“A soulmate isn’t someone who completes you. No, a soulmate is someone who inspires you to complete yourself. A soulmate is someone who loves you with so much conviction, and so much heart, that it is nearly impossible to doubt just how capable you are of becoming exactly who you have always wanted to be.”
– b.s. Via The Minds Journal
When I can no longer bear to glare at the mountain of laundry staring me down, both my girls are screaming “everything looks awful and nothing fits, Mom, I need new shoes” randomly, as they struggle to find the perfect outfit to go CVS for a box of pads, and the dishes to be washed have reached the ceiling fan, I run to the bathroom, lock the door and hide on the toilet. Earbuds in.
Pink is a must play on my ipod in this particular phase of my life, and I can’t help but repeat these lyrics that pretty much sum up my current condition:
“Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
It’s bad when you annoy yourself
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else.”
I send my best friend Julie a text. “We were never monsters. We never even spoke to our parents during our adolescent years, who even wanted to be seen with them? If we needed money, we found a job. If we needed more money, we found another job. I’ll never make it alone. Raising two teenage girls alone is sucking the life out of me. I have gray hair, cellulite, my nails are chipping, and I’m wearing a floral housedress. This could be an emergency situation.”
She immediately replied, “I’ll meet you in CVS in an hour. Lose the floral housedress.”
My husband and I separated six months ago. He moved in with his 25 year old secretary, and apparently they are extremely happy together. I’m falling apart. The whole thing blindsided me, and Julie has been my oxygen. We’ve been through alot together, she has a child with Autism and her husband left, as well. Don’t get me wrong, not all husbands are terrible, horrific, scum of the world, just the ones I’ve had the misfortune of coming into contact with. Julie and I hold hands, move forward, and overcome all hardships until we hit the wall, crumble, break down and cry. Then, we meet at CVS for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s “Chubby Hubby.”
I left the house a wreck, herded the girls into my car and hightailed it to CVS before the breakdown became official. For now, it was tearless. Julie was there waiting for us. I gave the girls strict instructions not to talk to strange people or any people, and to go to the feminine care aisle to get themselves a box of Organyc 100% pure, organic cotton pads as they have sensitive skin, and it’s the only thing I trust to come into contact with their bodies. They scurried away, and I hugged Julie.
She looked at me and said, “I hate your shirt, it’s striped and twenty-five years old. Your hair’s a mess, but you are so beautiful even with a few grays. You are beautiful, you just need to get your groove back. It hasn’t been so long since he’s left, your girls are thriving, now you need to just dedicate a little bit of time to yourself. It will be okay. Yesterday, I was reading an article about the history of pads. Exceptional stuff. Once upon a time, women didn’t wear underwear, then they wore underwear with a huge hole cut out, until it became real underwear. When women got their periods, there was a time when they used coupons and code words to order a damn box of maxi pads. For a time, the druggist wrapped the package of Kotex in brown kraft paper — as if no one would know!