One Year Later || My Divorce in Essays

Tuesday, August 26, 2025 | 8:07 AM, two days after, video transcribed. Unsent.

     “Hi! I don’t really know what channel to put this in, cause it’s not really ‘show-and-tell,’ and it’s not technically venting…. Really, it should go into ‘announcements,’ but I don’t want this going outside of our [SBerryGames Discord] server. So, I’m putting a lot of faith in you to keep this to yourself, and I think you will. 

I got home on Saturday, and I was soo looking forward to coming back to stream and seeing you guys this week, especially today and Tuesday. Um…. I know that the past like, 4 months, I’ve been talking about how there is a lot going on that I can’t talk about on stream. Um, and I thought.. I thought things were in the process of… [gestures to the air] acknowledgement and honesty and, and, working and and trying.. My mom moved away, if you haven’t picked up on that, mom’s gone. Um, and on Sunday Bree told me she wants a divorce.
Sooooo… OH, and I tried pot for the first time! [small laugh], that also happened on Sunday. Right afterwards because I went to [friend]’s house. And [they] were like, ‘I literally took an edible before you called, do you wanna try some?’ and I was like ‘hell yeah girl’ [amused-at-past-self-laugh]. Turns out, it just makes me go to sleep, so, I just fell asleep – WOW, my bald spot is just getting even more pronounced because I am STRESSED and I just keep picking at my scalp… [upset frown at camera] Um, anyway, yeah.

     Sooo, the big scary D word. Um, which it’s not.. News. But it did come sooner than me OR my therapist was expecting. Or before anyone was expecting! Because before I left, things were in a state of ‘Ok, let’s give ourselves a fresh start when I come back [from 6 weeks digging in Ireland], and we’re gonna try to figure out what went wrong, where.’
[Chews on lip, thinking] I haven’t been sleeping a normal schedule because of time zones still, and this. So, I woke up at like 5am yesterday and today, unable to go back to sleep. And when I woke up today, there is no more coffee brought to me in bed. We didn’t even have any coffee because she didn’t grocery shop ahead of time. [Rolls eyes]. And I forgot to grab some on the quick grocery run we did Sunday morning before she decided to destroy my life.
So, today I was like ‘well, I can’t fall asleep, so im just gonna go [on the bus down the road] and get some.’ and then I came here, and I got coffee, and uhh I couldn’t enjoy what I love to do, which is sit in coffee shops and listen to people and drink coffee and play my crossword puzzles. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t focus because I was sitting there and all I could think was… [long pause]. ‘Pumpkin Spice is back and she didn’t tell me. She has always told me.’

And how, if I ever want to [have a partner]… I’m gonna have to [date]… again. And I haven’t, since before I could drink legally. And I knew it was coming. And all I want is to be back in my Irish bubble right now. I miss [in a very, very bad Irish accent] ‘me Irish coffee shops’ and Mom and Pop restaurants where I could get breakfast at, for only 15 Euro.. 

[stares off camera, long pause]. 

     And my Irish castle in the distance, [rotates the camera to share surroundings], there is no castle in the distance! [camera pans to industrial warehouse parking lot], I’m shocked there’s even nature, [gesturing behind at protected swamp, lol]. Like, lets be so real, because there is a very busy road behind me. 

     So, I don’t know when I will be back [on Twitch]. I want to be back. I don’t know how long I could be back at a time. But I don’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t even sure whether or not to say something yet. But if anything, this is a way to hold myself accountable, because I know that I would be willing to pretend this didn’t happen and go back to living my life…. Everyone says I deserve better than that, and I don’t disagree, but I liked my life. I liked how it was 4 months ago. Before this all started. Was I happy with my relationship? NO! But I thought we were friends still, best friends still, and um, we’re not. Apparently we have not for a very long time now, which is NEWS TO ME! [Bitter laugh]. 

     And she’s been really cruel, really cruel with how she’s managing things. Honestly, some of it is just fucking stupid – like, tell me you’ve never seen a divorce happen, without telling me youve never seen a divorce happen. Because her expectation of a timeline – [starts laughing and shaking her head]. Like, girlie pop, this isn’t The Sims. You don’t just like, get divorced and half the family moves – like that’s not how this works. Welcome to the real world! 

     I didn’t want [this video] to be this long, but uhh.. I can’t even enjoy a coffee shop, so I guess I’ll go back into the house?? I don’t know, I might try to sit here at this table longer. Just try to stare at this [camera pans to sad swamp again] and pretend that behind those trees, is the oldest medieval bridge in Ireland. [Frowns]. The birds kinda sound the same? The cars do too.”

     [Video ends]

Tuesday (still) August 26th, 2025; 8:17am, unsent.

     “I don’t know who these videos are for. Cause I dont wanna remember this. I guess I just want to be able to talk things out? But I don’t want to talk to my friends, and I don’t want to talk to my mom. And the more I think about it, the more I realize Bree was never going to be an option to talk to anyway. Because even when I would talk at her, it’s not like she ever showed interest. And I can’t talk to my therapist 24/7, and I don’t really want to talk about it with stream – any friends, I don’t feel… I don’t want to hear myself from their perspective. 

     Part of me feels like I’m just faking it? And that this isn’t even real, and none of this even feels real, like time doesn’t feel real. I don’t know, it’s just like all… I know I exist technically? ‘I think therefore I am’ Like, what am I supposed to do with this? What am I supposed to do?? What am I supposed to do with my life? I wasn’t ready. You know, it’s not like, even a new book – it’s a new series spin-off. But I didn’t ask for it. Any of it. I don’t want it. I mean, when I think about it, I want it. Like, when I think about how we’ve gotten to this point? Yeah, I want it. 

     God, my hair looks so good right now, and I’m wasting it on this video. But my face is all dry, and everything is itchy and I’m sweaty and I’m oily [sips coffee] and I’m miserable. 

     [Shrugs] I’m miserable. 

     [fusses with headband, distracted by perfect hair again, sigh]. 

     She clearly hasn’t thought through her choices, either [shaking head]. Get your fill of JJ, I’m not letting you have my dog. You would technically be a better parent, ha, but you aren’t going to give the amount of [love] for her as you should. God, I need to figure out what dog food JJ eats, I have to look into all of that – I should be making a list. I don’t need to work on the list, but I can make the list – ‘Things That I Need To Know By Myself Now’ [eyes close, long pause]”

     [video ends]

Still Tuesday, August 26th, 2025 | 8:37 am, unsent

   “I won’t lie, a little part of me is pissed off I didn’t get to say it first! So apparently she told Julie [our therapist] while I was gone. And she said [to Bree] ‘You cannot tell her [while she’s overseas].’ Something about how if I were to go into ‘crisis mode’ and I’m outside of the country, there is nothing she could do to reach me or help me. Um, also, Jackass!? It would be a jackass thing [for Bree] to do. 
Bree’s just been waiting. She’s just been waiting me out. That’s why she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring when she was out with her friends. That’s why she wasn’t telling me about her time with her friends [on our infrequent facetime calls] That’s why she was barely talking to me. But also, there were times when she reached out first?? I don’t know…..
So, my therapist knew it was coming, but we both thought Bree would wait till [our upcoming couple’s appointment] but no, no. She didn’t even wait 24 hours. Bree told me Sunday afternoon.
Julie and I were talking about it yesterday, and like, at least [Julie] didn’t leave me blind. Even then, I was kind of suspecting it. But Julie would be like, ‘Hey Raelee, what if, what if she doesn’t care about your mental health? What if she gets it and just doesn’t care?’ or, ‘Hey Raelee, what if like, the privileges you have gotten to have, and how much better [your health has gotten], what if how you got there is why she resents you? Maybe she’s not happy for you?’ 

There was even a point where I was like, ‘Well if she can’t give me compassion and respect for how my mental health is, and how hard I’m working on it, and give me credit for those things, then this is gonna work’ and as SOON as I said that Julie went ‘HMM, huh, and maybe do you think you deserve better?’

Because she knew. And I wasn’t crazy – I knew something. But I thought she…. And we all…. Anyway. 

  So I was already leaning that direction, I even had a conversation with one of my favorite baristas on my last day [in Ireland]. She said, ‘You sound like you’re leaving her now’ and I was like, ‘I don’t know, I guess it really depends on when I get home, and how much work she is willing to put in. But if she’s just gonna keep acting the same way, then yeah, I think I might be the one to end things.’ 
So I’m a little pissed off. Cause I could have been the one to say it!
God, my bald spot! [Big frown]

[video ends]

If there is one thing about me, it’s that I’m going to record myself, and write to myself about what’s happening, and save letters and emails. For that I’m grateful. I have videos from when I was 17 taken on my laptop, a time capsule for my future self to reflect on.

There are a lot of videos and diary entries and both published and unpublished blog essays/posts. So much data and evidence to parse and shuffle. It makes it much harder to lie to yourself about what happened. A year later, I can see exactly what was haunting me….

Next time, let’s reflect on everything that happened after that day.

~Raelee

July 13th || My Divorce in Essays

I went to visit our ghosts today.

To the yard in front of our first apartment, and to the trees we stood between on our wedding day to take a photo with the dog we lost. Later this week was the day we had to put her down, 4 years ago. It was one of the only times I’ve ever seen you cry, burrowing your face into the puppy sitting next to me now.

Roughly around this time, 2 years ago, you had the hopeful dark thought “maybe she’ll meet a nice Irish boy,” while I was crying to myself at night after our skype calls. Crying because, before I left for 6 weeks, I’d asked you if you were even still in love with me. “Just focus on Ireland, we can figure that out later.” you said.

Roughly this time last year, I was once again on the Emerald Isles, and you decided – without me – to stop trying. I was crying myself to sleep because I knew in my gut that something was wrong. “I think I might be going home to a divorce,” I’d told my friends. You wouldn’t even look at the camera during the few calls we had that summer. “Maybe if we don’t talk every day, I’ll miss you,” you said.

Around this time in 2015, you kissed me for the first time.
And in 2016 I surprised you in your living room, and we spent a month going around your town as you told me stories about you and your friends.
And in 2017 I got my first fulltime job so we could start saving up for our own place, and my doctor reduced the frequency of my treatment.
And in the summer of 2019, you held our baby aloft in the bathtub. She hated water, but we dipped her feet in to stay cool that time the power went out. I still have the selfie we took in the dark.

I went to visit our ghosts today, remembering how I thought we’d share their weight. I’d held on to hope that, if I just kept trying to be vulnerable myself, someday you would let your walls down too. But when you have a problem to solve, you don’t bring in any council, you don’t ask your teammates. You just told me you decided we were done. I hadn’t even adjusted to the time zone.

I went to visit our ghosts today. I went to walk the dog you’d said you wanted. Next thing I knew, I was standing in front of our old stairs. I could hear the footsteps of my boots. The sound of the key turning. I could hear the food cooking on the stove, or you in the shower, or the dog running to greet me. I could see our living room and us on the couch catching up on our days while one of us started the show we were watching. I could hear us giggling in the dark bathroom as our water dog squirmed to escape.

I went to visit our ghosts today, and I swear I could hear her barking out the window. Or sprinting through the snow to your open arms, and pink cheeks. She loved you immediately. There were times I was jealous of how quickly my childhood dog switched humans. And so grateful that she didn’t have to be neglected on my dark days. I couldn’t have survived the end without you.

I went to visit our ghosts because today is her birthday. And this was the last place she could walk up and down stairs or run after rabbits. Do you think about her? I wonder if her birthday is something you still keep track of. Or is she something you’re trying to erase too? Do you think about all our previous summers? You left more than just a wife behind. You left behind the love letters, and silly doodles, and photos of us in a pile on the floor of your closet when you moved out. You left behind gifts I’d gotten you, some still wrapped in the packaging. You left behind your pillow. You left our life we’d built, as quickly as you could.

I went to visit our ghosts today. I just wanted to see phantoms of us still happy.
Because today is the day we settled our divorce.

~ Raelee

Muscle Memory || My Divorce In Essays

For a moment, I forgot. 

I needed passwords, or to ask about the rent, or to talk about my job search. It was meant to be a 5 minute phone call. But then we are updating each other on our friends, her job, how her trip to see her family went. I don’t remember who made the joke or who laughed, but for a moment, I forgot she had broken us. That she upheaved my life and only has helped me try to stay afloat because someone else told her the law expected it. But for a moment I forgot she wasn’t my best friend anymore, that she wasn’t safe, that she’s been wearing a mask for the past however many years. I forgot just long enough to feel my sinus swell and a few tears to fall and then the swift switch of anger and rage.

I started up at an old job, the one I’d had when we moved into our first apartment. So not only am I at that same apartment complex, but now the same workplace. Same walk, same store, same bus, same shifts. It’s been easy to fall back into former rhythms, most of the job has remained as I was trained; the things that are different make sense and I already had a strong relationship with my manager and a friend from the last time. But sometimes I forget. I’ve had to remind myself that these new employees don’t know me – I’ve fallen back into place but they’ve only seen me around for a few weeks. I forget the years it took up to build my muscle memory and routine – they haven’t been around as long. 

And sometimes? When I walk home I forget then, too. That there is no wife waiting, no potential for dinner to be already started. No one to help me carry groceries. I clip coupons for food I don’t eat. I save memes for a ghost. I forget the “ex” in stories. The ghost sensation of my wedding rings – I’d worn a promise ring from her long before the proposal. I save stories of something the dog did, or a friend from camp. Nearly called myself “wife” when teasing my boyfriend.  Sometimes I forget. And my heart breaks all over again. 

We were just kids, and I saw a future for us that was full of growth together. Of adventures and blanket forts and dogs and rainy days by the fireplace. And I held on to that image, of the heart she shared at first, of the magic of the summer we met. I held on to hope that she was just getting her bearings and working on her career and making friends and I forgot the times she made it oh so clear that I wasn’t actually welcome. “Why am I even here?” I would sob during fights when I couldn’t be patient anymore. For years. But I would let myself forget, or forgive, or try harder to make her happy with who I was turning into. 

For a moment I forgot that she wasn’t coming home that night after work, that she doesn’t really care about my stories anyway, that she isn’t holding my hand while I struggle to find a job, that she just wasn’t there. For a moment, I forgot. 

And someday I will forget how much love I felt in the beginning and how much grief I’ve felt these last few years. Someday I won’t accidentally call her my wife. 

And that might hurt even more. 

~ Raelee

Promises || My Divorce in Essays

September 25th, 2015 – to open in 7 years

“I don’t know if I’m going to marry you someday, but I know that I’ve never been as happy with anyone as I have been with you. I’ve never trusted someone as quickly as I’ve been able to trust you. TBH, after the insecurity I felt during camp a month before you left, I was convinced I was going to be jealous or skeptical of a long distance relationship. And I know it’s only been like a week [since you left], but it’s already been a little easier than I thought it would be. It’s probably because I hear from you all the time. NOT that I’m complaining. I love that I hear from you so much.
I don’t know if I’m going to marry you, but I know that no one else can make me smile as much as you do. No one can read me as well as you seem to. No one has ever meant as much to me.
I don’t know if I’m going to marry you someday, but you aren’t the only hopeless romantic, and the idea of forever with you doesn’t feel scary, doesn’t feel wrong, it feels like an adventure. 
I don’t know if I’m going to marry you someday, but I sure hope I get to, because to marry you would be quite the honor Bree. 
You knew before I told you, didn’t you? We had that whole talk about when one could tell when someone was in love. I said you could see it in their eyes, that it was when someone could read the other’s emotions. 
You said once you have been in love with someone who you could see their love for you in their eyes, and that you see that same look in mine. 

You know before me, didn’t you?

Thank god I found you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.
I love you so fucking much. < 3 Raelee”

October 2015 – sent in a care package?

Front of card: “I love you for everything… Forever < 3”
Inside:

“There was a $30 planner I almost bought that was called “Paris in color” full of small polaroid-like photos of ordinary things around Paris. While shopping last week, I found a $15 notecard/envelope set with the same pictures… so I figured that was a better deal.
I don’t know why I have always loved France. I just knew I did. And to be honest, that’s how I felt about you. Before I could even really know you or could guess where we’d end up, I knew you were important. “Love isn’t a feeling, it’s a promise” (That’s a doctor who quote, lol)”

I love you Briana. 
It’s not a feeling.
It’s not a question.
It’s just a promise.

< 3 Raelee

November 2nd, 2015 – Entry from long distance diary

“Your letters mean so much to me. I think I’ve memorized most of them. Thats why I’m writing these [entries] for you. I don’t know if they’ll be as effective as your letters are to me, but its worth a shot.
I think I’m gonna read one now. I miss you.”
[Bree]

February 29th, 2020 – to open in 10 years

“What’s good future wife/wife!
You’re looking good today. Diamond smells. It’s raining. The usual.
I’m nervous and excited to marry you. I wish my 13 year old self could see how awesome life turns out to be. The last 5 years with you have been lit!
I’m excited to have a teammate like you to enjoy the rest of my life with.
I hope we have a car by now. And 10 dogs. And go on trips to see new places. I hope we never got coronovirus…
I love you with all my heart… and head… and every other part of me < 3

Can we have pizza for dinner tonight?
Love you for everything, forever, Bree x“

~ Raelee

Claddagh || My Divorce in Essays

“Now there is a specific way to wear it,” the man said. 
“Oh, I didn’t know!” 
“Yes, so you wear it on your right ring finger, yep like that, and face the heart out if your heart is open, but you face it towards yourself if your heart belongs to another.” 
“Well then, I better turn this the other way, I don’t think my wife would appreciate that, ha!” 
He laughed with me, 
“No, probably not.”

I’d wanted a Claddagh ring the first time I got to the Emerald Isles, but most of the ones I saw were in platinum or silver, and with elaborate designs or stones embedded. I wanted one classic, and I wanted one gold. Wandering around the street markets on a weekend trip to Galway last summer, I found an older gentleman with a stall drowning in rings of all styles – primarily Claddagh rings. I think I knew in my gut that I wouldn’t get to be back in Ireland for a couple years, so I splurged. The whole weekend had felt like the end of an unknown chapter and the prologue to something new. Signs appeared to me around every corner. This stall felt like one of them. 

But the week I got home, I put on the ring with the heart facing away from me again, this time, on purpose. Maybe that had been the sign, an omen, a confirmation. Confirmation that the chapter closing was one I’d been trying too hard to keep writing for an uncomfortable number of years. And maybe, if I was willing to admit it, my heart hadn’t belonged to her in a long time, but to a version of us that didn’t exist anymore. 

Because, it was surprisingly fast that my lovelorn and hopeless romantic self started considering what dating was going to look like now. I was 30. I hadn’t even truly dated before she and I got together, so many years before. I didn’t have a job yet, I wasn’t in school, and most of my friends were married or engaged to be. How was I supposed to meet someone anyway? 

Oh yeah. Dating apps. Oof.

I was curious, and avoiding my current reality, so I made a mostly true profile with a fake name and said yes to no one but read every profile when I was bored or sad or angry. Near the end of September, I got braver. I accepted a message request or two. I lasted about two days of infrequent messaging back and forth before panic set in, and I deleted the accounts and deleted the apps. 

“… I’ve tried to envision a life without her. I don’t like it. I’m too settled. The idea of JJ bonding with a different partner makes me nauseated. A different voice, footsteps, smell, all of it…. I just need her to like me again.” – June 14th, 2025

It’s much easier to recognize now, more than 6 months later and over 8 months since we had opened the floodgates of conversation. I had been fighting and waiting and hoping that whatever journey she was on, she would invite me to be a part of and open up to me again. I was holding on to the connection we’d had before things truly started disintegrating. I’d pushed myself to be as honest and raw and communicative as I could in hopes she could meet me halfway. But she’d decided, conscious or not, to build walls even higher and thicker. And now, I had to start over the process of learning to trust someone. But with the added complication of fear they were lying to me the way she had for years. 

So the panic attacks about learning to love someone new continued until she moved out late September. She had scheduled her move to happen during what would have been our last “harm reduction” session in therapy while living together. She refused to push back her move for even an hour. So I cried for about 30 min after: “I’m probably just going to sleep there tonight. I might be back on Friday to pick up more things,” and the door closing softly behind her. 

But only for about 30 min. Because that’s when it hit. I was free. I could have a pink bedroom if I wanted. I could play loud music in the living room, not in my office with the door closed. I could stay up late and clean during late night zoomies. Messy instagram stories about all the things I didn’t have to put up with anymore got posted that night, leaving me in giggles and adrenaline and excitement.

The last silly video I made that evening, the day I was finally free, was an invitation for “anyone who has been secretly in love with me this whole time may slide into my dms” with a list of questions to answer and set requirements to be considered. 

Mid November, with a small tentative smile, I rotated my claddagh ring so the heart faced me once again. The prologue that began in Ireland led into a new chapter.

Because one person did send in a completed application. 
And instead of a panic attack, I felt butterflies.

~ Raelee

Tattoos || My Divorce in Essays

     I can vividly remember looking up at backlit doctors hovering over me as one held an ink pad and needle. I was 7 years old, lying down on the table the day of my last radiation treatment. We’re just going to make a little mark on your chest. They had been drawing on me with pens and highlighters for weeks to ensure that the dose of radiation hit the same point every single appointment. I was not expecting them to stab me with a literal medical needle dipped into an ink pad. I don’t think they do this anymore, but they used to tattoo the treatment location in case of future issues. It was pretty fun to joke I had a tattoo before my friends did until we turned 18. I could have done without the inkpad. And maybe could have appreciated a warning. And maybe my mom would have liked a warning too.

     I’m covered in permanent marks, none of which I got to choose. White circles from tubes, surgeries, allergic reactions to medications that turned into scars, mysterious wounds that were left to heal themselves instead of getting stitched, a tattoo for radiation for bone cancer. Nothing left on my skin has been a choice I got to make.

     My tattoo of “the whole world,” as my mom likes to say, has begun to fade and spread as the decades have passed. Instead of a fresh black dot, it’s more akin to a blue freckle, sometimes mistaken for an accidental pen mark. 23 years later it may have faded into my skin, but not from my reflection. A chapter of my life forever earmarked. It might as well be tattooed across my face instead. It was something that forever shifted how we saw my future. Shifted how my body has existed in a world full of anti-vaxxers, germy doorknobs, and people sniffling and coughing instead of missing work or school. I never won an attendance award.

Those challenges made sense.
But I never predicted that it would impact my marriage too. 

     We were privileged enough for me to be unemployed the last 5 years – giving myself time to heal from years of trauma, physically and mentally. That break wasn’t as valuable to her as they should’ve been. And some of them she had no problem invalidating.

“You did not almost die, I think you and your mom are just kinda hypochondriacs.”

    It was a sentiment shared more than once about the tumors I’d had in 2017. That’s another story. Despite her dismissal, by the time I finally got the treatment I needed we were cutting it close. And 2017 was not the first time I had been forced to quit work and school and be stuck in bed in pain. It has been a recurring issue – to have to give up what I’m doing and earn more scars. Covid started out that way – forced to give up what I’d worked for and be stuck at home – until suddenly, it wasn’t. For once, the involuntary halt evolved into a chance to recover. To try new things. Invest in relationships and hobbies. Slowly, the chaos of survival mode lessened and I could breathe. But like usual, that freedom from repeating history didn’t last. Another tumor, another surgery, more limitations, stuck at home, in pain. Another scar. 

    But my wife didn’t have to feel those consequences. Maybe if she’d had something similar happen to her, maybe if she actually acknowledged her own baggage, maybe if she hadn’t already decided to stop choosing me and our life together, maybe, maybe, maybe. Instead, she let it grow into resentment, apathy, and duplicity.

     Last year was against my will. I didn’t choose to give up unravelling our issues. I didn’t choose to give up my trajectory because she went back on her word about giving me the car. I didn’t choose to be alone so often because she avoided being home. Or to be alone again after she finally left. I didn’t choose to live apart from my mom for the first time in my life. Or to be rejected from every job I applied for that I didn’t want anyway but rent has to be paid by someone. 

     The permanent reminders of my life that cover my body have not served as evidence of my journey – they have been marks weighing me down while I repeatedly try to stand up again. Scars on my ass from an allergic reaction; on my left hand from a tumor that left me in pain and drowning in depression; on my temple from a mysterious wound that (a literal) 100+ doctors finally gave up on and instead they scooped it out of my face like a fucking melon baller. Two more on my back that they gave up on too. A white scar on each forearm from PICC lines – one splattered with skin discoloration from reacting to the adhesive used. Acne scars compulsively created while depressed, abused, and untreated for OCPD as a teenager. Stretch marks from struggling to keep the weight I gain back after another bout of illness. A black mark on my chest, made without warning, to forever specify where radiation was used to kill. 

     So last October, I chose pink pillowcases for my living room. And I chose to tell the guy in my dm’s that it was too soon and unexpected and wonderful and that he made me feel like a teenager again. And I chose to move back to the apartments I had fallen in love with 6 years ago but was forced to leave. And I chose to get my driver’s license. And I chose to have my sibling stay with me for two weeks – because finally I didn’t have to consider my ex-wife’s distaste for my family. And I chose to invite the now boyfriend for a week too. And I chose to go to Texas with him and his family for New Years Eve. And last week, while waiting for (finally) a job interview, I chose to walk into a tattoo parlor. 

     This time, I got to choose to ink my skin with black dots. I got to choose. Because 7-year-old Raelee didn’t get to. And 14-year-old Raelee didn’t ask to be a melon or to be unmedicated or compulsively hurt herself. And 18-year-old Raelee didn’t ask for craters on her back. And 21-year-old Raelee didn’t ask for yet another rare disease or to play another round of chicken with Death. And 29-year-old Raelee didn’t ask for a botched biopsy and nerve damage. And 30-year-old Raelee didn’t ask for a lonely marriage and for her life to unravel. 

So, for them, I chose a new home.
I chose to be loved.
I chose a new job.

And I chose to add some black dots – but not to remind me of the times I was forced to stop.
To remind me of the times that tried to.

~ Raelee

Strangers || My Divorce in Essays

“I’m so sorry that on her journey to find herself, you were the collateral damage”

And it definitely felt like that at first. But as it gets easier to detach and recognize truths, it feels like I’ve only gained more and more – I’ve regained more and more. Some parts of me had faded so long ago, I haven’t recognized them as they return. Suddenly the idea of hosting parties is exciting again – and I don’t have to worry about upsetting her or being too loud. I’m eating more often and remembering how to cook – don’t have to worry about the smell of strawberries or bananas or seafood bothering her. My love of finding small musicians and staying up too late deep diving into music is back – even started making plans to go to concerts this year with friends. I forgot how much I loved meandering around the city with a coffee in one hand and my camera in the other. I have so much more energy back that I’ve been able to actually take care of myself. Energy to reconnect with relationships I’ve neglected and offer them the attention they deserve. I’ve become a stranger to them and to myself. 

I’m finally old enough to see how much the places I used to live have changed. Towns have built sidewalks where I used to see quails scurry into the brush. The high rises have been demolished and replaced with even taller buildings. The bus fares are a dollar more expensive and now there are ones that zoom past on tracks overhead. The weather is recognizably warmer in the winter, and the month I used to associate with the first day of school is now “Smoke Season.” I’ve gotten lost on a street corner where I used to buy coffee. Trees I first saw planted now stand taller than me. But these changes are only apparent to me if they smack me in the face – it was hard to see as they happened. And I guess that’s what my marriage was like too. You see the changes in hindsight. 

If she was a stranger before, she’s completely foreign now. (Ha, it’s funny, because she’s literally an immigrant). “Do you want to see my new apartment!?” she asked me excitedly one weekend. I was actually busy trying to pack for the airport, but uh, ok? I had known she was decorating, but I suppose part of me still assumed that it would be barren and impersonal. To be fair, it was impersonal – save for a few photos of her friends. Framed. On the walls and shelves. In case you can’t tell, we did not have such when we were together, save for the only “family” photo we took before losing my childhood dog. The art was something she simply thought was cool – not inherently bad! Just not something nostalgic or reference to who she was. Simply another reminder that she and I clashed in our concept of making a home, but also the first time in her life that she has gotten to decide what her home looks like without input from a mom or sister or wife. She’s definitely happier. Smiles big and actually laughs at some of my jokes. She also doesn’t hold back her bite. Maybe that’s better than how she would just bottle things but damn it hurts to see how little warmth she holds for our history and for me. And I’ve come to terms that she has been a stranger for years. I saw the rubble now that it’s been cleared. 

In place of the demolition, new apartments and coffee shops are being built. It’s an unfamiliar place now, despite standing in one place. The bones of what was still remain and there are trees that have grown in. The sky still looks the same and now comes with an itch to sit in the corporate courtyards and watch the new skyscrapers reach for the clouds. It’s a stranger, but as I become less of one it gets easier to adjust to my new surroundings. I was her collateral damage, and I think I was for myself too – except, the wrecking ball hit a long time ago.

She has been on a journey to find herself.
But I’ve gotten to reclaim myself.

~Raelee

I’ve struggled with writers block the last month. It’s hard to write about things that give you more and more rage as time goes on. But today, wandering around my old city, I found reminders of who I was. And some of those threads I’d like to keep.

My Divorce in Essays: Ghosts

There are ghosts here, certainly. 

The two trees we stood between on our wedding day to take a photo with the dog who couldn’t come with us. Or by the fountain in the lake that only turned off once when it broke one summer. Surrounded by ducks that tolerated our loops around their home on snowy days of family walks. The tree I passed everyday on my walk home from work or school or both. Stark orange in the fall, cold and strong in the winter, fresh growth in the spring. The same leasing agent who greeted us by name, recognized me on my new application, asked about the dog she knew, and met the dog I have. The same clusters of mushrooms and toadstools hidden under trees or boldly standing tall in some of the swampy lawns. The same peal of birds or squawks of lost seagulls, making you forget the city is just down the road.

There are ghosts here, certainly. But it was me who found the listing so many years ago. I was the one who visited on a rainy day and saw the magic of a property we couldn’t afford. Me alone, staring back longingly as I returned to the bus stop. It was me who got the email announcing a price drop, and picked up the keys, and opened the door into that sunny living room with the fireplace of my dreams. When a sense of peace settled into my bones, confirming my gut that it was the time to finally leave the security of my mother’s nest. Me who gave up school so I could work fulltime to pay for it, me who brought groceries home and cut coupons. Me who knew how to clean and bake and decorated the home for the holidays. It’s the home of cherry blossoms I whispered my fears to on the harder days of a job I didn’t love to pay for a life that I did.

There are ghosts here, certainly. But there are friendly ones. A sense of safety in the midst of a worldwide shut down despite feeling lost and confused. Even in the days we could only afford boxes of dollar pasta and I learned to make my own broth for soup. The last couple good years with my childhood best friend. Where the hard work of our applications came through. Our first car. It’s the view I saw from my desk when I completed the degree I had given up so much for and worked towards for so long. The home that pushed me to finally get medication. A step which led to the bravery of posting online; new skills I had to learn; new forms of storytelling I explored; friends I travelled oceans for; an opening chapter that feels scary and significant – to a book or novella, only time will tell.

There are ghosts here, certainly. But aren’t there ghosts everywhere? The salmonberry bushes grow on some of the small forests here, a name I have carried since I was 16. They taste of summers I fell in love, not once, but twice. Where I almost fell off a horse when it decided to gallop. Where I met a close friend, and it was she who helped me move in this time – and another who broke her side mirror when she helped us move in all those years ago. Ducks in a pond like the ones we would feed when I was a child and we didn’t know bread was bad for them yet, memories captured in black and white photos in a box on my shelf that she and I bought for our 2nd apartment on a date-trip to Target. The furniture that moved here with us, moved back again with me. The same couch, same tv, same bed, same desk, same chest, same dresser. But those each carry their own stories of my past, each carry their own ghosts. 

To move back to the same apartments that she and I had left behind may seem like a step backward. But it’s not. A new building. A flipped floorplan. A new kitchen. Even a different dog. New goals. I’ve touched more continents. I’ve lost friends and loved ones. I’ve made new friends that I will carry for much longer than a chapter of 10 years. I’ve grown into someone different, something different. 

There are ghosts here, certainly. But 5 years can change a lot. 
Isn’t that the story of these essays themselves?

~ Raelee

The move is FINALLY OVER!! The last 3 months have been hell on earth, and most definitely the last 2 weeks have been insane. But don’t worry besties. Essays are back. Some are queued. I don’t know when I will feel the series is *over* per se, but not this year at least. Even as the frustrations and pain eases, there still feels like so much to say.

Happy December.

My Divorce in Essays: Experience

Alice had no idea what she was stumbling into when she followed that white rabbit. No sirens went off in her head about the dangers that lurked in that hollow, of the strange doors and labelled bottles and iced cookies and a most unhelpful doorknob. There is a reason that the tale Lewis Carroll put out into the world is so easily adapted into something dark. Stories equating her travels to psychological breakdowns, elaborate drug rings, life threatening nightmares, discoveries of lost pasts or identities. We are scared of the dark for a reason, descendants of those who were the ones smart enough to survive it. We’ve evolved to be armed with tools to defend. When the danger becomes too real in dreams, we wake ourselves. A place meant to practice out our greatest fears or predators can still be too dangerous sometimes. We feel a chill with dark breezes, alerting our senses to pay attention to the world around us. Keep an ear out. Try to decipher that shadow. Feel for the earth shaking in case someone creeps up behind. 

And yet

Like Alice, there are times our curiosity and naivety get the best of us. We simply have to see what a rabbit could be late for, fueled with such an overwhelming urge to follow that we don’t question what we see in the first place. Rabbits shouldn’t have a watch, Alice. It’s the first red flag. But she follows anyway. The rabbit hole is too small, but she manipulates her body to squeeze into the foreign hollow anyway. It’s another red flag. It’s too dark, Alice. Red flag. Alice, turn back and listen to the hairs standing up on your forearms; keep trying to grasp a root as you are falling; question the floating furniture, Alice. Look closer, Alice. What shouldn’t be here, Alice. Where are you, Alice? Why can’t you see the world not conforming to the rules of which it is prescribed, Alice. Pay attention, Alice. What are you missing, Alice? What are you missing, Alice? What are you missing?

Experience. She’s missing experience.

We are a species grown from the collaboration, teamwork, determination, and shared knowledge of those who came before us. We build on the past that we inherit, and if we are good to each other then the present becomes stronger. If we hurt each other then our future is weaker. But some lessons can’t be taught, for whatever reason. Another evolutionary oversight. Some dangers have to be lived in order to be survived. Success is the inheritance of a generational curse – to warn whoever comes down the path next but to forever dismissed. Just like the ones who came before. Alice doesn’t question the dark, no one warned her of the dangers she could face. Only a cat, who came too late. A sly Cassandra hidden in the branches of fantastical trees – whose warnings come with riddles, questions, and deception. No amount of training prepares you for the stark truth: worthwhile warnings aren’t guaranteed to come from a friendly face. Which, of course, makes them all the easier to ignore. 

When she returns to the surface – whether from a dream or a ladder or a miracle – she will be left choking on drowsy questions. Was it real? Was it false? Should she risk the rabbit hole again, to see if the journey can be retaken? Or is she left to forever be cautious in meadows, near forests, entering foyers, garden parties, and tea offered with cake? The questions might haunt her. Are the only choices to fear the same fate or to move forward boldly? What is the balance of both? How much terror should we leave in our bones? How much trust is too much to share? How far into the next hollow do we risk before the hairs on our arms warn us to turn back? When are we supposed to listen and when are we supposed to push on? What are we missing?

It’ll be easy to reminisce on the dancing flowers under the warm sun; playing a silly game in a hedge maze; celebrating around a table of new friends with all of the scone toppings one could dream; finding snacks that make you feel taller; of rabbits that blow trumpets; of cats that smile and laugh. Those will be easy memories to hold tight. Easy to relive with pride and enthusiasm.

What about the flower’s envy and fierce judgement that led to yet another wrong turn? What of the lives threatened over a mistaken attempt to help? What of the haze and numbing embrace born from indulging too many pleasures, when it begins eating away at one’s sanity, health, and relationships? What of the drinks that make you too small to reach the key needed to escape? What of the fires set in fear of the unknown, from those too busy to pause and listen? What of the threat disguised as something we think to love and trust? 

It’ll be easy to comb through the fog and find the warnings and bells and signs and pleas she will have missed. It will be easy to see where the misunderstandings occurred, where different choices could have been made, where her emotions took over, where the danger was so obvious, where patterns wove in and out of her journey. Such errors will be easy to see, in hindsight. They won’t be easy to feel. Not easy to admit. Not easy to repeat. Not easy to remember. Not easy to look back and see the many missteps. Even if we couldn’t have known better. Even if we had been warned. Some lessons can’t be taught. Some curses can’t be broken. 

How do we know when it is worth the risk of falling back down the rabbit’s hole?
(I’ll give you a hint.. From gaining experience.)

“the reason they’re called lessons,’ the Gryphon remarked: 
‘Is because they lessen from day to day.”

~ Raelee

Authors note: y’all, I haven’t read the original book in like 7 years, references taken are from memories of the many adaptations I’ve devoured over time, in addition to the source material itself. Grandma said once that I would cry if she tried to turn off the Disney animated version – even if I wasn’t paying attention. She’d have to hit rewind and replay it again. It would be like traversing Underland itself for me to untangle which happened in which adaptation – so if you feel the urge to correct me, listen to the young Crab and think: “Hold your tongue, Ma!”

My Divorce in Essays: Revival

It’s been a very busy past couple months – and yet they feel as if stretched out over a year. Every facet of my life has gears churning; every spin off is advertising a new sequel; every loose string being cut short and tied up.

“I had a friend that told me that your 20’s are just practice for your 30’s – you don’t need to have it all figured out by now, you were just warming up.”

 Winter, yes, the time of death. But also, a time of rest. The world goes still as the ground freezes, sheltering seeds until they are ready to rise. That’s what this feels like. Like the things in my life that were dying are finally harvested, tossed out, the craters left behind allowing the earth to expand and heal. Ground being cleared to make way for spring. 

“I didn’t realize until I started looking around, and you’ve barely made any changes, but I walked into the living room and thought ‘Oh! There’s Raelee.’”

But first, we wait. The earth settles back into place, adapting to those craters that violent harvest has left behind. Trees exchange leaves for the embrace of chilled breezes, watching as the world around them explores the foreign landscape or seek warmth in burrows and families.

“I feel obligated to her, to do this right and take the chances I’ve avoided or am tempted to talk myself out of. I want the me in a couple years to be proud of the progress I made and have a life that looks so completely different from this one.”

New friendships. New home. Fresh license. Newfound energy. An open heart. Anticipation. Perspective. Vulnerability.
Revival.

“You keep saying you are sad for past Raelee, why is that?”

“She has to wait so long to get to this point, and has
no clue she’s wasting so much love, energy, and time.”

“I don’t know, I’m excited for her. You’re giving
her the life she wanted and pictured for herself.
Sure, she has to wait longer than maybe you’d have liked –
but in the scheme of things, you are just starting.”

~ Raelee