Monday meltdown

Well, not only did I survive 23-hours and the overnight, I managed to survive having my son visit with his father for a couple of additional hours Saturday afternoon ... and Sunday was mine. And it was a good Easter Sunday, truly.

But after all the stress of the weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown Monday morning. The school phoned and indicated that my six-year-old divorce decree, which I just recently shared with them, does not prevent my son's father from picking up from school ... but that they would give me a courtesy call if he was to show up, since that's not our regular routine. The only way to prevent him from coming to the school would be to put a temporary restraining order in place ... le sigh.

Also, my son's father phoned me yesterday to inform me that he has secured "transitional living" housing nearby. He hasn't given further details because he wants to wait until he signs the contract ...

Anyway, I crumbled yesterday. I took my son to school, called in sick (and believe me, I was sick), and stayed in bed for most of the day crying ... crying until my eyelids were puffy and swollen. I had a few friends on the text line, in whom I was confiding. Several suggested I get up and shower, that it would make me feel better. But the idea of standing upright very long was too overwhelming, so I ran a bath, and took my phone in the tub and texted some more ...

I was texting a college pal, who knows me well, even though I don't see him too often ... and I asked him, in the midst of my depressive spiral yesterday ... "You have known me a long time. Do you know why I hate myself so much? I don't know why."

"I actually do," he replied.
"OK, tell me!"
"Well, it's complicated," he began. "You are fiercely protective. You want to create a perfect childhood for R, but that's impossible. You are smart, pretty and, most likely, misunderstood ...

Being intelligent creates loathing -- often self loathing. It is hard, when you are dialed into things on a deeper level, to not resent even yourself for being unable to change things that seriously deserve change. You and I are more alike than one would think," he said.

Dude was speaking my language, and I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to hear that I was not alone. Even if I was only reading words on a screen. Words were being sent to me, and I felt that someone else understood.

Later in the conversation, as the water in the tub was cooling, and we were wrapping up, I texted him, "We should write a book."

"Oh god. No one in their right mind could digest it," was his response, which made me laugh out loud, really hard. I promised I would download The Shins record. Even though I've never downloaded a record. Port of Morrow. I'll be looking for the CD because I'm still a CD kind of gal. He knows me well, but he doesn't know that I've never downloaded an album.

The tub water was cold by now, and I shivered, as I released the water. Laying in a ball in the tub, I reached for a towel, and I put my head in it and I sobbed. And screamed. At God. And sobbed some more.