Aw, hell...

Very few of us are lucky enough to have the biggest mistakes
of our lives captured on film. The best part about this is that my
parents actually paid to have this picture (and several hundred
others) taken. Actually, that's kinda sad isn't it?
The point of today's entry, my little chickens, is not really my first (and at this point only) marriage. The point is that I have dealt with my divorce in a less than healthy way, and I have the wonderful, loving, and brilliant Gipester to thank for this realization. Damn him.
I have talked to him a great deal about his divorce and his relationship with his ex. The hardest thing for me to deal with was that he got stuck with a divorce he didn't want and that he *sigh* loved this woman very much. She's still in our (his) circle of friends and is impossible to avoid altogether. Anyway, this has been a source of discomfort for months and only today have I really figured out why. Okay, so there's not just ONE reason why, but there's only one I'm going to concentrate on today.
I never really mourned my marriage. Ever. I went from denial to anger and just... well... stayed there.
I never mourned the fact that I lost damn near my whole social network because we spent so much time with his family. My sisters-in-law were my friends, but when it came time to circle the wagons, guess who was left to fend for herself. That hurt, but it was so much easier to say some variation of, "Yeah, well, fuck off, I never liked you anyway," than to let it show.
Not one of them called me after we split. Not one. Of course, to be fair, I didn't call them either. So, because I've never said it before, and because I think it's important, I miss my sisters-in-law. All of them. I miss my nieces and nephew. All of them.
I miss my little house. I picked the carpet and all the paint colors. I painted my office the exact color I wanted. I cooked in the kitchen and pulled weeds in the garden. I was surrounded by my things. Now the Greeley ARC looks more like my home than my home actually does.
I miss my dog. When I made the choice to move in with G I had to give him up. My parents were willing to take him, so he's still in the family, but he was my dog. Now he's not.
I grieve the loss of these things, finally.
But I do not grieve the loss of the man that went with all of these things. We were bad to each other, again, and again, and again. We left spectacular scars on each other's lives and I weep for that fact.
Without mourning, we can never move on. And now I have a new life worth moving on for. So. This isn't the end of it. There's still a lot that needs to be drained from the wound (eww) but here is the beginning. I feel much better now.