On changing my name

I am again Angela Elain Gambrel. What I haven't figured out is who that person is...

I go to write my name, and I become confused about which name to write since the changeover is incomplete.

A feeling of misunderstanding? confusion? unreality? comes over me when I sign the name. What am I supposed to write? And what does it all mean in the end besides some letters strung together meant to indicate who I am? Or is it all a legal falsehood, a lie perpetuated by society? Are we defined by our name?
And I wonder why it ever meant so much to me...

It was supposed to empower me. Return to my birth name; the name I held for thirty years. Wipe the slate clean. The final break between my husband and I without actually divorcing - discarding his name, and taking my former name back.

Instead, I cried the day my Social Security Card arrived with Angela Elain Gambrel clearly printed on it. It was the final break of our 15-year marriage. We no longer share the same name, and instead of feeling empowered by that, I only felt a heavy ache in my heart and I wanted to take it back, take it all back, because I knew that it meant the true beginning of the end, that I will some day no longer be his wife. The dream is truly over and I must move on.

I have spent days drinking wine and pouring over photos of us, happy and smiling and Mr. and Mrs. Lackey. I have prayed at times, God, please return me back to those happier times, before I got sick, before I developed anorexia, before everything imploded and happily ever after became lost. There are wedding photos and vacation photos and photos from this summer when we attempted to reconcile...

And I thought I could erase him, erase all the pain, by a mere name change?
I am grieving right now; the death of my marriage as autumn starts to fade and life itself dies and soon the cold will be here...And I will be so cold without David here.

But in my heart, I know that this is the right thing. We simply aren't able to give each other what we need. David needs his freedom to create his art. I need someone to love and cherish me, to stay by my side no matter what and to share both the joys and troubles of life with me. Simply put, there was nothing left for us to give each other as husband and wife.

I still love David, but more and more I realize it is not David I miss - because I was very anxious around him this summmer, and often felt within me that reconciliation was not going to happen - but companionship; the fun of having someone to do things with and be with.

I'm not sure how any of this happened, for once I believed that we would be together forever. I never expected to change my name again; not for the reasons I did. But there are a few days, I look at my new name and think, I can become who I once was - courageous, curious, strong, independent, often fearless, and someone who loved people and being part of their lives. That a whole new life awaits me, if only I have the courage to live the life that I have instead of mourn forever the life I once lived...

I'm not sure what I am trying to say. I simply know that it is over, and even though my heart is broken, it will mend one day. And I will look back at the pain of the last month and it won't hurt as much.

And then I will be healed, and able to move forward...

The destroyer takes all

Ana the destroyer is taking everything. My marriage. My dreams for grad school. My hopes for any kind of future. My soul.

I believe my marriage is over. My husband and I have struggled for years with this disease. I feel he doesn't understand; he feels this has taken over everything. He escaped to Florida on Thursday, supposedly to work on the boat of a friend. But I believe he wanted to get away from me, or the me that I now am since Ana came to stay.

He sounds so angry at anorexia and I feel he blames me for getting it and this most recent relapse. Without him, I feel lost and lonely and scared. I feel as if I will die of anorexia. And that's a terrible burden to put on anyone.

I think anorexia has so damaged our relationship, it cannot be repaired. I can't seem to make him hear - I didn't do this on purpose, and I am so sorry for what it has done to us over the past years. I love him so much it hurts. I also love him so much, I can't continue to put him through this.

Then there's grad school. I got a 3.7 last semester, and I was quite proud of that. Even with my recent relapse, I have been pulling near a 4.0 in my classes this semester. But I chose to go into the hospital, and now I'm so far behind I feel like I'm smothering. After days of constant writing, up until 2, 3 a.m. I turned in the rough draft of a literature essay that I was told probably won't earn a grade any higher than a B to a B- — after extensive revisions. So instead of resting today, as I so desperately needed so I can think more clearly and actually be able to eat, I again spent hours at the computer trying to salvage this piece.

Today - it's 3 a.m. right now - I have to write the rough draft of another essay, complete a 10-page take-home midterm, read a short novel and then write a 1 to 2 page response essay on it. All of this has to be completed by noon Tuesday.

But my grief over my failing marriage, combined with my sorrow over my now screwed up grad school record - the one source of self-esteem that I had; that I believed in - makes it almost impossible to think about writing another word.

Sometimes heartbreak can hurt so much, it silences everything inside of you.

I need sleep and I need food. I can't seem to find a way to give myself either. And without David, I don't really want to live anyway.