I Bought a House and Died a Little Inside

“This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved.”–James Norrington,  Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

It’s been a year and a half since the narcissist kicked me out of the house we bought together and two months since that house was sold as part of our divorce decree. Last week I closed on a new house, just the right size for my family in just the right neighborhood. I tried so hard to smile and be appropriately happy at the closing. The second I closed my car door, the tears started rolling down my face and I’ve cried every day since. 

At first I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Why couldn’t I share in the happiness that everyone was feeling for me? What was making my emotions go haywire?

That weekend, painting the house with just my four year old, I figured it out. I don’t feel empowered or bad ass because I can do all this shit by myself. I feel like a failure because I have to do this alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be lonely. I don’t want to feel this terrible hole that is my lost future. 

I invested so many years in that terrible relationship, pouring everything into a relationship that was not even real. I lost friends. My new friends have families and other friends and I can’t help but feel an unimportant burden in comparison. And I feel so so so old to start this all over again.


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