It's the Little Things that Bring the Most Hope. Or Welcome Distractions. Either Way...It IS the Little Things.

It's a heart ripping out of my chest kind of process to start life all over alone after almost 13 years with someone I didn't stop loving.  To be strong enough to say uh, uh, no more, this behavior is not acceptable when I still care for him has been some kind of journey I'm not sure I can explain.  The cramps squeezing my chest are intense and breathing exercises are an essential daily practice to the north bound movement.  The waves of nausea buckle me over at times and it's virtually impossible to stand up straight for fear I'll vomit right on the spot.  Yet, I know my decision is the right one. 

There are moments I miss his hugs or the hair on his chest in all the right places.  His soft flawless skin.  Or how I even like how his "stank" smells.  What overrides that question in my mind of "am I doing the right thing?" is the fact that I can't picture his face without seeing the tick in his temple and jaw that indicate he's about to unleash a furious barrage of unprovoked insults.  The look that went from every blue moon to every day.  Or the image of his intimidating lunging leer over me with his condescending scowl telling me all the ways I don't measure up and it's lucky I have him.  Lord knows how I managed to live my life up til meeting him, right?!  Phfft.  I keep thinking I'm not damaged, I'm OK.  I'm strong.  And I am strong.  But truth is there's residual damage and it will take a while to reset my mind and untangle my feelings.

I drove by Portillo's and the memory of an entire Sunday AND Monday ruined because he was so angry I ordered myself more food than he felt I could eat crept in.  I sit a little taller behind the wheel.  I wave as I drive by.  Hello, Portillo's, my friend.  I shall order that "Big Beef" combo meal  any time I want now.  I'm watching TV when a commercial comes on and don't loose my TV privileges because I failed to flip the station to a channel with a program in progress (and really?  Sometimes commercials are the best. For one, a rest room break without missing a beat.  An unexpected giggle from State Farm's "Mayhem".  Sarah McLauchlan reminding me it's time to place my ASPCA donation).  I'm discussing Gasparilla plans with friends today and it hits me...I am free to make plans.  To "lock it in"!  I'm free to enjoy the planning process and the excitement it generates.  No more controlling, domineering presence to keep me wondering if we'll be participating this year til the morning of.  Nope.  This year, I ALREADY know I'm going.  I ALREADY signed the food list with what I'll be bringing to share.  I'm a happy drinker.  I say if you're not gonna be happy when you drink, don't do it.  What would the point be? But it's not the drinking that bothers him, even though that's what you can expect from a beautiful day at the biggest party in all of Tampa.  It's about him disliking the social side of it.  It's about him wanting to isolate us from everyone else.  Not this time, ladies and gents.  This girl is getting her "arrrrrggggh" on with no one to yank me up by my arm like a misbehaving toddler because a pirate offered me a rose.   People watching?  Drinks and laughs with friends?  Good food? New memories? Rose from a pirate?  Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes, please.  

So, that's what I gotta do.  Appreciate the little things that make my world a little bit bigger these days.  Focus on the things I've missed so much.  Like peace of mind to enjoy life; to love life with no apologies.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  I've got this.