Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations by Jessica Vivian

sure to knock it right out of me.
I had a plan. I
had an escape strategy. I was going to get the hell out of this town.
I was going to finally find a home, plant some roots and watch them
grow. My family has had to move something like 8 times in five years.
    In the partnership between my ex-husband and I,
one of us is not very good at accepting responsibility - particularly
with finances.
    I thought that by removing that part of
the equation things would change. Nothing has changed. Everything has
gotten much much worse.
    I was dealt a blow today that nearly took me out.
Getting out of my lease a little early to move into the place I found
in Mobile is going to cost me a fortune that I do not have.
    All my plans are now, again, up in the air. And
the the staggering cost of childcare coupled with the fact that I
didn't finish college places me in a demographic that makes me want
to vomit.
    Single, uneducated mom with three kids.
    Gross.
    And the fact that I still can't get my
feet under me, and that I have to rethink the plan again, and
that incredibly poor choices I made over a decade ago are
still poisoning my life are enough to make me think really, really,
really dark thoughts. And fight really, really, really dark demons.
    I have to shut any and all thoughts of my general
failure as an adult out, because the tiniest drop leads to the
bowling ball in my throat, and the quivering words and the thoughts
of knives and razors. Just being honest. I apologize if I'm getting
too scary. I was a cutter, once, many years ago before postpartum
depression was a widely known thing. But then, I only had one child
and one baby and their eyes and ears weren't so big. For now I just
have to hold it. There is no escape.
    This is my punishment.
    And every single day through every single struggle – arguing with the Department of Children and
Families, asking my ex-father-in-law for gas money so I can get to
work, sitting in those disgusting government clinics waiting for up
to five hours to deal with these new and interesting ailments that
have cropped up – all I can think is that I am being punished.
And I fight and fight but eventually I go down the list:
    I should never have left Mobile. I didn't even
want to go to college.
I should never have introduced myself.
I
should have dumped him the first time he cheated.
I should have
moved back home when I found out I was pregnant.
I should not
have married him.
I should have divorced him sooner.
I should
have known you can't help people who don't want to be helped.
We
should never have moved back to Tampa together.
I should
have moved back to Mobile as soon as I moved out on my own.
    I don't trust my judgment at all anymore; not
with men, not with life.
I just give up.
    I know "this too shall pass" and I
"shouldn't look back" and "I'm the captain of my
soul.” I don't need any well-wishing. I am tired of it. It
isn't working.
    I cannot hear or believe any of it right now
because I put it in action, take it to heart, and I am still living
in an elephant shit sandwich. I screwed up my life. I screwed it bad.
    P.S. No need to put me on suicide watch. He would get the kids and that would be the real tragedy, trust me.

    Crazy - February 2011
    He
apparently started a relationship with some woman he met at one of
the many yoga retreats he goes to.
She is flying to Tampa from
Philadelphia to visit and he intends on introducing her to me and the
kids.
My first response was a firm “no thanks” which
was met with a guilt trip about how of
course I
have a problem with him dating and of course I'm using the kids
against him.
I didn't think that was what I was doing.
I
admit it pisses me off that he has the luxury of pursuing a new
relationship but doesn't feel the same tug to work for a living.
We are still trying to move away. I don't feel
like the kids need to be invested in his random girlfriend.
He
pushed and pushed and guilted and, second guessing my own judgment, I
gave in.
Her visit,