27. Where is Happy again? It's not on the map.

The weekend that D was away with the bellydander on some bellydancing convention in Cityville, I was staying calm by counting my blessings.

I had a gorgeous, terrific, funny, sweet, charming Little One.

I had a house that I could afford to keep, therefore keeping Little One in her home.

I had a good job.

I no longer had to worry about D.

That last one was the one that kept making the most difference, because it allowed me to back the hell up a little and see my life for what it really was. The more I was away from D, the more I started to peel away the layers I'd put on myself during years of self-protection and find me, the me I'd been before the marriage.

I was astounded to discover how much I had changed who I was in order to save my marriage.

And I was ever so slightly more astounded to discover that D had absolutely no idea.

No wonder I'd resented him for years. No wonder I'd been completely passive aggressive. I kept moving, and shifting, and changing, and morphing, the whole time trying to become a woman who could first keep D happy, and then keep D and Little One happy. I realized that I had completely forgotten about myself.

And it showed. I had never lost the 20 pounds of baby weight; in fact, I'd gained another ten. I was drawn and sallow. My laugh sounded forced and slightly harsh. I hated myself for failing in my marriage, hated myself for being an imperfect mother, hated myself for not being a perfect wife.

How had I missed this?

In retrospect, I don't think I did miss it; I think I knew the whole time, but kept my head firmly planted in the sand. I just didn't want to come to terms with what I was doing or why I was doing it. I just wanted to forge ahead, and get to some point called "Happy" which was out there, somewhere, floating nebulously between here and death.

So when D returned from his bellydancer orgy or whatever it was (can you tell how much that stung?), I was able to be even and kind and bored with him. I didn't ask how his trip was. I didn't dig for information. I just kind of existed, calmly, not engaging in any small talk, just focusing on being me. Whoever that might turn out to be.

Interestingly, that same weekend, I got four calls from "Anonymous" on my phone. The irony was not lost on me. I was never home when any of them came through, and they didn't leave a phone number. But part of me fantasized that Mr. Anonymous was calling me for some reason...perhaps he just couldn't wait for the juicy morsels I could deliver?

And so, then it was Christmas. And my present to myself was the strictest of parenting plans. It addressed D's drug use and alcoholism. It gave me license to request a pee test if I ever felt that D had been drinking or drugging prior to having Little One. I could even take him to court over anything I might deem appropriate. And I had explained each of these points to him.

And what did he do when I explained each and every point? You might remember, he nodded and said, Okay, next. That was all. That lack of engagement made me crazy and happy at the same time. On the one hand, I was getting exactly the level of control that I wanted and needed to have in order to protect Little One long-term. On the other hand, HOW DID HE NOT CARE?! I just didn't get it.

Either way, I was getting the divorce I deserved. And so I added to my list of blessings:

I had a devilish little angel named Sally the Bellydancer, and she gave me everything I ever wanted for Christmas.

Of course, that didn't mean I hated her any less. I'm only human, after all.