I think I'm tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night's sleep fixes.
Not the kind of tired where you take a shower, drink some coffee, eat something, and suddenly everything feels manageable again.
I'm tired in the way that makes you stare at the ceiling and wonder how many more times a human being is supposed to put herself back together.
Because apparently I have been doing that for a while now.
Breaking. Collecting the pieces.
Putting them back. Breaking again.
And then somehow being expected to continue functioning like a perfectly normal adult.
Pay bills. Answer messages. Talk to lawyers. Prepare documents.
Think about work. Think about money. Think about divorce.
Think about what happens next. Think about where I'll live.
Think about how I'll survive.
Think about what I'm supposed to become after a marriage that was supposed to be part of my future suddenly became something I have to legally dismantle.
Very relaxing. Highly recommended.
Five stars. Would absolutely not do again. 😂
And everyone keeps talking about the future.
You'll be okay. You'll move on. You'll find yourself again.
You'll get through this. Maybe.
I probably will. But can I be honest?
I don't fucking feel okay right now.
I don't want to turn every painful thing that happens to me into a lesson.
Sometimes something just hurts. Sometimes something is just cruel.
Sometimes something is just fucking unfair.
And sometimes I don't want to be the woman standing at the end of the disaster saying: “But look how much I've grown.”
Sometimes I want to say: “This was horrible.”
Because it was.
I lost a marriage. I lost a version of my future.
I lost pieces of myself trying to make that marriage work.
I lost people I loved who were never even the problem.
And now I'm sitting here trying to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to keep.
My dignity? My sanity? My sense of humor?
Apparently those are the three things currently preventing a complete system failure. 😂
And then there is the divorce itself.
People hear the word divorce and imagine two adults sitting across a table having a mature conversation.
Discussing assets. Discussing responsibilities.
Discussing closure. Nodding thoughtfully.
Maybe drinking tea. Please.
My divorce feels more like an administrative horror movie.
Documents. Questions. Waiting. Phone calls.
Lawyers. Deadlines. More documents.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, there is a woman quietly wondering: “How the hell did my life become this?”
I didn't wake up one morning and decide: You know what sounds fun?
Let's dismantle my marriage. Let's lose sleep.
Let's cry in cafés. Let's worry about money.
Let's question my entire identity. Let's have nightmares about being chased and killed.
Let's rebuild my life while simultaneously trying to remember where I put the emotional duct tape.
Nobody orders this package. It just arrives.
No tracking number. No return policy.
Apparently life enjoys surprise deliveries. 😂
And I'm angry.
There I said it. I'm angry.
I'm angry that I tried so hard. I'm angry that I changed myself.
I'm angry that I thought compromise meant continuously becoming smaller.
I'm angry that I spent so much time wondering what I could do differently.
I'm angry that I spent nights replaying conversations.
I'm angry that I kept searching for explanations.
I'm angry that I cared so much about something that eventually became so easy for someone else to walk away from.
And yes sometimes I'm angry at him. Not because I want him back. I don't.
That's the part people might misunderstand.
You can be angry at someone without wanting them.
You can grieve something without wanting it resurrected.
You can love what something once was and still know you cannot live inside it anymore.
I don't want the marriage back.
I want myself back. That's different.
I want the woman who laughed without checking whether someone approved.
I want the woman who wore jeans. Who wore perfume.
Who liked makeup. Who talked too much. Who laughed too loudly.
Who didn't constantly monitor her face, her voice, her clothes, her personality.
I want the woman who could walk into a room without first asking herself: “How much of me am I allowed to be here?”
I want all of me.
Not the edited version. Not the quieter version.
Not the more convenient version. Not the version that learned how to disappear gracefully.
Me.
And maybe that's why this hurts so much.
Because divorce isn't just removing another person from your life.
Sometimes it's confronting all the versions of yourself you abandoned while trying to keep that person in it.
That's a brutal inventory.
And I'm taking stock of everything. The laughter.
The clothes. The confidence. The independence.
The ridiculousness. The opinions. The voice.
The fucking personality.
Somewhere along the way, I became so busy trying to be enough for someone else that I forgot I was supposed to be enough for myself.
And now I have to learn that again.
While tired. While broke. While scared.
While crying. While filling out paperwork.
Because apparently personal growth has terrible timing. 😂
And then there are the people I miss.
His family. People who never hurt me. People I genuinely loved.
People who became part of my life simply because I married someone.
And now I'm supposed to accept that I might never see them the same way again.
How exactly am I supposed to file that emotionally?
“Marriage terminated. Please remove sister, niece, father, aunt, cousins and associated memories from your heart.”
Sorry. My heart appears to have rejected the software update. 😂
I don't know what happens next.
And honestly? That scares me.
There. Another thing I don't usually say.
I'm scared.
I'm scared of rebuilding financially. I'm scared of finding work. I'm scared of starting over.
I'm scared of waking up one day and realizing that the life I thought I would have is simply never happening.
I'm scared of becoming responsible for everything alone. I'm scared of failing.
I'm scared of succeeding and realizing I don't even know how to be happy anymore.
I'm scared that some parts of me won't come back.
I'm scared that maybe I really did change too much.
And I'm tired of people acting like fear automatically disappears because you are brave.
It doesn't.
Sometimes bravery is literally: “I'm terrified and I'm doing the paperwork anyway.”
That's it. No inspirational soundtrack. No glowing sunrise.
Just a woman with swollen eyes opening another document. Very glamorous. 😂
And maybe I don't need to pretend this is beautiful.
Maybe I don't need to call this my transformation.
Maybe for now it's enough to call it what it is: Survival.
I'm surviving the ending. I'm surviving the grief. I'm surviving the uncertainty.
I'm surviving the nights when my brain decides 3 a.m. is an excellent time to replay my entire life.
I'm surviving the mornings when I wake up and remember: Oh yeah. I'm getting divorced.
Fantastic. Good morning to me. 😂
And tonight, after the nightmare, my brain apparently decided it wasn't dramatic enough to simply let me sleep.
Someone was chasing me. Someone wanted to kill me.
Even my subconscious has apparently joined the production team.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's episode of Dika's nervous system: absolutely fucking no chill.” 😂
But maybe that's what my brain is trying to tell me.
Not that someone is actually coming for me.
Not that the dream means something terrible is going to happen.
Maybe it's just exhausted too.
Maybe it has spent so long living in uncertainty that even sleep doesn't feel completely safe anymore.
Maybe that's what happens when you've been bracing yourself for the next disaster for too long.
Your body forgets how to stand down.
So I'm trying to teach it. Slowly. I'm here.
I'm alive. I'm home. The nightmare is over.
The marriage is ending. And somehow I am still here.
That's the part I keep forgetting. After everything I've lost,
there is still a woman sitting here. Still breathing. Still thinking.
Still laughing occasionally at completely inappropriate things.
Still making stupid jokes. Still wanting coffee. Still wanting pastries.
Still wanting to wear fucking jeans. Still wanting to work.
Still wanting money. Still wanting a life.
Still wanting to know who she becomes after all of this.
Maybe that's enough for tonight.
I don't need to know the whole future. I don't need to have the perfect plan.
I don't need to be healed. I don't need to be inspirational.
I don't need to forgive anybody. I don't need to prove that I'm stronger than this.
I don't even need to be okay. I just need to stay.
Stay long enough to see what happens next.
Because maybe the woman I become after this won't be the old Dika.
Maybe she won't be the broken Dika either.
Maybe she'll be someone I haven't met yet.
Someone who knows exactly what she will and will not tolerate.
Someone who doesn't shrink. Someone who doesn't beg.
Someone who doesn't chase.
Someone who doesn't confuse being wanted with being valued.
Someone who can walk away from a door that refuses to open without spending the rest of her life standing outside it.
I don't know. I'm too tired to know. And that's okay.
Tonight, I'm not rebuilding my entire life. Tonight, I'm just putting the pieces down.
All of them. The anger. The grief. The fear.
The loneliness. The exhaustion. The fucking absurdity of it all.
I'm putting them here. On this page.
Because I need somewhere for them to go.
And tomorrow?
Maybe I'll pick some of them back up.Maybe I won't.
Maybe I'll drink water. Maybe I'll eat.
Maybe I'll download those two stupid AI videos I've already made.
Maybe I'll write another angry post. Maybe I'll laugh at something ridiculous.
Maybe I'll stare at the ceiling again. Maybe I'll cry.
Whatever.
I'll deal with tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.
For tonight I'm tired. Not defeated. Not finished.
Just fucking tired. And after everything I've been carrying…
I think I'm allowed to put it down for a little while.
No lessons. No silver lining. No inspirational ending.
Just this: I survived today.
And tonight, that's enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment