Today I sign my divorce papers. It's a weird mixture of excitement and dread. In late 2019 I asked my wife of 15 years for a divorce. It was out of the blue for her, but not for me. I had spent several years trying to convince myself that I didn't want a divorce, and it slowly ate away at my sanity until I couldn't take it anymore.
I have been overwhelmed with guilt the entire time, and have taken all of her subsequent misfortunes on my shoulders, as if I am to blame for everything wrong that ever happens to her. That's not fair to me, I've known that the whole time, but YOU try telling a feeling to go fuck itself... those things are harder to get out than chewing gum in a carpet.
I'm so lucky that the separation has been amicable. Right from the get-go we have tried to remain friends, as hard as it can be. No kids, thankfully, and not a lot of assets to fight over. The delay has been thanks to our old friend COVID-19, which hit 6 months after we split up. 6 months after I left her, more precisely. I avoid saying things like that because it helps assuage my guilt, but the fact is that I left her, and she has felt jilted ever since.
If not for the pandemic we would have wrapped this divorce up sooner, but I'm not so sure it would've gone as amicably as it did, because time heals all wounds yadda yadda. Since everything was shit during the pandemic, we both agreed without even saying it out loud that we were in no rush to finalize the divorce. Why invite more worry? I'm happy that we waited. She's moved on somewhat, and that makes me feel happy and less guilty. Once these papers are signed I look forward to more days of less guilt. I'll always feel somewhat guilty for not trying harder to save the marriage, or for not leaving sooner, but hopefully that wound will heal over now I've stoppeded picking the scab.
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