Jumping off the cliff

I’m at my parents’ house to deliver the news that my husband and I have separated, that I have moved out of my house and am looking for a temporary place to live. I arrived here around 2:30 pm today anticipating that I would let the cat out of the bag at dinner. Now it’s 10:30 pm and I haven’t said a word. I leave tomorrow, so the latest plan, now going on its 10th iteration (the first one plotted about two weeks ago), is to break their hearts at breakfast. I just don’t know how to find the words to tell them. But as soon as I do, I will have jumped off the cliff. There will be no going back. I don’t know how far it is to the bottom, and I’m scared to find out.

I keep thinking about contacting my married guy friend to seek his comfort even though I know it’s a bad idea. If my husband and I are to have any hope of salvaging what’s left of our marriage, I’d better try really hard to not think of this other guy, to not ponder the various mediums through which I could safely get his attention without risking his wife’s awareness.

I write all these things here for release. I know that my choices might elicit judgement from those who aren’t keenly aware of the complexities of life’s most intimate relationships; my choices will certainly elicit judgement from my self, something I dole out in harsh and cruel ways. But through this writing outlet, I will strive not to judge even my own thoughts. Here I will allow myself the opportunity and the freedom to ”get it out” in any form my thoughts may take and to not get in the way.

I’m standing at the edge and am about to test my limits.

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