I used, when it all kicked off, to send myself emails as things occured to me. (I still do.) And now, sometimes when I am looking for other things, I find them. They give me a jolt – I have usually forgotten the incidents and thoughts. And they make me cry.
Today this one surfaced, dated March 2013, so 6 months after BH walked out on us, and while my son was on a school trip to Greece.
Asked [son] today whether he had been in touch w his father and he said he had had no phone call or text from him (he left for Greece last Wed I think, and [husband] knows – keeps telling me in a showoffy way – the dates of the trip). But as [son] said, he would not expect to hear from him as he never does normally.
Just had both me and [younger daughter] in tears at the dinner table. She says I call her fat (I don’t). I did mention to her earlier today that I could smell chocolate on her breath. She had made a hot chocolate, and of course she is allowed to do so, but I pointed out to her that I am worried that she does seem to prefer unhealthy to healthy foods, that she had earlier enquired as to when we were going to eat the chocolate cake [older daughter] had made (last week she made a cake to take to school, and baked two – our share has been in the fridge since). [Younger daughter] had made rice pudding for her breakfast this morning (the strawberries, raspberries and blueberries were untouched in the fridge), yesterday we had people over and ate biscuits. I reminded her that she had given up ballet this term, and all term had not done any exercise to replace it, as we had agreed. I do not want her to suffer as I have for being fat, which has blighted my life. Of course, she is thirteen and her dad has just left her so it is not surprising that we have scenes like this, especially with me, given I am obese and my husband has left me and I am very much on edge too.
He meanwhile seems to be living the life of Reilly.
The fact that all is different up to and including her name, the fact that, having had nothing to do with BH she, too, left and went to live with him. The fact that she is absolutely and utterly unrecognisable from the child I knew. There must be some kind of support group for people whose children are estranged. So many things I maybe should have done differently. But still not sure how much of it is actually about me. Or indeed what the fuck is going on. Misery misery misery.
I’m struck by the reference to all the fresh berries, and then I remember that it was later that month that the money stopped altogether, and the process of selling everything just to pay our bills began, and the threats of eviction and the terror of how on earth I was going to manage. I remember now that people kept telling me that things could only get better and they kept getting worse.
But then on the other hand, when I got in touch with an old friend at around that time, and told her that that BH had left, the first thing she said was ‘You didn’t know it, but that was the good news.’ I laughed, though I didn’t believe it. But she WAS right.