Weekend Divorce / Separation Update - last of the move-out in Grimm - the one and only...

I took the day off Friday. She'd sent a list of stuff she still wanted... I was bound and determined to get it all out. I spent all day working on it. Getting clothes, books... Stuff. Everything she'd said and more.

I spent all evening loading it. I really didn't want to help overly much - then ended up filling my car up and taking that over as well. AND unloading. I gave her my table as well. I can't stop being a good guy in all the wrong ways sometimes.

My blood sugar was crashing, hard. I'd not had my mood meds the TWO nights before that and that was an absolute recipe for disaster.

I don't know what set me off. The blood sugar. The lack of meds. Seeing her move the last of her stuff out. Her saying she'd moved on, that she'd forgiven me. Or her talking about Jake, her new boyfriend.

I crashed emotionally. Badly. It was getting worse and worse as the evening drug on. By the end, I couldn't talk. I was snapping at boy and myself. I was at the end of tolerance and civility. I just had to get away. I mean, my girlfriend had drove up 2 hours to spend the weekend, everything was going to be okay, right?

I wish. I wish I could say that I took my meds, ate something and had a great weekend of laughing and sex and fun. I really do.

Instead I fell apart both emotionally and mentally. I just, I don't know. I completely melted down.

I prayed. I don't do that often. I don't agree with organized religions, even if I DO take my son to church every week. The church I take him to is awesome. The lessons apply even if you don't agree or even approve of the theology.

So I prayed. It opened a dam inside of me and what poured out was just raw emotion. Pure, unadulterated and unfiltered. It was NOT pretty. The word UGLY just completely fails to portray the magnitude of what came out. It just wouldn't stop. ALL FUCKING WEEKEND.

My poor girlfriend. Gods, caught right up in the middle of that. I couldn't eat. Got soo sick to my stomach it wasn't even funny. I couldn't sleep either. All she'd looked forward too all week was going to sleep in my arms. She did. I laid there for hours and hours and hours... Wide awake. I slept a total of maybe 3 hours Fri and Sat night. I was just terrible.

Pony left Sun morning. We were running late for church - but was going to go to the late service. After she left boy said we didn't have to go. He's been a trooper all weekend. Autistic's don't process the emotions as well - but he did what he could. He kept hugging me and trying to pet my head. But we didn't go. I just couldn't stop crying. It's probably much for the better... Who wants to see a 6'4 270lb bubba bawling like a baby in church?? lol

I took him to youth services in the eve. They had a Mud Stackle. Just an eve of tromping and running through the mud, so he was good.

I then did something terrible. I really don't have to have any money to spare - and I went out and dropped nearly all I had. I printed pictures. Hundreds of them. Around 300 I think. And bought her an album. And a huge collage to go on the living room wall. I'd called my ex - Annie - to hang out. She did a lot to help me reign it all in. Asked me to NOT give in right now, to not talk to woman again for a bit. I was still a mess. Still worked on it.

I got boy later. Finished as much as I could... Late in the night, I talked to a friend from long ago. One of the most ironic of things happened - she helped.

Why is that ironic? She was who me and Di first started fighting about. All the way back at the beginning. Then, when she realized I hadn't gotten rid of her as a friend, another huge fight. Then another and another. Over and over. Di picked a fight with her online even, and when that didn't work - picked one with her boyfriend as well.

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/inside-out/201309/the-5-stages-grieving-the-end-relationship

The fact that SHE would be the one to help me, when I'm soo deeply lost in grief. There is an irony there that is just unbelievable.

I'll be okay. It will all work out. I've got a lot to work out. To get past myself. To forgive, even myself.

Now I'm stuck with a huge pic collage on my livingroom wall. And a huge photo album of all the good times, pics of a hundred places and event and memories. I don't know what to do with it.

I just don't know. But it'll work out.

It'll be OK...