"At least you know the worst is over..."

my mom sighed emphatically over phone the tonight, referring to the metaphorical "where" I am today. And really, it's even nicer to look back and know that the worst was over long ago...to be able to pinpoint exactly when and where the "worst" really happened, and know that I have come so far.

It was about three weeks that I can roughly remember...I think I've written about them before. Have you ever been close to madness? I hadn't until then. I'd been depressed, upset, wounded and victimized at times, but I had never experienced anything like those weeks.

They started the Monday after he left. I went to the doctor, still sick with a sinus infection, still jet-lagged from my trip abroad that had ended only 4 days earlier, just 1 day before he left...it was now Easter Monday, and I had spent much of the holiday weekend dazed and ill, sleepless and tearful at my aunt's house. I had returned home just a few hours before my appointment to find that he had packed up all his things into a trail of boxes and black trash bags that wound from our closet, through the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room and kitchen. Photos pulled from their places on the walls, books taken from the shelves, the crystal decanters removed from the kitchen, except for the crystal drum that had been a wedding present to him from a friend. I can't remember how I went into town...I think some friends drove me.

I had made the appointment in the hopes of helping me keep it together well enough to finish my thesis. I sat in the waiting room, exhausted, surrounded by people, and recognizing curiously that I could not keep myself from crying. Not weeping, just crying continuously, staring straight ahead, tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't seem to have any control. I felt...broken.

The doctor, who is still my doctor, was the kindest, nicest, doctor I've ever met. He sat down, looked me in the eyes and just listened as I told him briefly about my situation, my inability to either sleep or concentrate, and my need to finish my thesis project. He explained that since this was just the beginning, and who knew what would be coming down the pipe, we'd take it slow and concentrate on getting me through the thesis.

I took the full doses of the prescribed medications and managed to sleep a few hours each night. My mom came for a few days and helped me to clean the house, put things in order, and move his boxes into the garage. I kept a brave face for the most part, until the last day when the dreams began and I went to her in the morning, crying. She left that afternoon, and my final thesis work began.

I wrote when I could, went to work as I could, spent the evenings at a nearby cafe to write away from the house, and ate very little. I walked the dogs like clockwork, early in the mornings and in the evenings, enjoying the beauty I saw in the spring all around me. I tried to stay outside, away from home, or near the windows and the light.

Many times in those weeks when I was alone in the house or the car, in moments without distraction, the madness came...sudden crying turned instantly to screaming, shrieking, almost roaring...and my throat would hurt and my eyes sting for hours.

Night was the worst. I would spent the day coming to terms with the reality of his leaving, but at night my dreams and my heart betrayed me, and every sequence was just of daily life--the two of us together in the kitchen or the car--with no memory that he had gone. I woke from these dreams with hugh gasps of breath, realizing in an instant that they had tricked me. The pain would come, and in the dark, disoriented without my glasses, I would sob and scream, eventually rocking myself into a calmer state, but afraid to go back to sleep. I watched many sunrises from my back porch then, with one of the dogs curled sleepily at my feet.

I'd never heard anything like the sound of my screaming; it didn't seem like my voice, but it felt like I was trying to turn my insides out by force. In those moments I was completely without control, and afterwards I was afraid...I thought I was losing it...and losing myself.

Eventually, though, I found that the moments of peace from my morning walks stretched into graceful days. The screaming fits were fewer, my sleep sometimes blessedly dreamless, and I began to feel rested. Sadness didn't force me to cry uncontrollably. Instead, I could channel it, write about it, or even, at last, just brush it aside to be dealt with later.

The worst was only three weeks long, and since then each day has, for the most part, been a little bit easier than the last. There have been harder days than others, true, and difficult conversations and situations, but I am very far from madness now, and grateful to be so removed.

It's still difficult to find myself in this place sometimes. We're still in limbo. Still legally married, but long separated. He has not aggresively pursued the end, but made it clear not to interpret this as indecision. So now, when I never wanted this at all and still, even today, might be prevailed upon to take another course of action, I am having to be the one to follow through.

I want this time, too, to be over. I want to face whatever trauma the finality may bring, and then put it behind me with the worst of it all.

He hasn't responded. He hasn't acted. So I asked my attorney to move forward.

The court date is set, and the countdown begins. Whether through settlement, mediation, or court decision, I'll be divorced by April 7, 2008.

I thought I would be sad, and I was, but mostly I was just relieved. Tingling all over my body, like a rush of wind, I sighed from deep down. No screaming, no crying...just silence, just peace.