The Dirt Field

Dear Paul,

It has been about nine months since I moved out to start my life over, and I guess it would not come as a surprise to you to know that I’ve been doing a bit of dating lately. For the most part, I’ve kept everything related to our marriage off this blog because I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, but I’d like to start hiding less of my life, which means the occasional post about dating and/or relationships. In case you do still stop by this site, I think you deserve an introduction to this new phase of my life above and beyond having me just jump right in.

To be perfectly honest, I know that you have at least taken steps to move on as well. When I stopped by our apartment a few months ago, I was snooping around (you always loved my nosy, self-entitled side, right?) and I found a box of, um, things in your beside table, things that were not there when I still was. Because I am just that crazy, I counted them and made sure to do so every time I stopped by afterwards. Nuts, right? I think it was mostly because I wanted to make sure you were doing okay, that you were at least taking steps to move on, because then I could stop worrying that I’d hurt you irreparably and that you were miserable.

But I know that, things aside, you are still hurting. People don’t just get over things like marriages ending in a few weeks. It probably doesn’t help you at all to hear that I’m not over it either, but at least keep that in the back of your mind when you think that I’ve moved on to a new life. I do miss you, your friendship, our life, everything that caused us to get as far as a year into our marriage. I tried making your cheesy pasta for the first time the other night, and I actually started tearing up while slicing the zucchini. That was your dish, not mine, and not only did I realize that I had no idea how to make it, but also that I had trouble eating it without you. The only good part was that I only used about five pots and pans, whereas you would always use ALL of ours and then some of the neighbors.

The best way for me to describe it is that I am a happy, healthy girl walking around with a large, bleeding gash in my side. The gash is healing, yes, but more slowly than I’d ever imagined, and sometimes it hurts like a bitch and I can’t get it to stop. Part of the hurt comes from inescapable guilt over hurting you so badly and leaving our marriage because I just couldn’t handle being married, while the other part hurts because we had a good, comfortable life and I really liked knowing you. Now you’re a complete stranger, and it is incredibly weird to ride my bicycle past your work and think, “I’m married to somebody in that building.” I don’t feel married; I just feel wounded and guilty and stupid.

If you’re actually reading this right now, you’re probably thinking that what I’m feeling pales in comparison to the damage I did to you, and you’re right. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not speaking my mind and heart before getting married, and for not being kind enough to tell you that I just wasn’t ready to be married. People tell me that time heals all wounds, but part of me thinks that I deserve to hurt over this for the rest of my life. It doesn’t seem fair that I could pull the rug out from under your life and then be perfectly fine. Maybe when I hear one day that you’re happily remarried to a girl who doesn’t suck and who treats you like a king, I’ll feel better about giving you the chance to go find her.

But for now, I need you to know that I have been seeing someone for a little while now, and I’d like to be able to talk about that relationship on here. It is really hard to enjoy writing this website if I feel like big parts of my life are taboo, and I think enough time has passed that it should be okay to start trying to move on. I’ve said everything I have thus far, though, so you can know that even if I am trying to start over and meet new people, I have not forgotten our life or you. You’ll always be in the back of my mind, long after you’ve decided that I’m not worth being sad over anymore. That’s what happens when you’re a wonderful person, Paul; you change people and touch them in big ways. As we agreed the other day, I turned out to be a douchebag in the end, but I have learned some valuable lessons from you – mainly, how to be a better person than I have been and how not to hurt others with my mistakes. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have learned that sooner.

I wish you all the happiness in the world,

Lindsay