchemic Verse

As of today, I am officially a divorcee. I woke up to the document in my inbox after a nightmare so complex and odd that it may warrant its own blog post later on. Upon waking, I saw the email from the lawyers and immediately burst into tears, overwhelmed by a diaspora of emotion I could neither quantify or qualify.

I didn’t really have anyone to call or tell, so I dried my eyes, prepped the dog’s breakfast, and headed out to shape the day differently than the nightmares and crying would have predicated. My brother called while I was in my car, and his reaction was leaning toward ‘well, it’s good to have the door finally close, right?’

I am not angry/disappointed at his reaction; being the ‘strong’ one who has ‘overcome a lot’ means everyone assumes you’re fine. Furthermore, there is no right way to ‘answer’ someone when they express that they’re going through a divorce at any stage, as I’ve learned repeatedly over the past 6ish months. He’s not wrong that it is positive in its completion. It is important to me, however, that I express in the words that I have that there’s a major duality to the emotional landscape of closing the door on a marriage, even one that had run its course. I should add – this blog entry’s premise sets aside other immense undescribed grief that arguably eclipses the marriage’s ending, which I share only as insight for treasured readers with loved ones going through divorce; it is rare for a divorce to be the only painful weight.

When my parents divorced, I was eight years old. Being both very young and also only accustomed to a house of constant violent noise and conflict, the divorce was more of a relief than not. Neither of my parents ever remarried, and to my knowledge at least, neither of them dated anyone afterward either.

I think everyone to some degree fears becoming the most flawed parts of their parents; I seem to be watching it play out myself in real time, having only the out of the blue call from my brother as any familiar interaction today. So, another facet of the emotional landscape becomes fear, beside the relief. Questions fill my head like ‘Is this the beginning of the grand loneliness my parents found, that will stifle me in isolation through middle age and beyond?’ Another facet is the acceptance of finality – ending each previously-imagined possibility; last call, curtains fall, lights out on that timeline, however much that timeline didn’t suit any longer.

‘Well, at least you don’t have children; that’s lucky’ — one of the less ‘right’ answers I received throughout the separation when the topic of my divorce came up.

‘What’s wrong? I thought you were doing just fine’ — one of the least ‘right’ answers I received when specifically asking for support, expressing how hard it has been, isolated and carrying it all, kids or no kids.

I’m no expert in how to get through or over an ended marriage, but I can share what I have tried today. With great and deliberate action, I took the day into my own hands. In my travels, I talked to a few strangers and told them about this particular finality, in the absence of my former circle of people checking in beyond poorly-disguised desire for gossip/information. After all, I’m so strong. This is easy without ‘complications’ like kids, I initiated the divorce, and I should just be fine.

The first kind stranger gave me a cigarette [just for today, I am not returning to the habit] under the shelter of their back roof in the morning rain, congratulating me on new beginnings. Like I imagine a nurturing mother would, this wonderful woman and her fellow staff served me a massive gravy-laden brunch at their local diner. It was categorically delicious, if heavy.

Next, I headed into town, practically sloshing with coffee and gravy at each step, and actually walked into the wrong establishment by mistake. The door I fortuitously chose was a charity shop for families in need of assistance with domestic violence. This shopkeep and counselor heard of the day’s portentous ending, and offered a quiet congratulations, particularly when I explained that I started the process of my departure at the earliest signs of escalating discord in my former home. I was grateful it never became anything like the violence I experienced and narrowly escaped in relationships as a teen [another blog].

Her smile was watery, and she told me she admired me; I told her I admired her and her mission. She then helped a young woman who, while I tried not to eavesdrop,  explained her current predicament and broke my heart with her story. I averted my tear-filled eyes, shopping with the hopes of bringing them all some money to help folks from my purchases. I found a beautiful antique scrimshaw necklace that I absolutely knew I needed to wear as my own. It features a delicately engraved sailing vessel, harkening to the journey this very blog uses as its extended metaphor, wrapped in mixed metal framing and wire, on a gold chain.

I bought it gratefully and promised to return with more donations, monetary and physical, before proceeding to my original intended destination several doors down.

That shopkeep also congratulated me quietly, and informed me of events locally through the rest of the year. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I were to stay to see them, though I remain unsure if my journey will carry me on and away by then. A third wave of tears began to crest, as I reeled with trying to imagine any vision of future in the storm of overwhelming, untethered freedom. A quick departure for the slip felt needed, in hopes of finding some grounded reflection to keep my mood from plummeting.

I sailed back, crashing mightily from the egregious volume of caffeine I had consumed. Shortly after receiving the ceremonial excited greetings from the pup, I took a short nap. When I woke, I retrieved my synthesizer from garage storage to collaborate with a gent online who had reached out some days prior asking if he/we could write a song to one of my poems.

I have never even attempted songwriting before [plenty of lore there, but yet another blog entry to come] and found distracted satisfaction helping massage and adjust the spine and ribs of the bones he sent, cross-legged on my yoga mat and unclogging latent memories of basic music theory.

I have since serenaded my dog a bit, my steadfast and devoted #1 fan, made a freezer pizza, and now I write this blog sideways on the couch from my phone while Dune (2021) plays on my laptop. “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

And so passes the first day of being properly single in 9+ years. At the opening of this new timeline… may I stay grateful and loving, find the strength to keep moving with integrity, manifest miracles, and kill the fear before it kills my mind.