So me, my EX, his homey, and Brooklyn headed downtown on foot toward my Lower East Side apartment. I was actually happy my EX brought his homey as “the buffer” because, otherwise, I wouldn’t have known how to tamp down my emotions to avoid an explosive and embarrassing scene on the street. Conversely, silence would’ve been equally awkward and uncomfortable. Good thinking!
I was already used to living and performing under the duress of PMSD (post-marital stress disorder) which my psyche learned to strategically navigate using a brand-spankin’ new disorder: MPD (multiple personality disorder). I never knew which Keex would emerge on any given day or for any given performance. So, what would it be today; the day I had to face my EX for the 1st time since all his dirty laundry got aired out to dry?
What would it be like seeing my EX again? The thought of it was unnerving. I mean, how was I supposed to act? Was I supposed to greet him with a hug? It would be kinda weird not to. We always kissed and hugged “hello” and “goodbye”. But he cheated on me. And we’re getting divorced! So maybe I should just give him a formal “hello” with a smile? Wait, why would I smile? I’m supposed to hate him, right? But I just loved him about 2 months ago.
Just as I was feeling overwhelmed with the task of excavating through 8 years of emotional rubble to rescue the embattled Keex, I got a call from my EX. He needed a favor. The nerve! But he was in a bind. The gig that was supposed to (appropriately) deposit him in Vegas... the modern-day Sodom & Gomorrah... the city that celebrates sin and excess...the land of pleasure-seeking addicts; was actually sending him to Europe for an indefinite amount of time.
And that’s just the thing. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. I didn’t intentionally try to lose myself in my marriage, but I did. I have a few distinct memories of my previously single self, however. Keex loved NYC. She loved to perform. She was spiritual, intuitive and a reader of self-help books by authors like Shakti Gawain and Caroline Myss. Keex loved to wake up in her Brooklyn studio apartment and purge her subconscious onto paper in her morning pages as recommended by Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way.
I felt shell shocked. M.I.A.from my own life. I lost all sense of time and space. The only thing giving me any semblance of purpose was an overbooked schedule of teaching Pilates, giving massages and performing. Oh, plus my standing appointment with a glass of wine (or 2) to end my day. Without those things connecting the dots of my existence, I was merely drifting through life and navigating through my hectic schedule on auto-pilot.
I couldn’t mimic my EX’s cheerful tone and he instantly inferred my “let’s just cut-to-the-chase” kinda mood. Eschewing any phoniness I continued in my distant, matter-of-fact voice. “So, I’m calling because I just heard that you cheated on me on New Year’s Eve. Is that true?” SILENCE. “Well, I guess I’ll take your silence as my answer.” More uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for him. In that moment, I oddly felt in control. I felt like I had built up the emotional armor to protect myself from anything else the Universe decided to hurl in my direction.
As my gut churned, I could see the tears welling up in her eyes and I knew I was destined for a doosey. My mind was spinning with worst case scenarios about what could be going on in her life, hoping that reality would soften the blow of my imagination. My thoughts were interrupted with my BFF saying, “It’s really hard for me to tell you this because I love you so much...” Wait, this wasn’t about her? It’s about ME? I can’t handle any more bad news!
Just before my afternoon rehearsal, my BFF and I decided to meet in the park to catch up on life. This girl is the closest of the close of my “sister-friends” and was the maid of honor in my New England wedding. We’d known each other since 1993 when we were on a dance scholarship at Broadway Dance Center. She was a baby-doll dress, combat boot-wearing recent High School graduate from a small town in New Jersey.
I didn’t have 6-8 weeks to heal! My life felt like it was hanging in the balance. In a matter of 30 days, my husband abandoned me, I lost my home, I liquidated our business and, any belief I had in the “American Dream” and “happily ever after”, was shattered. Then, after my first near death experience in a car crash, I boldly re-located to NYC to start over as a newly-single 38-year old... because I booked this phenomenal gig. Yes, a blessing amongst the bullshit.
