Mirage

*TW: Language, coarse lifestyle details

Life is officially not worth living anymore. Trader Joe’s has no Almond Kringles, just a lousy table of frosted cinnamon rolls and pumpkin brioche. The store itself smells like freezer burn and upbeat commercialism, run by fabulously queer employees.

It’s hard to believe everyone can still walk around and pretend things are normal while I’m living the worst month of my life. Simultaneously, it feels like maybe it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Diagnoses for cancer are being handed out, people are dying of any number of causes, while others are incarcerated or losing custody of their children. And I’m here, wearing sweats and slides in a remarkably average Trader Joe’s, trying to process the beginning of a divorce from someone I originally thought I’d be with for the rest of my life. While it sucks, even now I struggle to justify my grief as I think of others who have more on their plate than me; a trait instilled into me early on by my devout Mormon mother.

I knew it was the end when I discovered texts with a few dozen s*x workers. Neatly deleted so as to not draw attention, but easily recoverable to reply to. The latest had been from just that afternoon, to one labeled “Joselin.” Plans with so many girls had been neatly scheduled for months while I was out at work, or spending time with others. I’d given him so many chances, and requested he get help for his porn addiction I’d discovered a few years earlier. But he’d always pushed me away and refused to make time for therapy, or practice any type of emotional vulnerability. Even more embarrassing because therapy was free through his workplace. With dates and other info pieced together, I discovered he’d been doing it for a long time, and had spent at least 10K on s*x workers, splitting his paycheck so part of it went to our joint account, while the other part went to a Doordasher Debit card. I guess stupid stuff like that really does work; just another thing for anxious spouses everywhere to fear, I suppose.

It felt weird, discovering it all, like the type of drama you see in movies, not real life. I know what he did wasn’t about me, but damn did it feel like a blatant disrespect and a lack of consideration for my feelings. And I knew that if I stayed, I wouldn’t be able to respect myself.

I kept things under wraps until I had my passwords changed and had figured out my next moves, then I had my friends help me move all of my stuff out while he was at work, and he came home to an empty house and an address to meet me at in the afternoon the next day.

We broke up at a Starbucks next to a Home Depot and a florist, typically symbols of a happy life a couple works on building together. I didn’t know I could cry so much, and I was mad at how I couldn’t justify ruining his life by signing him up for spam calls, leaking his banking info on the internet, or mass emailing all his coworkers. I wanted to tear him down, but I couldn’t bear to hurt him, even though he had pulverized my heart, crushing it underneath his purple On Cloud shoes. I felt bitterness at my cowardice, and weak for being unable to quash my compassion.

I’m trying to detach, to let go of a person that hid so much of themselves from me for the entirety of our knowing one another. And I’m slowly accepting that I didn’t really know him at all. He constantly lied to friends, family, coworkers and me about his interests, opinions and what he cared about.

I’ve cried so much for a mere mirage of a man who was never really there. I find myself desperate to reclaim parts of myself that shrank or disappeared around him, and realize a man afraid of his shadow would never be able to accept me in my fulness.

I’m back at therapy, again, to start the rebuilding process, and even though things are not yet fully in the rearview mirror, I’m looking forward to it.

Here’s to not shrinking myself to make a man happy.

Cheers to becoming the fullest version of myself.

Cheers to leaving behind a person who doesn’t share the same values.

Cheers to me for having the strength to leave.

Cheers to rebuilding.

Cheers to releasing shame and stepping into the light.

And cheers to the upcoming holidays, Trader Joe's had better get some goddamn Kringles in for the winter months.