Grounds of Incompatibility

They used to call it “irreconcilable differences”. It was the miscellaneous, catch-all reason to divorce someone when there’s really no one at fault. There’s even a movie about it with Drew Barrymore.

I guess now it’s been updated to “grounds of incompatibility”. It doesn’t have the same Hollywood ring to it, but it means the same goddamn thing:

I don’t want to be with you anymore.

I don’t know when my wife decided we were incompatible. Maybe it was when she met Ray. Maybe it was five years ago. Maybe it was the day after our wedding. Maybe it was the night before.

She tells me that she was never really in love with me. That she only married me because I possessed many of the qualities she wanted in a husband and that she hoped the romantic feelings would develop. They never did.

She says we have no “chemistry”, whatever the fuck that means. I guess her knees don’t get weak every time I walk in the room. I guess she doesn’t get butterflies when we kiss. I guess her pussy doesn’t throb when we hold hands.

Whatever.

If she didn’t feel any chemistry with me, maybe she should have had the courage to say no when I proposed. That’s what a decent person would have done. But she’s not a decent person. She’s a rancid, selfish bitch who is destroying my family. I hope she gets compatible with someone soon and he treats her like garbage.

Today, to be divorced means being incompatible.

Thank God For Facebook Messenger

Up until two days ago, I believed my wife’s reason for divorcing me:

That she never really loved me in the first place.

But then I got this message:

I got this at work and could barely function the rest of the day. I knew something had to be going on. She talked about these classmates of hers at this Air Force training class ad nauseam, so I’m not surprised she got involved with the one she talked about the most, Ray.

Fuck you, Ray.

I don’t know if things between them ever became sexual. I haven’t confronted my wife with this revelation yet. But it really doesn’t matter. Even if it was just an emotional affair, that’s just as bad. Maybe worse. I think I would rather she have gotten drunk one night and fucked a stranger. Maybe that wouldn’t hurt so bad. Maybe that I could forgive.

I talked with Maria for about 45 minutes on Tuesday night. She seems like a sweet, loving lady. She and Ray have been married 27 years and have two children together. And he was willing to break up his family and hook up with my wife, who is breaking up ours.

Jesus.

They deserve each other. I hope my wife signs over her parental rights and runs off to be with him. I hope he leaves his wife and starts fucking mine. Then I hope their lives together are cursed forever and that they die horrible, painful deaths without their children around. That’s what they deserve.

Today, to be divorced means I want them to suffer.

Visiting Hours

I told you before how I live next door to my soon-to-be ex-wife and my children. When it’s “her days” with the kids, she allows me to stop in for a minute after I get home to say hi to them.

I text her once I get inside my place and ask if I can come over. I have to ask permission to come over to the place I lived for ten years. Then I walk about 30 feet and knock on my old front door. I hear my children inside yelling, “Daddy!” and running towards the door. My son usually gets there first and lets me in. He gives me a big hug, the kind little kids do when they jam their shoulder into your throat. He usually brings me a picture he drew for me, or wants to show me something in his room.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t live there anymore, so I feel weird just walking around wherever he wants me to go. So I stand there awkwardly and tell him I’ll have to see it another time. The girls find me. My eldest is so big and grown-up looking. She says confidently and sweetly, “Hi Daddy,” and hugs me. I ask her how her day was and she tells me something short. My middle is usually last to greet me. Not because she’s indifferent, but because she’s usually absorbed in whatever her current art project is. But then she rushes over and hugs me hard. She lifts her feet and I have to try to not fall forwards. She’s so sweet and warm and I just want to hold her forever.

The house looks different now. She’s already made a lot of changes, but even the things that are unchanged are no longer familiar. I wasn’t even moved out yet and she had a painter in there updating the color in the living room. If she had murdered me, my body would have still been warm.

Other than seeing my children, I hate being over there. It’s not mine anymore and I don’t like the memories of when it was. It’s a Bizarro World Twilight Zone of surrealism that makes me uncomfortable and sad.

I hug and kiss them all again and say goodbye and I love you. Then I leave quickly before I start crying. I don’t say goodbye to her.

She doesn’t deserve it.

Today, to be divorced means bitterness.

My Family Next Door

Twelve feet.

That’s how far apart our houses are.

When my wife decided we were beyond reconciliation, she called the owner of the house next door. The previous tenants had moved out the month prior and we knew the owner. We had seen him and his wife working on the house, getting it ready to rent. She told them the situation and asked if I could move in.

Divorce experts will tell you to live a minimum of one mile apart from each other. In addition to the obvious physical distance, this creates emotional distance and helps prevent awkwardness when the two of you start dating other people. But I wanted to be as close to my children as possible, and she knew it. The prospect of not seeing my children everyday was killing me, so against better judgment, I moved in.

It won’t be a good long-term solution. I can already see it being problematic. Last night I went outside to lift my windshield wipers off of the windshield because we were supposed to get some freezing rain and I didn’t want them to stick. Just as I was walking to my car, she was walking to hers. She was all dolled-up, ready for what I’m sure was a date.

I didn’t look over twice. I did what I needed to do and walked back inside. The tears and vomit were welling up and I didn’t want her to see whatever was about to come out of me. Somehow I made it inside and calmed down.

When it’s “her nights” with our children, I go to sleep alone in a house that’s twelve feet from my family, but it might as well be a galaxy away.

Today, to be divorced means feeling isolated.


The Beginning of the End

My wife filed for divorce yesterday. Things started falling apart about a week before Thanksgiving. The holidays were a nightmare. We told our children on January 4th. I moved out a month ago. In 90 days, the divorce will be final. I still don’t really know what happened. This blog will be my process of trying to figure it out.

Today, to be divorced means confusion.