Dear Dipshit:

I hope this letter to you, my ex husband, finds you well. Today, if we hadn’t divorced, would be our 13th wedding anniversary. In all honesty, the wedding never should have taken place. Had I listened to my instincts, heard what my close friends weren’t saying, or had more self-confidence and cared less about what others thought of me, maybe I would have had the guts to walk away. Instead, I let what I was hearing bear more weight than what I was seeing, placed more consequence in what others thought of me than what I thought of myself, and let the voices in my head convince me I couldn’t do any better than you and that if I left you, I would never find what I thought was love again.

One of the things I can see clearly now in hindsight is how much you loved to play the victim. I know your version of our life together has many differences from mine, just as I know your version has given people a different view of me. I doubt any of your friends or family know I asked you three different

times to call off the wedding after you never gave me a guest list, when you didn’t share the tuxedo information with the groomsmen, when you procrastinated on shopping for groomsmen presents (you were still shopping for those presents on the day of the rehearsal, if you recall). Instead, you told me during our separation the reason you never broke up with me was because I’m psychotic. Aside from that time I thew your toolbox off the back porch, I always wondered what it was that made you think I was psychotic.

Speaking of things you said during our separation and subsequent divorce…. You once said you wanted a divorce because I wanted children and you didn’t. Given that you and your wife have a daughter now, I’m going to assume you lied. Now, we both know you’re a great liar. I bet you even have your wife convinced of your fidelity when you and I both know the only thing you’ve ever been faithful to is the Department of Defense (and should anyone ever doubt moi, ask yourself what I may or may not still have in email accounts and other places).

You lie. Maybe not all the time, but let’s face it, you don’t tell the whole truth all of the time either (again, remember the story you told your mom about closing out the bank account? Major discrepancy in the timeline you gave her compared to the way things actually went down). Or your tendency to play the victim… When you conveniently forgot to tell your parents about the $1800 in car repairs my parents and I covered in order for the car to pass the emissions test?

Your lies cost me what little self confidence I had for so long. Your parting shot as I was leaving Ft. Knox, that the reason you never wanted to work on our marriage was because I wasn’t worth it, has stayed with me the longest and to this day, still lingers. And yet… and yet I have learned so much about myself and life since we divorced.

• For starters, the biggest lesson you taught me is that a person’s actions always speak louder than words.
• Despite the fact that yes, I am alone, I can honestly say I’m less lonely now than while we were together.
• If my man is constantly comparing me to my best friend, he’s not really my man now, is he?
• A man who is content having sex for 10 minutes every 4 to 6 weeks is either still in the closet or having sex with someone else (oh wait….).
• When my sister and brother take a higher priority in my life than my husband, that’s a huge sign he shouldn’t be my husband.
• When you call your ex husband and tell him your brother died, someone who even remotely cared about you doesn’t ask (AFTER you tell him your brother died) why the fuck you’re calling.
• As for believing that I’m worth it… well, I’m working on it; it’s a long process, but for the record, my self-worth deficiency isn’t completely your fault.

As I am two weeks from turning forty, I can honestly say my life is in no way what I thought it would be. I have not experienced real love (“…Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.” – Carrie Bradshaw), I own a house (and yet still hate yard work and shoveling), I have no children and am still experiencing complications due to the PCOS. Michael is gone, as are Jack and Ruth, but I’ve also reconnected and made new friends along the way.

I sincerely wish you the best as life continues moving forward for both of us. Maybe you’ve grown up some since our last communication. Now that you have a daughter, maybe you’ll figure out that there is someone who needs to be more important to you than you are to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’re becoming the man you were raised to be and that I always hoped you’d be.

But as my parting shot, and just so your unsightly ego doesn’t skyrocket, this will be my last dedicated post to you. I’ve got better things to write about.