Us humans will do anything to not feel the pain of divorce and rejection. Before you order that round of shots, buy that expensive whatever, or book a flight to Alaska, ask – is this a soul decision or an ego decision? Ego decisions don’t usually end well.
I went out with a friend the night my husband moved out. It was a great idea at the time, the distraction, the idea of “I don’t care because I’m having a drink while he unpacks his bags at his dad’s house,” was perfect. The bar/restaurant was one of my favorites and not a place we ever went together. My drink was pink and fruity and the conversation was hilarious, but I hysterical cried on the inside. We called it a night around 11, late enough to confirm that I didn’t care but early enough to not feel like crap the next day. (When you pass 40 – sleep can make or break you the next day) The tears fell for real about 2 minutes into my 20-minute drive home. I was so caught up in my misery by the time I was within 1 mile of my house, I didn’t stop completely before turning right at a flashing red light. And of course, there was a cop watching to tell me so. Crying and driving is a bad idea – it slows your reflexes, clouds your judgement and makes you a soggy mess, and apparently, a driving hazard.
His cop lights went on and I pulled over, chastising my life, “Seriously?! Can you give me a break?!” I rolled my window down, license and registration in hand. I can’t really describe the cop because my sobbing obscured pretty much everything. But he seemed on the taller side. He explained how I failed to make a complete stop at the flashing red light. I nodded and blurted out how this was just another bad thing in my life – losing my job, my health scare, and now my husband moving out… At this point, any shred of sanity or dignity deserted me. If emotional shock is a real thing, then I was in the throes of that, hyperventilating and everything. The cop paused for a second, took my documents and walked away. I sobbed and whispered incoherent things to myself while I waited for my ticket and asked myself why I thought it was a good idea to go out tonight. Why did I cry and drive?
The cop returned, handed me my license and registration and … a warning! A warning! I was so relieved and you would think it ended there. But it didn’t. Nope – I was still caught up in my misery. I started driving home and then, found myself turning around to ask that cop if there were resources for verbal abuse. What?! I know – but my mind felt like it was cracking, my heart was drowning and I had to talk to someone. Anyone.
I turned my car around, found him sitting in the same spot and, stopping at that flashing red light for a full five seconds, parked behind him. I’m sure he thought I was crazy as I walked up to his window and asked him if there was a verbal abuse hotline. “Did anything happen tonight?” he asked. I told him no, my chest heaving, my nose running. He stared at me for a minute, nodded his head and wrote a number on the back of his business card. I took the card, heaved a shaky sigh and got back in my car. My thoughts volleyed back and forth between humiliation and disbelief. Did I really just do that, tell a stranger – a cop stranger that my husband is verbally and emotionally abusive? Yes, I did. Going out for drinks maybe wasn’t the best idea.
Hot Mess Experiences 
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