This week marks one year since I moved out of the house I bought with the only person I loved enough to marry, the one whose soul connected to mine for more than 20 years before our partnership shattered spectacularly. At the time I felt only relief – that a grueling, chaotic, acrimonious, and mind-numbingly expensive separation process was finally over.
But in recent months, I've been getting in better touch with exactly how much I've lost.
I've had a number of minor setbacks in the past week or two.
* The worst part of it all, is that I have no one to talk to – to commiserate with, to put their arm around me, to give me an actual hug (rather than simply saying "hugs", which is a sweet sentiment but alas, no substitute for the real thing). I've started to bring up some of the issues to some of my casual friends, and they quickly change the subject. They don't know me well enough to listen to my woes. Only cheerful news for them. I understand. There have occasionally been people in my life I've had to distance myself from because their constant negativity was a drain on my energy.
To avoid being alone on a Saturday, I went to a meetup today that one of the local lesbian groups was organizing. It wasn't bad. There were four other women there. Two were a couple, and the other two had a partner or wife that had some other commitment. They were friendly, but I still felt like a bit of an outsider. I don't know why, but they seemed to communicate more readily with each other than with me. Maybe they knew each other from before. Maybe some or all of them clocked me. Or maybe I'm just hard to get to know. I have this problem a lot. I've never mastered the art of socializing as part of a group.
I've begun calling these outings "imitation social life." They feel social – I'm around people and not at home polluting the wonderful boards at
susans.org with depressing accounts of toxic emptiness – but they don't nurture me the way spending time would with people who understand and appreciate me and I them. I left feeling empty and alone and wondering what I need to do to once again feel like I'm connected to the world socially.
For 20 years I had someone with whom I had companionship and mutual support. Now I don't . It took me more than ten years of dating to find her, and that was when I was a young handsome eligible male. Now I'm deep into middle age, relatively plain looking, and with a gender that doesn't even really have a name. Non-binary. The Gender Defined By What It's Not. I can imagine there must be people for whom I'd be a suitable mate, but since my separation, I have yet to even have someone attracted to me after they find out that I didn't start life as a female. It doesn't look like Mr./Ms./M. Right is coming along anytime soon.
So for the foreseeable future, I come home to an empty house after a difficult day, scroll through my phone contacts and realize there is no one here who would welcome a call from me, to hear about my life or tell me about their own.
*I lost a lot of money when the clinic where I had arranged prepaid body laser treatment shut down unexpectedly. My electrologist told me I was one of the hardest cases she had in her 30 years of practice, and that after a year of facial laser and another year of going to her, I probably had several more years left of $150.00 and giving up an entire afternoon and most of an evening every single week. My son told me he failed nearly all his courses at college. And they are making changes to curricular programs in my school system that will make my students far less prepared when they enter my classes. To top it off a number of my most frequently used machines began giving me trouble, including a car that is completely dead, an exercise machine that has begun making popping and cracking noises when I use it while the resistance fades in and out, an electric shaver with a perforated foil that now can't be used without cutting up my face, and a nose/ear/eyebrow trimmer that just quit working.