Last weekend was interesting – as usual pulled in 100 different directions with little time for relaxation or reflection.

I experienced another one of the famous side effects last Saturday night.  We were having a “big night out”, which at the moment consists of the Fasta Pasta Movie Deal at Readings Harbour Town – w00t.  I am still uncomfortable about taking my bucket load of drugs in public I therefore chased them down at home before we left.  This was about 40 minutes before I was able to eat – which I now consider to be root of my problems.  I felt fine during the less than inspiring dinner – at least it lived up to its name.  It was indeed fast and consisted mainly of pasta.  I was more enjoying the outing rather than the food – we don’t get out much anymore.  I was okay walking into the cinema but as I started walking up the stairs I knew something was wrong.  I started feeling light headed and sick to my stomach.  My chest ached.  I attempted to rub it thinking it was something akin to indigestion, only to realise that my heart was beating as fast as it would after a big night on the tequila and red bulls.  “Rapid Heart Beat” they called it on the side effects list – they mentioned it was relatively minor.  It certainly didn’t feel very minor.  I mentioned to my partner that we needed to sit on the edge of an isle in case I needed to depart suddenly.  He didn’t appear too worried, I was.

Thankfully, by the time all the advertisements were over I had calmed myself and my heart started to slow.  We sat through all of Iron Man 2 without another disruption.  Let me say for the record, it wasn’t half as bad as what most people were making out – it was a comic book movie, don’t expect too much from it and you wont be disappointed.  I have a bit of a soft spot for Downey Jr, I wondered while watching him if he experienced “rapid heart beat’ on one of his drug addled adventures – at least he got the high.

Sunday was always going to be a difficult day – I hadn’t really considered how difficult.  We walked into a good friend’s son’s first birthday, which happened to fall on his wife’s birthday and mothers day.  I was greeted with an unwelcome glare from the grandmother.  There was a thing a few years back when I was public enemy #1, like a lot of women with my type of personality, I was (and still am from time to time) accused of sleeping with everyone’s husbands and boyfriends.  The grandmother blames me for her son’s marriage breakdown even though we never slept together and he started dating someone who was not me before the official separation.  Of course this was my fault – please continue to give me death stares every time I walk into a room.  My chest still ached from the night before; I was not at all in the mood for this.  I stayed pretty close to Stocker.  I mentioned my medication costs and was met with uncomfortable stares and a quick, clean change of subject.  If I can’t talk about this with my friends, I don’t know who I can talk to.  It seems that my mere presence is making everyone around me uncomfortable theses days.  I took the subject change and the sidewards glances as my cue to leave.  I went back inside and stood against the wall watching the birthday boy open his presents.  I tuned out from the world and just watched.  I was then confronted with talk of weddings.  As I wrote in my last post, the reality of my treatment is that I don’t think we are ever going to get married.  Not just because of the event, but if Stocker ever did get fed up with a broken partner we wouldn’t have to go through a messy divorce to go our separate ways.  I understand the excitement surrounding a wedding and how the bride to be or that one who has recently been married feels.  Just right now though, with everything so fresh and still a little bit raw, it’s the last thing that I want to talk about.  No, I don’t want to have a backyard wedding, no it doesn’t make it okay because I have been married before and no, I’m sorry, I just can’t be giddy and excited for you right not.  I need more than a week to get over the end of my old life.  I feel bad – cause I know it’s not the intention, but I felt like salt was being rubbed into a rather new, open and bleeding wound.  I did want to get married.  I did very much want to return to our homeland, where we were engaged to do it.  The time when that was a possibility has passed and I refused to find having a few people at a registry office a plausible substitute.  You wanted your perfect day – please don’t assume that I want or that I am entitled to anything less.

I was in a room full of people I once considered my family and I had never felt so alone and segregated.  I felt like I had nothing to contribute and that my being made all and sundry uncomfortable in their own skin.  Even now as I sit by myself, I feel less alone than I did last weekend.

I continue to listen to people tell me how lucky I am with a blank look on my face.  I don’t see a happy ending in my future.  I’m sorry but I don’t see a happily ever after for us.