Sunday, 22 June 2014

7 things no-one tells you about getting divorced.

Before I head to Thailand and officially sign off the last couple of years, here's one last thought on it all...

1) The first post-breakup supermarket shop will cripple you.  No one tells you that something as innocuous as going for a food shop has the potential to draw tears to your eyes or make you want to collapse in a heap in the middle of an aisle.  It just suddenly hits you full force in the stomach.  It's hard to define, but I think it's the first time (often early on) that you're confronted with a tangible sense of loneliness.  Shopping for one. It's heartbreaking. The freezer that used to be stocked full of yours and theirs... The little things that they used to like that you can't buy for them anymore. The love songs playing in the background. Truly, one of the worst.

2) You will have to actively stop yourself becoming a cynical son of a bitch everyday, for a long time. This one seems obvious on the surface, but actually it's not quite so straightforward. It's natural that you will feel hurt, betrayed and mistrusting just after a break up. But no-one tells you that everyday these feelings will get worse and worse if you don't actively stop yourself. No one tells you that we are all one step away from becoming emotional vacuums; that we can become the cliche of the hurt, cynical divorcee within only weeks or months.  You can't understand how to deal with the bitterness and rejection inside you so you begin (consciously or unconsiously) to take it out on others and their happiness.  The smallest flicker of happiness and you feel you have to crush it; often in your head, sometimes out loud. 

But it's not because you're spiteful, it's because you're resentful, and you don't know how to get it back. You resent the niaive, happy-go-lucky personality you see in others, because it represents everything you once were, and are no longer.  This compounds the anger you feel towards your ex partner and your current situation.  But you have to make peace with yourself and let go of the poison you want to move on. No one tells you how hard it will be; you have to take it daily and with small steps. 

Eventually you do get there. 

3) Your friends do care... But in different ways. Weddings separate the casual friend from the genuine one. Both parties have to draw a line and decide what side of it they stand on. Long term break ups or divorces are no different. Some people who you thought were friends will betray you - it's inevitable - but the majority will stand by and be there for you, no matter what. Some will be in the foreground - helping, advising and listening. They'll be very good at it and you'll appreciate them more than you ever realised you could. 

However, many will be in the background; you'll hardly notice them at the time and in all probability you'll think that they don't care. But overwhelming likelihood is that they do - they just have a different way of showing it. 

Not everyone is an extrovert. Not everyone is good at knowing what to say. From your friend that asks you if you're ok today, to the friend that simply says 'hi' or shares a joke with you - they all care. But you only really begin to realise that when you've got through it all. 

4) You feel like you've lost everything because you have lost everything. And that's ok. There are many, many times ahead of you where you'll feel like you've literally lost it all. You've anchored your happiness to one person for so long that the absence of them will make you question everything you thought you knew. Every ideal you ever had in your head about yourself suddenly has a jarring displacement. You lose so much more than your marriage / long term relationship; you feel like you've lost your extended friends and family; you've let people down. You've destroyed the idealistic id inside your brain because, by all accounts, you've lost. 

But that's ok.  Whilst it'd be flippant to say embrace it, you do have to accept it and understand it; don't pretend that it's not there in the hope that it won't be tomorrow. It will. 

The best growth I ever had during those dark days was when I actually confronted how low I was and how much I felt lost, and accepted it. It's only when I did this that I began to move away from the stubborn perception if had of myself for so long and began to recreate a new a version. This, I guess, is what we euphemistically call growth. 

5) Nights are - without doubt - the worst. Work and day-to-day life generally keep you busy and your mind distracted; the silent strangle of night does the exact opposite. Repressed thoughts from throughout the day have a nasty habit of bubbling up when you're lying in what was your marital bed in the dark. It's inevitable. If you sleep well you have either had a lot of Prozac, a lot of booze, or both. Your body is physically at its lowest ebb between 2am and 4am, so literally nothing will make you feel any worse about your situation than waking up at this time at flicking your brain on. I found 'white noise' apps helped immeasurably during this time. 

6) You will never be the same again. I guess people do tell you this, but I don't think I ever truly appreciated quite what I meant until it happened to me. You can go though every low imaginable; you can confront demons, re-assess perceptions and push yourself in every single way you can think of.  And eventually, you will feel like you've come through it; you will feel like you're 'healed', 'better' or 'a new person'. 

But you will never - ever - be the same again. You just won't. That doesn't mean you have to become a cynical misanthrope. It just means that you have to accept that who you were before the breakup is never going to be who you are now.  How could it? You can't go through such trauma - and it is trauma - and remain the same. 

Essentially, your life is now a new paradigm. You are now you (who you were) plus someone new: a human hooked on hindsight and forever trying prove you're the better version because of it all. Whether you are or not depends entirely on you, of course. 

7) You can be a better person and it is possible to be happy for your ex. Two cliches that seem at best idealistic when you've just broken up and at worst an invitation to beat the living shit out of the person that's just said it.  

But they are true, albeit with a monumental amount of inner work and acceptance. Break ups and divorces can be one of the hardest things that you will ever have to encounter in your life and it is so, so easy to become the cynical tear in other ('happier') people's eyes. But it genuinely doesn't have to be that way.  It just takes a lot of hard work, acceptance and looking the truth (and the ex) square in the eye. 

Certainly, I think huge break ups can - definitely - destroy you if you let them. They make you question every part of your identity, your friendship groups, your work and your relationships. If you let it, every single one of these aspects can be eroded, if not destroyed, by your loss.   However by the same token, such a catastrophic event in your life can improve it; it can force you into empowerment: 'taking back' your life and re-defining it; essentially re-building it from the ground up in the way you've always wanted.  If you manipulate your raw emotion into willful determination you can be a better person than before.  You can make what was only ever a fleeting fantasy in your head into a tangible reality. 

In the same way, you can easily end up hating your ex. It's natural and so incredibly easy. But as the saying goes, forgiveness is not about the other person, it's about you: it's about you finding your own peace.  If you ever get the chance - as hard as you think it might be - meet up with that person who meant so much to you once and seek out your resolution. Look them in the eye and forgive them. And more importantly, be happy for them. 

Because whether you realise it or not at the time, they'll have been going though the very same seven processes, too; you just never considered it.  

And then you'll realise that you've both have let the past go. And then you'll smile. 


Wednesday, 11 June 2014

Abort Mission: The bemused life experiences of no-one in particular.

Tales of Thailand, Part 1: Arrival

Ah - Thailand. In my many adventures to foreign lands, few stand out in quite the same way as the Land of the Smiles.  Perhaps it's the fact that I was only fresh-faced 18 year-old 'farang' when I first went there; perhaps was the heady combination of Thai Chang and menthol cigarettes that did it (never before or since - those bastards hurt). 

I'd already been over there for a couple of months, seeing out my four-month 'gap-yah', when I first travelled down to Phuket. Why exactly I was heading down there I forget now, but I'm pretty sure it had absolutely nothing to do with the whole TEFL, improve the-lives-of-others shtick I'd been working on, and mostly everything to do with the fun-time socialising, generally-getting-obliterated-out-of-my-face shtick instead.  Ah well, I'm sure Ghandi had his fair share of vacations too, you know.

Since Phuket, being in the far south of the country, was surprisingly far from Bangkok (just over 500 miles; almost the length of Lands End to John O 'Groats), getting there involved the sheer joy of a 10-hour overnight bus.  Not ideal, but hey - the buses were a lot cheaper than any flights were back then, and besides which, I was lucky enough to have the delightful company of two fellow gap-yas: New Yorkian Kate and Irish Debbie.  More on those two later.  I kept reminding myself that the travel itself was meant to be part of the adventure (it is an unwritten rule that you must live every travel cliche in the book at 18, don't you know). I keenly booked my ticket.  

Around an hour into the journey, we passed another Bangkok to Phuket bus. Unlike ours, however, this one had one significant difference: it was upside-down, smoldering in a ditch. 

I would like to tell you that it was at this point that Debbie, Kate and I decided to turn back; to heed the ominous sign from above and get the hell off the coach. I would like to tell you this, but I can't because it would be a load of old tuk-tuks. No: the fun was just getting started.

What can be literally no more than five minutes after the 'Death Coach', our own suddenly lurched to the right and back again, like some kind of drunken pass at the nearby traffic. And again. 

We sat bolt-upright, adrenaline surging into our god damn eyeballs, as the coach leered back and forth to a chorus of outraged horns and gasps of dismay from inside.  This was absolute suicide on the driver's behalf and would almost certainly result in certain death if it didn't stop right away.  We were about to become Death Coach Part II.  

Kate, the elder of the group (a seasoned veteran at 26) and who seemed to wear a foreign coat of confidence only the Americans really seem to pull off, stood up and began shouting.  Loudly. 

"Stop this fucking coach." 
Stunned silence.
"I mean it." 
Raised American voice. Murmuring of discontentment. Kate waving her arms about indignantly. Vehicle still swerving. 
"Someone stop THIS GOD DAMN COACH RIGHT NOW - I WANT TO GET OFF!"  
Continued murmuring. Debbie almost in tears. 
My arse cheeks clasped tight-enough to break a platinum walnut. 

"I WANT TO GET OFF THIS COACH NOW! GET ME OFF THIS COACH!"

The coach, seemingly no longer able to take the impassioned wailings of an agitated American, suddenly came to an abrupt halt - in the middle of the three-lane traffic.  No matter. 

Debbie and I had only just begun to re-gain what was collectively left of our senses and tattered underpants, when it became clear that Kate - true to her word - was absolutely not going to stay on this fucking bus, 

"I am absolutely not staying on this fucking bus," she reasoned.

"But Kate -" 
"It'll be fine-"

"-No way.  I'm not staying another minute on this death-trap.  You can come with me if you like, but I am getting off.  Right now."

And so we watched, second-by-agog-second, as Kate made her way down the coach aisle, publicly berated the driver, forced him outside,  made him open the outside of the coach holdall, took her travel bag, swore, and walked off across 6 lanes of traffic into the dead of the Thai night.

Deborah and I sat in utter, astonished silence, too afraid to even look at each other.  An unspoken thunderstorm of questions cracked across our minds.  Should we get off the coach, too?  Where the hell were we, anyway?! Would Kate be okay; how the hell was she going to get back to Bangkok?  Surely this coach wasn't safe.  If we stayed, what were the odds that we'd die, arse-up in a ditch?  If we left, what were the odds that we'd die...arse up in a ditch? There seemed to be limited options.  

What the fuck should we do we do?  The coach burbled back into life and seemed to instantly evaporate all of our questions.  We now had no choice: we were stuck on Death Coach Part II and Kate was out there on her own.  

In fact, I can honestly say that at that moment, only one question remained in my mind; now - where did I put my menthols?  It was going to be a long journey.