The Divorce Diaries

The Divorce Diaries

Entry One: August 5th

"That does it, I'm sick and tired of this bullshit. You think you own me? You think I'm always going to be around? Well you're fucking wrong!"

Those were the last words I said to him. He left my house that night in a daze. He didn't understand how I could be so angry with him. What did he expect? I found out that he was only with me for my money. I found out he had a whore on the side. I found out...everything.

Of course, I couldn't tell him that. He didn't need to know what I knew. I didn't want to look like a pathetic, weak little girl. No, not this time. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of tearing me down again. No, never again in fact. He didn't need to hear that I had hired a private detective to track his every move. He didn't even need to hear that I had saved thousands of dollars behind his back just to leave him. No, none of that mattered now. All that mattered is that I was finally done. Eight agonizing years later, I was done.

I changed my locks, and broke a damn nail doing it. I decided to give up and I sat at the kitchen table. I looked at my broken nails and decided to bite them off. I hadn't done that in years. I always had to look amazing. It was expected. My nails were done twice a week, along with my hair, and tan. Even my natural brunette hair had been bleached blonde one time too many. Who the hell was I anymore? I lit a cigarette and took a long drag. I couldn't stop questioning myself. I was the one with the money. I had the power to leave. Why did I let him treat me that way?

I sat there remembering every time he came in late smelling like perfume, and for some god only knows reason my mind began drifting off to the happier times. What the hell was I doing? I was trying to justify why I loved him! I couldn't believe I had let myself become so pitiful. Sure, we had great times but, as it turned out he was having good times with a lot of women. I pushed that thought from my head, got up and poured myself some coffee. I was single now. He was gone. Sure, there was paperwork to be done, but the lawyers could deal with all that shit. I was over it.


As I walked past the mirror in the hallway, I glanced at my reflection. I saw a broken woman. I didn't look strong. I didn't look in control. My bleach blonde hair looked fried and straw like, and you could see it through the curls. My brown eyes were nearly black from the tears I had cried. I hated to admit that I cried. My make up was smeared across my entire face, and my teeth were tinged yellow from the chain smoking. It was time to take care of myself again. I wiped the mascara from under my eyes, put my chin up, and ran into the bathroom.

It was my time now. I couldn't wait. My anguish turned to sudden excitement. I was young! I could date again. I had a second chance. I had the one thing that so many others wished they had. I hit the play button on my ipod dock and began dancing around to all of my favorite songs as I stripped naked. Today was a new day. It was my day! I was ready to wash Micky out of my hair, and out of my life.

Feeling refreshed I walked to my closet. All I could see were dresses, mini skirts, and high heels. I cringed at the idea of putting another dress on. I hated dresses. Sure, I had worn them for the past eight years, but I never wanted to be that girl. No, It was time to shed that image. I walked to the back of my closet where the armoire was hiding. I took a moment to savor  it. I hadn't opened this armoire in years. I wasn't even sure that the clothing in it would still fit. Was it wearable? Had it been ruined by years of neglect? 

My questions were answered as I opened the doors. I looked down, and staring back at me were my black converse! My entire old wardrobe was inside of this one armoire. I took a moment to drink in how far I had come from those days, and then I pulled out my favorite outfit. I took the converse downstairs, sat on the floor, and laced them up. I couldn't believe how good they still felt. They were familiar. They were comfortable. They were the same trusty tennis shoes that got me through so many hardships before.

I strutted out of the house with my final destination in mind. My shiny red convertible sat there staring at me from the driveway, but I walked right past her. No, today was not a convertible day. Today was the day I was starting over. I got into the cab and went downtown.

As I sat in the backseat listening to the silence, I couldn't help but notice the scenery. I had lived in this city for eight years, but I had never noticed the beauty. Everywhere I looked there were palm trees, white sandy beaches, and children playing. It was all so serene, so beautiful. It felt like the first time my eyes had ever been opened. I began to daydream about running on the beach. I wanted to sit there with my toes in the sand every night at sun down. I could do that now. I could play my guitar on the beach. I could write my music. Hell, at 27 years old, I was still considered young enough to break into the record industry.

Just then the cab driver slammed on his breaks. My head slamming into the side of the window was enough to bring me back to reality. He looked at me and told me my total. My ears were ringing from the sudden stop, so I never did hear what he said. I just handed him my credit card, waited for him to swipe it, and I got out of the cab. My favorite converse sneaker hit the pavement on the curb, and I was ready.


Jon Luke was always my favorite hair dresser. I had known him for years. I knew him before I was ever Mrs. Micky Deluka. I knew him before my long, curly brown hair was ever that nasty bleach blonde. I knew him when I was a fresh faced 18 year old, who had moved to Florida looking for fame and fortune. Back when I still knew who I was. Back before I was jaded.



"Oh. My. God. Could that be my favorite little diva?"
-"Yes, Jon Luke. It's been ages. I've missed you." Is what I heard myself say.

He squealed with delight, as he proceeded to ask me what I was doing there. So I went into the whole long, boring story about Mickey's demise. Jon Luke seemed relieved.

"Honey, you were always too good for that jackass anyways." He said with just a little attitude.
-"I know, I know. I just was so in love..." I stopped myself there, "No, you know what? You're right. Fuck that asshole! Let's get down to business. I want this fucking blonde OUT of my hair." I emphasized angrily.

Jon Luke ran off to get his supplies. He was so proud that I had come to him for my reinvention. I was disappointed in myself for having dropped our friendship like so many others. He had always been there for me, just as he was now. I took a deep breath, looked at my reflection, and asked myself out loud..."Are you ready for this?"

Before I had time to answer my own question, Jon Luke showed up with his tools. He could always work wonders with even the ugliest of women. I didn't know from experience, but I had seen his portfolio. I knew what he was capable of. We chatted for hours as he did my hair, like old friends should. We caught up on everything that had gone on the past few years. When I told him about Mickey, he asked me if I wanted him dead.  I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not....


"No Jon, I don't want him dead. I want him to live and suffer. I want him to know the best thing he ever had is gone. I want him to know that I'm happy without him."

Jon Luke smiled and nodded as if he knew exactly what I meant. It was the truth. I was everything a wife should have been. I changed my entire life for my husband. I cooked his dinner every night, I let him go out with the boys and didn't protest, I cleaned the house every day, and when we found out he was sterile, I agreed to give up the children I had always longed for. I did it all for him. But now... now I didn't have to worry.

I secretly scolded myself for thinking about him again. I kept seeing his name cross my mind. I kept thinking of those bright green eyes, the messy brown hair, and those sweet, soft, kissable lips. Why couldn't I stop? Why did I have to keep thinking about him? I was young and in love when we met. I was naive and believed everything he told me. As much as I wanted to hate him, I just couldn't forget the past eight years. But by god, I was trying...

After Jon Luke had finished with me, I turned to stare at my reflection. Tears sprang to my eyes, as for the first time in eight years, I really recognized the girl staring back at me. My curly hair was once again a beautiful brunette. My brown eyes glistened with hope, and this time there was no makeup on my face to be smeared. No, this was who I was.

Those old worn converse, the faded blue jeans, and my favorite band tee. This is who I was. This is who I had always been. I was comfortable. I was recognizable. I was me.

...I was me.

(To Be Continued...)