I didn't sleep at all last night.
I tossed and turned until midnight. Started reading my latest book. Yes, I have succumb to the Twilight craze. But then I woke up every hour on the hour until it was finally time to get up.
I showered, fed the dogs, dressed and drove to my attorneys. I cried the whole way there. I was able to compose myself enough to sign the paper, the paper that officially starts the end in motion, and walk out without letting anyone see me cry.
Once I was in my car it was a different story.
Every ounce of hurt I have felt thus far came right to the surface and I cried and cried. I cried until I wailed in my car, I cried silently at my desk at work.
I don't understand how this happened. I don't know why this is my life. I hate the injustice of me filing for a divorce that I don't want.
I wanted to get through this. I wanted to spend months in counseling if necessary. I wanted this to work. I did not want to file for divorce.
I don't know how he can think that he tried and I don't understand why I wasn't worth fighting for.
I don't know that I am ever going to understand these things and I am confident that I am never going to get answers to my questions. But it doesn't make it any less painful.
The thing that I hate the most is the person I have become; the person who can't move on, who is consumed by the loss. I hate that. It isn't me. I have always been able to move on. To just readjust my life. Focus on the future.
I hate what he has reduced me too.