The Practicality of Truth

I have been mute for a while, always a sure sign of my misery. I have hardly called my friends. I haven't really seen anyone. It was taking an effort to even look at people some days because I'm not good at hiding my feelings unless I'm in a courtroom. In the courtroom, I'm a pro. In the rest of my life, I am as sloppy with my feelings as a drunken barfly teetering on her stool, spilling her drink on the poor sap next to her while she cries and laughs as the memories strike her. I am never one to see anything I do as a mistake, because I believe wholeheartedly in the forward movement of life and the inevitability of change, whether the catalyst is my own poor judgment or outside forces. I am still trying to evaluate my current state of affairs, because it has two sides to it; and one far outweighs the other. My children love it here. The schools are exceptional and they come home every day talking about something they did and how much fun they had. They have more friends than they ever did before, they are spoiled by a great new group of people who love them as if they were born into their family. It is everything I could ever want for them. The other side? The other side is the cliché, the woman who can't ever seem to get it right. I am Zsa-Zsa, I am Liz Fucking Taylor, the one who just traded in Larry Fortensky for some other equally inappropriate match. It's not about love or the lack of it. It's more about me not being suited to traditional couplehood. I hate sharing a house. I hate sharing a life like this 24-hours a day. I'm not made for this sort of living. He's disapppointed me in all sorts of fundamental ways and broken promises made to me before I even got here, but it's not even that. I can't even use that as an excuse for knowing this is not something to which I will grow accustomed; it would have been the case even if everything had been just as I had expected. This is simply not for me because I don't have it in me to be someone's wife. My first thoughts when I realized this were to flee, to run away. I'm good at that, after all...I run and run, until I find new arms. But I won't be doing that this time. I will stay and I will make a good life for myself here, some of which will include him, most of which will not. I will do this because there is absolutely nothing better for my children beyond this life right now, and they deserve their happiness here. This is not about being a martyr. This is about my always knowing what's best for my boys--in that, I have never failed or made mistakes. I have always done what's best for them first. Being a parent doesn't leave much room for personal selfishness, and I'm not going to drag my kids away from a good home and a life they've fallen in love with so I can live a life that doesn't leave room for children in it. My parents did that to me and I won't do that to them. If I manage one good thing, it will be not to drag my children to and fro as I figure out what I want. I am not completely miserable here; over time, I have begun to make my peace with where I am and I have found a new freedom in deciding that I will make the best of my circumstances, instead of the worst of them. But he will not know me again. He will never see my true face again, until it is time for me to say goodbye. I dream about my old age now, where I have a small house in the southwestern desert somewhere, and a longtime lover who comes and goes as he pleases. I will write and paint and plant flowers on both sides of my windows. I will laugh at the irony of a lifetime spent searching for my truest companion, when I had her with me all the time.