Ripping off the bandaid every week.

We still go to marriage counseling every week, although I have chosen to call it co-parent counseling. I can't do it anymore. It's too painful and fools me into believing we are there because we might get back together and I don't know if I want that so I won't have to face all these changes or if I want that because I could love the ex again but then I realize that this thinking is futile to explore because -- reality check! -- we're two weeks away from being legally divorced.

Last week I showed up angry and defensive which is how I show up when I'm anxious and scared and, thanks to the therapist, ended up blubbery, snotty and smeared with tears. (Oddly, she has this type of Kleenex that leaves white fluff on my face and in my eyelashes that I have to pick off later -- usually after I've been to Costco.) Why? 'Cause she asked me what I'd miss about being married to the ex and I said it: having a person watching my back, having a first reader who I trusted, having another adult in the house to take over or run parenting issues by, and because the ex is one of the few people in the entire world who can make me laugh. Does it help to say these things out loud or does it just hurt? Then he said a few things he would miss and the only one I remember is that he said he would also miss being my reader. Being the co-dependent piece of shit the world revolves around I assumed he considered this a chore. Then he described my writing in the most appropriate way: desolate and funny. I may use this description in my query letter if I ever get around to sending out my novel. I just can't handle anymore rejection right now. I don't even like it when my cats ignore me. I have to remember my friend D's motto: DTIP, don't take it personally.