Week #2

Jan. 8

A New Me! But First My Daughter

A new me! is making strides. I’m rocking along, doing my meditation in the morning, which is at a whopping seven minutes, journaling like Oprah, sticking more or less to my food plan, and then THIS fun thing I read in my 15-year-old daughter’s journal. Hush, don’t judge. When you go through a divorce and your best friend is your pillow in your dark bedroom, I am at a loss as to how to connect with her. So reading her journal it is. Her journal is an assignment from her therapist. Her therapist gives her certain subjects to cover but she doesn’t have to share. Brilliant, I think.

Dear Diary,

Dr. Montgomery wants me to write about last semester. She pretty much knows everything about it, but whatevs. She wants me to do it, so here goes.

I failed biology. I knew it was going to happen, but it suh-ucks. I don’t know if it means summer school or not. My mom knows. She’s upset, like always. Not mad, but sad. Dad doesn’t know yet. The old Dad would flip. The newly divorced Dad probably will be okay about it. I don’t know if he’s being nice because he cheated on Mom and broke up the family, or he is being nice because he just doesn’t care. I don’t know and frankly I don’t care at this point. This school is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. A lot harder than middle school. It’s a fancy, private Christian school. Everyone was nice for the first couple of weeks. Then the mean girl stuff started brewing under the surface. I could feel it. Sigh. I had hoped since it was a Christian school that the mean girl stuff would go away. But deep down I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky. Christians can be just as mean as everyone else.

What.The.Hell. My mother just came back from one of those parties at your friend’s house where you buy stuff. You know, those parties that all moms get invited to. She bought a set of essential oils and a fancy diffuser. She says it will help with our anxiety, and I know she really means Jack Jr.’s anxiety. It has hit an all-time high since Dad left. He’s not sleeping. He’s convinced someone is going to break into the house. He’s getting panic attacks.

A couple of weeks ago she went to one of those parties and came back with a whole sleeping set for Jack Jr. that must have cost a fafillion dollars. It’s a mattress, blanket and pillow. She’s all excited because it has magnets and the magnets are supposed to help him calm down. I can’t go to Sephora to get my favorite contour, but Jack Jr. can get a whole new sleeping set. Like any of this is going to help. Really. Doesn’t she realize that nothing’s going to help him sleep or take away our anxiety, except maybe Dad coming back, and that’s not going to happen. I overheard her yelling at my dad over the phone that she thinks Jack Jr. is suicidal. I wanted to join in and yell right back that we all are, but only Jack Jr. is saying it. And she thinks throwing essential oils and magnets at it will help. Yah right.

Mom says the drive to school is harder than she thought it would be, but it’s not like she never knew it was thirty minutes away. It’s not a surprise. She said she and Dad made the decision for me to go here before Slutty-slut-slut showed up, and Mom didn’t want to rock the boat. I think that’s her nice way of saying she just didn’t want to deal with it, which is fine with me. I like the school. Jack Jr. comes with us every morning, even though that means waking up before dawn. He drags his blanket and pillow with him and curls up in the back seat. What’s he going to do when the stupid Houston heat hits and he’s under this huge blanket? I guess he’s too scared to stay at home, even though he’s in the sixth grade. He’s still not sleeping, even with the blanket and stuff. My mom and dad bought all these things for him to help him with his issues. Things like vitamins and a chair that spins super fast and a small trampoline for his room. I know I shouldn’t complain, but I don’t think any of them have worked, and I bet it cost a lot. With them always complaining about money, it didn’t make much sense to me why they spent all this money on stuff that doesn’t work. And they end up divorcing anyway. Well, that was mainly because of Slutty-slut-slut but they were arguing about money a long time before she showed up.

I’m not surprised that Jack Jr. is scared all the time. I guess I am too. Our dad left. No one should expect us to be all happy all the time. I’m not happy even some of the time.

I know I sound totally depressing, and I’m not meaning to. It’s just that things are harder since Dad left.




Oh, my heart. It doesn’t get easier no matter how many times I read it. The one thing that is giving me life is Sheryl’s nickname – Slutty-slut-slut. THAT IS GENIUS! Thank you, Lord, for making me smile! I shall call her SSS for short. She doesn’t deserve to have her name used anyways.

As for the rest of it, clearly no one is happy here. I don’t know what to do about that. I’m totally depressed and don’t know what to do. Lucy’s right about Jack Jr.’s issues. We don’t know what to do. We are throwing stuff on the wall to see what sticks. So far, not much has. And she’s right about the money. Jack and I were arguing about that for a long time before SSS showed up.

I’m under the covers now. It is my favorite place. So quiet and comfy and safe. I am working so hard on the new me! but stuff like this comes up and BAM – I feel like I’m back at ground zero. There is another good thing here (besides SSS, which I can’t get enough of) and that is the fact that I’ve not eaten over this, mainly because I threw out the rest of the cookies, but also because I know it won’t help. More food never makes things better, despite what I’ve told myself for years. More food won’t cure my son’s anxiety. It won’t make my kids happy. It won’t bring Jack back.  It would ruin me, and then where would the new me! be?




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