Divorced but Never Married: Part 6; 4 Years and $40

We were engaged for 4 years and were together for 7…

On April 29th, 13 days from today, I will have left the home I bought with my ex and three step-children for an entire year. Like February 14th, the day he proposed (and changed the meaning of Valentines Day, forever), I don’t see myself forgetting these dates, anytime soon.

I built that house into a home. He contributed financially. He yelled when the kids or I did something that didn’t bring him complete and utter pride.

But I made that house into a home–for us.

I pawned the cheap, Wal-Mart ring (actually, I had my boss take it in for me), which I had helped purchase, two weeks ago. I got $40 out of it and two other necklaces, which he had bought me for our 1st Christmas together.

I took the $40 and drank that weekend away, at a bar.

Ironic, yes, I left him, in part, because of his nightly drinking.

I don’t drink on weekdays much–anymore.

But I have been drinking every weekend. I’m far from proud of it. I’m not sure my social life is healthy–but I’m enjoying my new wings! Too much.

After 8 months of depression and the unimaginable frequency of my panxiety attacks, embarking on a social journey has exponentially increased my anxiety surrounding the upcoming anniversary.

I can’t remember why I loved him.

But I’m not in love with him


I can remember why I left him

And I don’t get to see my kids


I can still see every hole, in every wall

I can remember the sights and sounds of

Broken doors.

I can remember giving him back the ring

I can remember taking it back


I can remember wearing it on a chain

Around my neck–for a month,

Maybe more.

I can remember touching for the space,

The empty space of my ring finger,

More and more.


Less and less.

Till nothing was left: no indention;

No tan line; no impression; no score.


I can remember all the tears I shed

Erroneously endeavoring to wait for his

Love to soar.

I can remember thinking he would try

To be a better, more sober man.

I was a prisoner of war.

But not anymore.

•I can’t remember those nights I spent that $40. But I can remember how empty my heart felt when I was battling in that war.

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