Separation in the time of coronavirus

It's been 10 months since my last spewing of thoughts to figurative paper. I'm mostly done with venting. Nothing's really changed. I mean, he got laid off a few months ago — so that's been fun. Covid's still lingering. He's older and wasn't able to find a similar job right away. So, he's now doing some time in retail, but that's barely contributing. And I'm trying to stay supportive. He's always been a bit fragile (medically and emotionally). And we're still legally tied. The goal of finalizing things has been delayed by the layoff. The reasoning... worst case, I can add him to my insurance — and I feel obligated to keep that option available. Plus, I don't think I can get money out of the house (to share some of the equity built when we were together) without having his monetary contributions coming in to show I can pay all the bills. What a drawn out, pain in the ass this has become.

But, on the flip side, this summer, I chose to do some things I used to do. Things that I curbed or inhibited. Or simply gave up. For almost 20 years. When I was more focused on the family unit, than I was on myself. Marriage (or just a committed partnership) is often a compromise. But I think most people don't realize how much, until they're on the other side of it. This isn't a shocking revelation. But going through it was more peaceful and liberating than I'd anticipated. I don't know how many people bemoan the ending of their relationship vs. celebrate it. And I don't mean in a vengeful, but cathartic “burn all his shit” type of way. Bad example? I could see that going either way... But it's like I've stopped taking the pain killers that dulled all my senses — not just the pain. It's so draining to feel like I'm constantly tamping down my thoughts, my wants, my breathing. And again, as I type this, I realize I did not have it bad. There was no abuse. I could have left earlier. Though, there might have been more financial ruin. But still. So, I know this is a lot of privileged complaining. But... my form of therapy. And this summer's complementary therapy? Music. And seeing new places — even those close by.

I started with treating myself to a birthday gift of going to a small folk festival in the next town over. I've always liked music. I have zero musical talent. But I think that's part of it — I'm always so impressed by others and what they can do. And I used to go to a fair amount of shows on my own. Nothing crazy — but it was always a release. It's when I turned my brain off. Sleep doesn't do that. Reading sometimes does. But music? Always. I think I just put that together as I type this. I have an almost incessant inner monologue. That I recently read that not everyone has — I'd always thought everyone did. It's not often silent. And even though my ex may have thought he needed a break from me. I think my need of a break from me trumped his. And I wasn't getting that nearly enough. As I withdrew from the marriage, that voice grew, compounding the issues. A lyric from a song I've heard recently says something about a wife being as cold as a Monday. That was me. Each lie caused me to just turn colder, and my inner voice grew, filling the silence that permeated the relationship.

So, that day, I spent the whole time hanging out in a field, listening to different bands. No kid begging me to leave. No spouse rolling his eyes and making fun of the music or the people. No one TALKING through everything. It was amazing. The music was great — but just being there, and being able to feel like I was allowed to enjoy it and bathe in it. It had been too long. So, I started checking out some of the bands I saw, and some others I'd seen online. Instead of making plans “if nothing else comes up,” I chose to make plans around the music and the destinations where they were happening. I went on hikes in towns nearby before ending the day, listening to live music. I saw new places that are close, but not that close. And it was great for dipping my toe into the covid-infused air, but not feeling like I was taking any real risks. If I had no kid, I'm sure I'd take more risks. But each time I consider it, I wonder what would happen to him if I got really sick, or didn't make it. I know, statistically, I'd probably be fine. But I just can't get past the guilt that would haunt me the moment I got sick, if my toss of the dice did me in.

But this leads me to my current distraction...