Have you ever experienced the interesting added boon of misery which comes from being the only miserable one in a crowd of happy people?
Last Saturday, I came across yet another kind of hurt on this particularly cheerful journey through heartbreak, when my children came back all happy from spending 24h with T and The New Ms T.
Everyone was visibly relaxed and happy (good), my son pronounced the New Ms T nice (good), and said he’d had a good time (very good given the very up and down nature of his relationship with T over the last six months). All is great then, so why does it make me feel so miserable?
And I practically gagged when my son casually mentioned that he played with his Bakugans while T and the New Ms T took a nap together. It made me want to scream : “This is what we did! She has taken my place! They are playing families with my family!”.
This new turn of events hurts in ways I find hard to describe (she says after crossing out various attempts including mentions of out-of-this-world, dentist-drill with no anaesthetics and Abba’s greatest hits on a loop). It makes my eyes close, my chest cave in, my heart crumble.
A year ago exactly, I remember a walk we took in the woods, the four of us together picking chestnuts and kicking leaves. I remember wondering about what to cook for dinner and chatting with T about a friend of his, work, and needing to service the car. And now this?