Divorce is hard. Stating the obvious, aren’t I? I don’t suppose you’ll ever hear someone going through a divorce saying things like, ‘It’s a walk in the park’ or ‘It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done’. Divorce is hard. It’s no surprise. On the other hand, what continues to surprise me are the emotions that come with going through the motions of a failed marriage – the falling into pieces, the broken and shattered heart, the will and desire to pick myself back up. You would think that I could predict my emotions when it comes to walking through this divorce process. I guess that I can predict how I’m going to feel most of the time, because I’d like to think that I know myself pretty darn well, but you know what. There are times when I just surprise myself. Like today.
Let me back up a little. Some weeks ago I wrote about getting the divorce ball rolling. It was something I’d been waiting to do for 12 months (standard waiting period for a divorce here in Australia). A whole bunch of paperwork had to be filled, I had to get what seemed like a ton of authorised signatures in a million different places on the paperwork and what have you. Those were all completed fairly quickly and I filed them with our family law courts. Not long after I filed the paperwork with the courts, they gave me the go ahead to serve divorce papers to the jackass. Which I did. In record time. It wasn’t only important to me that I have my divorce finalised as quickly and as efficiently as possible, it was important to me that I be the one that served him those divorce papers. After everything that’s gone down, my ability to serve him those papers was paramount. It wasn’t just papers stating the fact that I wanted to legalise our separation for good. They were papers stating, “FUCK YOU”.
I had waited a long 12 months to get the divorce process started and when I finally mailed off those papers to him, I felt sick in the stomach. I walked out of the post office feeling disgusted. Feeling nauseous. Feeling numb. I had no idea why I felt the way I did. I was expecting to feel a sense of relief. A sense of greater hope, greater anticipation of the future. But no. I felt sick. And let’s face it, I felt sad. I mostly felt sick because serving those papers to him, though absolutely necessary, was a form of contact. I was making contact with him. Contact with this man repulses me beyond belief. And I would do anything to avoid contact with him. But, this divorce is something I need and want. So contact has to be made.
The jackass had the simplest of tasks when he received the divorce papers. All I needed from him was one signature. One signature. I included a self addressed envelope with the papers so that he could return the signed document to me right away. Simple, no? Well, a week went by and I’d heard nothing from him. A second week went by and still nothing. As the days went by, my frustration levels built. I just could not understand why one lousy signature would take him any more than five minutes. It was the simplest of tasks. A task initiated by me but caused by him. Yet it took him 2 whole weeks to sign the document and have it returned to me. I finally received the signed papers today.
I’d been anticipating his signed document like a kid waiting on Christmas. I’d check my letterbox each day for two weeks much to my disappointment. I was eager to get another step closer to finalising this divorce. So eager. And yet, when I saw that yellow envelope in my letterbox today, my heart sank. My stomach did flip flops. And that sick feeling overcame me. Nausea overcame me. It was contact. From him. And let’s face it, they were divorce papers signed by him. By this man I married not too long ago. Who would’ve thought that almost 18 months after our wedding day, I’d be waiting on divorce papers from my soon-to-be ex-husband.
Ex-husband. It took me some time to get used to calling him my husband after we were married. I wonder how much time it will take me to get used to calling him my ex-husband. In any case, I am now one step closer. This chapter is almost done.