I have filed for divorce.

I did it.

It took two days of visits to the courthouse to make sure that I had the right paperwork and the right copies of the right paperwork, and that both the paperwork and the copies had the right seals and stamps and twirl three times in a circle… anyway, you get the idea.

The courthouse’s security is just as strict as the airport, except for the whole liquid ban thing. I mean, you can’t have a screwdriver, but you can have a lighter. Um. I think I’ll leave ranting about security theater to Bruce Schneier. He’s far better at it.

This afternoon, I filed for divorce.

I have to consult the book again, about whether the Answer & Waiver that she signed negates the need for me to serve her papers. I mean, that was the point of that sheet, right? No one seemed to know, and I didn’t want to deal with another hour and a half wait for Access to Justice, the publicly available legal pseudo-advice.

So many people are fighting over custody of their children. So many people are fighting each other, and breaking apart. There are so many broken hearts and frustrated dreams and angry people.

In comparison, I’ve got it easy.

It doesn’t feel easy.

It took me a few days to gather myself to file. I became depressed. I became petulant. I became hermit-like. I had an emotional gravitational singularity. Why was I filing, when she was the one who left? Why was I dropping 150 hard-earned dollars, when I never wanted the divorce in the first place?

I know why, now. I want freedom. I want to put it behind me. I want to grow. I want to move on. I want to be done with this, done with her.

I need time to heal. I need time without her influence in my life to become wholly me again. I need to continue deprogramming myself from the patterns that I formed in the past. I need time.

I have filed for divorce.