This is a topic I wasn’t going to discuss openly, yet alone on my blog. I feel sick, like the way you feel after accidentally overfeeding a goldfish to find it belly up in the morning. You were just taking care of it, and it died. You know it wasn’t intentional but feel sick to your stomach anyways.
My goldfish died a year ago. And when I say goldfish I mean my marriage.
You never know what the future holds, but I was a naive 20-something bound and determined to hold on to a boyfriend. I had a long-standing semi-long-distance relationship that went nowhere for years and I got out of it. Since then it’s been like grasping at straws and water running through my fingers, nothing was sticking. Until I met him, the one who stuck, and ultimately destroyed himself and the goldfish.
I wanted to write about the process, emotionally and whatnot, but it’s still too gripping, a nightmarish flash of the detrimental blow to the fish tank. All I can say is, I survived and it’s going to be a long road ahead.
That road is full of possibilities, one of which is chocolate. What do I reach for when dealing with a dead goldfish? Coffee Crisp. Chocolate covered strawberries. Chocolate cake. Chocolate cakeballs covered in chocolate. Hot chocolate. Peanut Butter Cups. Valentine’s Day was especially hard to hold restraint from diving into the bins of chocolate in the stores. Now I feel a little pudgy.
Deciding that feeding my emotions was not a healthy response, I backed away from the cupcakes and Girl Scout Thin Mints. I went for a run (!!!) with my dog and felt like I was going to die, lung and calves burning. A full-out run in the park should have started with a brisk walk, maybe even a jog. I used to cross-country ski when I lived in the snow, and swam every morning before class in college. Life crept in and pushed out the will to exercise, then again, I could blame it on the goldfish.