Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations

by Jessica Vivian

  It flooded my basement, sure. And I'd be happier than hell if the cast of Magic Mike dry humped me. And it was entertaining. But there was nothing empowering about it. I wasn't buying that old lie.

  And while poor, uneasy ragdoll probably would have preferred not to be molested in a public arena, her wild friends - buying into the hype - egged her on. And so it is with the fallacy of "getting one's groove back."

  Yes, it is absolutely possible to enjoy a healthy, physical relationship with no strings attached, but that's not what I see.

  I see women doing what they think will make them feel more alive and more whole, but still defining their wholeness and happiness by the attention of men and the value they put on their bodies.

  I'm seeing us accepting sub-par sex and not speaking up because we don't want to hurt men's egos. I'm seeing neglecting our jobs as mothers to pursue the wild side we never got out of our systems ten years ago when it wouldn't have looked like desperate insecurity.

  Look, I am not coming from a place of piety, here. The only reason I "have it together" is because I don't have the option not to. I'm like an addict who just left rehab and is only sober because there was no liquor at the treatment center. Now I'm out and really only able to maintain sobriety because I simply don't leave the house.

  I socialize with one man aside from Chris.

  One.

  And he is a member of my single parent co-op and we have no sexual tension. He is safe.

  But I dated for a minute. Sex was readily available, but as soon as I realized I wasn't dealing with a partner interested in my pleasure and my experience, I shut the house down.

  It's been hard getting to the point where my opinion of myself is the only one that matters. But it's been worth it.

  And lonely single mamas, I've said it once and I'll say it again, take a moment and fucking be lonely. You deserve it. It won't kill you. There's a prize at the bottom.

  What it will do, however, is force you to spend time with yourself and your thoughts and your feelings. You will have to start answering the "whys."

  Why do I feel like I need male attention to feel whole? Why am I not enough on my own?

  Date yourself.

  And if you're going to the strip club, gimmie a call, I'll roll with you…

  Today it Hurts

  I can't remember the last time I cried, but I cried today because my youngest child turned seven yesterday, and her father didn't call.

  I wasn't expecting a gift. I wasn't expecting a card. But phone calls are free, and she didn't get one.

  He hasn't spoken to his children since January, but he has an outdated picture of them as his Facebook cover photo.

  He hasn't spoken to them since January.

  They don't even notice.

  The kids don't even notice that he is missing.

  They don't talk about him. They never mention him. He has disappeared.

  And I am so angry my chest hurts.

  I never thought he would be this bad.

  I never thought he would be a deadbeat.

  No child support, no letters, no phone calls, no visits but one to the beach for pictures with his kids. That is not love.

  No one can tell me he loves his kids.

  If you are his friend or relative and you believe that he does, you are delusional and you are an enabling asshole.

  He uses his kids to give himself depth, to help him look human.

  In his mind, they exist to serve him and to benefit him.

  He does nothing.

  He is nothing.

  Most days, divorce is not so bad.

  Some days it's paradise.

  But today it hurts.

  Robot

  I'm a robot-alien hybrid.

  I'm still really sad about my ex-husband not calling our daughter on her birthday, and it hurts in my chest. My chest is tight. And I'm so compartmentalized and emotionally static, generally, that actual feelings always feel new.

  Tight chest, hard to breathe, general bad feeling all over body.

  Can't identify. No vocabulary...

  Emotional pain always takes me by surprise, like it's my first time in this body, or it's my first time on Earth or something.

  Which is fitting, because when I was 23-months-old, I asked my mom if she was supposed to help me get back to my own planet.

  Maybe baby Jessica knows something I don't.

  Swallowed

  Today is eating me. I am being swallowed.

  I have obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

  In my teens, I could spend several hours in my closet making sure the colors of my garments were evenly distributed and the hangers were evenly spaced. As a married woman, I could spend hours making sure the breakfast foods were on the correct shelf and the canned goods labels were facing out. When I got my life back, when I started regaining control, these tendencies faded. But today it's all back.

  My throat is closing. My pulse is racing. I am fantasizing self-harm.

  I want to numb it, so I want alcohol or a cheeseburger. I want to turn over tables and throw plates. Everywhere I turn is a massive, ugly, unfinished mess.

  Many of these messes are unfinished because of money. The single parent bullshit in my face again.

  Thirty bucks to finish this project. Fifty for that one.

  Money I didn't have at the time that I naively thought would appear later. But it never does.

  Someone always needs a pack of underwear, or we need laundry detergent, or gas in the car, or something. And the projects pile up.

  And what was once a fifty dollar problem, when added to all the other fifty dollar problems, is now a thousand dollar problem. And they are everywhere, stifling my ability to function efficiently.

  I cannot stand it.

  And that's just the tasks I have to look at.

  There are another dozen things I have to do. I have to sit down and shut them all up, and be on hold, and break up fights while I sit and get this shit done.

  Right now, I wish they would vanish for a little while. They are so young and they don't know anything. They are not helpful. I have to stop to feed, to soothe, to break up a fight, to listen to a story.

  If I could just turn them off for 24 hours...

  I am drowning today.

  In my head all I can hear is

  help help help help help help help help help help help help.

  I have to abandon yet another ravenous project to fix dinner.

  Just thinking about it makes me want to fling this laptop across the fucking room.

  The things people take for granted.

  24 hours and $500 would save me right now...

  Just 24 childless hours and $500.

  Probably less...

  I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.

  I sort of want to bang my head against something until I knock myself out.

  I also want to lock myself in my room and lock the kids outside so they don't talk to me.

  I want to get in the car and leave them behind and just get lost.

  Can't do any of those things.

  So, with a lump in my chest I will make the fucking dinner.

  I will leave the living room a mess.

  I will lock myself in my room and pray they don't ask me for anything.

  I will curse at my ex-husband in my mind for making me have to do everything on my own.

  I will mentally flip the bird at the cost of after-school care making it nearly impossible for me to earn a sustainable living.

  And tomorrow I will get up and do my best… again.

  Because that's all I can do.

  And it's pretty evident that my best is not even close to enough.

  The Natural

  Hear ye! Hear ye! I am here to publicly admit that I bought the red lipstick and still haven’t worn it. I am also here to publicly announce that it doesn’t matter anyway.

&
nbsp; All my life, I’ve been a low-key girl. As far as beauty regimens go, I tried not to be socially offensive in either the body hair or aroma, but that was about as far as it went.

  Not wearing makeup, as far as I know, has never been a hurdle or roadblock in my getting what I need, but I thought, up until a week ago, that I would somehow be left behind if I didn’t hop on the train.

  I’m 31 years old. At some point, I should put on a little rouge, right?

  My naked face became even more of a problem when I thought, incorrectly, that I wanted to start dating again. Online dating sort of “happened” while I was busy in the marriage pit. Scrutinizing selfies and condensing the breadth of your personality into a couple of catchy paragraphs is hell.

  I feel like I need a Public Relations degree to get through it.

  And it made me feel inadequate. All of it.

  I could never tell how much of it was just the “real me” and how much of it was me “letting myself go.” I took it to my newest council member, Jenn, who slowly but steadily friendshipped her way into my heart. Jenn usually listens to me and sees me so I knew she’d give me sound advice.

  And sure enough she did:

  “Here’s the litmus test: Do you feel more or less energized when you put makeup on?”

  Less. Way less.

  As a matter of fact, I feel like a fraud, or like a person in a chicken suit; it’s that uncomfortable.

  I let a friend drag me to the department store for a makeover once. She gave me blue eyeshadow and cherry-red porn-glossy lipstick. I posted a picture to Facebook as evidence of my wearing red lipstick, but I immediately washed it off because I don’t know who that is. Objectively, she looked good, but she ain’t me.

  Naturally, I got a lot of Facebook catcalls from that picture. And that’s… nice… I guess…

  But I’m okay with not being known for being hot anymore. Me “feeling good about myself” means making my friends laugh, writing something smart, my kids telling me they are proud of me, my hair being more curly than fuzzy, wearing a cute dress. Putting on makeup does not make me feel good about myself. It is what it is. I’m not going to beat myself up over it. Sure, this probably rules out my chances of dating some hot beefcake, but I don’t really care.

  As Jenn The Wise also said, it’s just not the time for me to stop what I’m doing and put myself on display. My heart and my passion are in rebuilding my Self. My head is down. I’m working out a plan. I have an agenda. And maybe the right one will see that.

  And rather than me primping and posing for him, I’ll look up, wipe my brow, and he’ll be there: a stowaway who jumped on the train because he wanted to go where I’m going. He’ll want to be part of my circus.

  Or maybe he won’t. And maybe I’ll die loveless…

  But either way, I don’t think my fate will be determined by red lipstick.

  Do-Over

  I suddenly realized that I really have an itchy desire to travel the world.

  I am fully aware of the fact that I now have three children.

  But, I'm going to find a way to do it anyway. Maybe if I get a job that lets me travel and I can drag them with me.

  I don't know.

  It's a lofty dream right now.

  But I applied to college. I'm going to go back and, just, start there.

  Trust

  It has been recently brought to my attention that not trusting someone who considers you a friend is apparently offensive.

  I'm sorry, and it's nothing personal, but I don't trust anybody.

  It's not that I have been burned or hurt so many times that I no longer trust. I just don't trust in the first place. I know that seems sad, but listen for a second.

  I think people generally operate under the premise of "I will trust you until I have a reason not to." I'm the opposite. I need a reason to trust you. Otherwise you float in amiable neutrality. Not suspicion or contempt. Just neutrality. I don't think you're going to rob or maim me. I don't assume you're a villain. I just also don't assume you're a saint. But here's the meat n' potatoes, y'all.

  There's nothing for me to trust you with. I don't have secrets.

  Seriously.

  I tell you exactly what I would tell my best friends, and the checkout girl at Winn-Dixie if she had time to listen. I don't keep any parts of my life tucked away.

  I didn't realize this was abnormal until a friend and I recently had a long, hash-out-feelings, work-though-shit conversation and she said repeatedly that "most people don't know this about me" and I thought:

  Oh, is that a thing? Keeping parts of yourself from people?

  She and another close friend have both stated that they've been burned before.

  This, oddly, is something I've never really experienced outside of my marriage. He is the only one who ever burned me, although, really, I think it's clear he only burned himself.

  But I've never been hurt by a friend, really, or taken advantage of. Or perhaps I have been taken advantage of but didn't really care.

  Not because I don't put myself out there but I think I'm detached from the outcome. I don't require much. You don't have to prove anything to me. If you make me feel good, you stay. If you don't, I just don't bother. No melodramatic banishments and tear-filled fights. Just apathy. Hopefully, this is making sense.

  I was so relieved when talking to Jenn last night and she said:

  "I don't really need you to trust me. I don't require that of you. My needing you to trust me would be more about me than you. You're fine. Do your thing."

  Bless.

  I guess this is unnerving to the general populace, though. It isn't the first time I've done human-ing "incorrectly."

  But if you need me to entrust you with my darkest secrets and lean on you to feel like we're close, then I foresee a lot of disappointment in your future. There are no darkest secrets. Come over and sit on my couch – any of you – and you will get the full enchilada, if that's what you want. I've done those trust-building teamwork exercises without hesitation. I'll open it up and lay it out.

  But here's the kicker...

  ...now I'm revealing a real nugget...

  This openness, this quick warmth and close comfort is actually an extremely effective manipulation. My fellow Masters of Emotional Proximity are going to be angry that I am revealing our most potent strategy.

  When we are so warm and so open and share so much and are so exposed, we have lulled you into a false sense of closeness, haven't we?

  Please know that this isn't conscious. It's just what happens. It's my natural state. I can satisfy both our needs. You need intimate details to feel safe, to feel like we're bonded, to feel close. I need to give you whatever will satisfy you enough not to need more.

  I keep my feels and my heart locked away because even I don't know what's going on in there. It's a mystery to even me. My heart is not really a "secret." Secrets, in my opinion, are known and then hidden and kept away from others. I don't know. I don't know what's going on in my heart or how to turn it on or what I'm supposed to do. I know it's possible, but I don't think it's necessary. I'm not in a stage where I can handle deeper.

  I know all the open, bleeding hearts see this as a tragedy, but it's not everyone's life goal to feel all the feelings. At least not in this life cycle.

  I treasure my friendships. I treasure their depth. I don't need to cry it out or have an after school special with my friends for them to prove their value, and I don't want them to require that of me. I just take what they have to give and am satisfied, and I'll give-a-plenty back.

  And you can trust me, if you want to, but I don't care if you do or not, because it won't change my behavior. I'll still deliver the love to your door neatly wrapped and with a bow. But I will not leave behind a lock of my frickin' hair. You won't get an extra special piece of me.

  If you're like the perceptive few who have risen to the top of the heap, just give me the space to be mys
elf, drop all your Ya-Ya Sisterhood expectations and I will likely leave a few extra boxes of love on your doorstep while I'm making rounds as a "thank you".

  What the What?

  A woman I went to high school with, who I was not close with, and not friends with, just offered to pay for my kids to go to summer camp.

  I...

  What?

  I'm not going to question it. My heart and feels are exploding with gratitude. I have no words...

  Hashtag Blessed.

  Hashtag SO Blessed.

  “Friends”

  Before you get your feelings hurt, allow me to explain why I’m about to unfriend you on Facebook.

  I am in a fragile place. I feel as alien as ever. I do not understand humans, even though humans have been really great to me. Right now, with going back to school and trying to develop a non-profit and raising three kids and also homeschooling them, I really need the world to be safe, warm, welcoming, and aligned with my goals as a person. I don’t have room for anything negative, or even amicably neutral.

  I can’t control the world, as it turns out, but I can control my world.

  I’ve been preaching this whole “detachment” bullroar and I just realized I haven’t completely been practicing it.

  “I’ll keep her as a friend just in case I need her one day” is people-hoarding.

  I have to thin my friends list down based on nutritional value. Stick with me here, I promise it’ll make sense.

  Sometime a while back, I decided that casual sex had the “nutritional value” for me of, like, Taco Bell. There was a time when I could eat Taco Bell every day! It was so good, and the effects of it didn’t really show because I was young and buoyant and didn’t really know any better.

  But now, I’d rather not eat than eat Taco Bell. It's just not satisfying for me, anymore. Even if I know it's tasty.