You know you’re desperate when you miss the Ex. Yes, over the past several months I’ve entertained thoughts of reuniting with my ex-husband, that I still love him and that he might still love me, the older, yet “newer” me. I’m more “me,” a “me” I’m learning to like, respect, and treat with care. I fantasize that we’d meet again over drinks, maybe dinner, and he’d see the woman he thought he’d married. I’d dazzle him with my honesty and awareness and confidence (non-existent just yesterday, I know). I’d bask once again in his intelligence, sense of humor, and easy laughter as we discussed politics, music, food, movies, travel, jobs, and more.
Never mind that he’s given no indication that he wants to see me again. That he might have remarried. That he cheated on me during our marriage. That he knew I was suicidal the night he told me he wanted a divorce, and didn’t tell anyone. That I almost killed myself a week later and landed in the psych ward for six days. That he manipulated me, blamed me for everything, abandoned the kitties and me, refused to help maintain the house, and dragged out the divorce for almost three years, leaving me crippled with debt.
It’s the crippling debt, along with chronic illness and imminent loss of alimony that brought about this impossible dream. Impossible because he wants no part of it, and because I deserve better.