My name is Frankie.   I live in California.  I have a home, two cats and a six year old kid. Yesterday, I could have added a husband to that list.  Today, not so much.  How We Come Apart  will follow me through this first year of life separating.   There will be “stages” I’m sure.  What I look like today (the girl in The Exorcist) will hopefully not be what I look like in a year.  What will become of me over the course of  365 days?   Will a newer better me emerge or will I be shooting up heroin?  Will I even be alive?   Will I have sex with tons of hot guys or will I be lured by the free food and housing of my local Jehovah's Witness faction?   Your guess is as good as mine.

If you are going through a divorce, separation or know someone who is, follow me through my ups and downs.  From the looks of things right now, it might just be downs.  Chime in any time you want - - I'm listening.


The Players

Me, Frankie:   
Do you really need to know all this stuff about me before we begin?  I don’t really know.  Skip this part if you want.  I’m 42.  Liberal.  Short.  Two siblings.  A brother, a sister.  Parents still together.   Haven’t worked since my kid was born.    I have a Masters in Social Work.   I have excessively dry feet.  Like all unemployed people out there I majored in English at a liberal arts college.    The one thing that has come naturally to me that I have stuck with is being a mom.  I love it - and though I need a glass of wine a little before five on some days, like most moms, it is embedded in my DNA to nurture and love and watch out for this being I refer to here as Le Kid.

George:  
The first thing people notice about George is that he is exceedingly handsome.  Even now, writing this and going through all this shit with him, I can say he is easy on the eyes.  He is also charming, intelligent, can be quite funny. He is 41.   He has a decent job which qualifies him as Major Marriage Material in my mom’s book.   So what’s the problem you ask?  Read on.  Read the F on.

This is how it went down.  There's backstory to every step of this -  reasons why people act the way they do - trust me, I'll get in to that later.  

George had just come from a week long business trip overseas. We were scheduled to go to a dinner party hours after he got back in town.  I rarely go to dinner parties and my life is really about keeping track of my Bed Bath and Beyond coupons.  This was a fledgling invitation that rarely comes my way.  I love good food, but  I hadn't wanted to go in the first place.  I thought George should hang out with Le Kid after being away.  I thought George should snuggle with Le Kid and read him books.  I thought George should watch Le Kid sleep, watch him breathe and whisper, "I missed you so much" into his sleeping ears.   I thought George should at least pretend that he wanted to hang out with me.  But the party was being held at a secretive downtown loft with a chef that was being written up all over the place.  George didn't want to miss it.   He was standing in front of his closet getting dressed while I curled up on the bed.  

Me:  I think I need to stay home tonight.  I'm feeling pretty shitty.  I have terrible cramps.
George:  I'm a big boy.  I guess I can handle myself at a dinner party.

Key facts:

A.  This is the only time George has ever referred to himself as a "big boy." 
B.  I was serious, very serious about the cramps.
C.  The dinner party was hosted by an old friend of MINE.
D.  You feel me?

I rallied and went, the evening devolved including George's Tourette's inspired cathartic fit over a parking spot  before going up to a beautifully laid table and fine wine.  I sat next to George but managed to say nothing to him the whole evening.  When we got home he slumped on the stairs and asked if I was even glad to see him.  No.  We got to yelling, we got to going over shit that had happened the last year, we got to breaking up in clear and simple language.  George went to bed in the guest room I had gussied up for his mother's visits.  I stayed in our bedroom crying, scared, freaked out, stunned.  I had said we should break up before but I was too scared to act on it.  Before, the words felt distant and oblique even as I said them.  Four couples therapists later, I think it doesn't matter how scared I am, it's not like I have a choice.   This time, it's really happening.