Nice to see your name in my inbox

I'm selling the $5 million home I've lived in for 30 years.  It's probably a good idea--the place is too big and costly for one person, and I'm 69. I pay $60,000 a year in real estate taxes to the City of New York.  

The reason I'm selling, unfortunately, is my divorce, which makes the experience very very sad, even when I try to convince myself it's the right thing for me.

Because we're co-owners, my ex has had to correspond on group emails with our realtor.  So, for the first time in several years, her name is popping up inbox (she's not a communicator with those who disappoint her:  I'm talking about four messages over two weeks.  None, as is her style, longer than two sentences).

I'm happy to discover that, finally, seeing her name doesn't infuriate me.  I ascribe that to my recent ketamine treatments, which gave me some alternatives to the manic anxiety I suffer from. 

 (Thank you to the medicine...though, without the PTSD, I'm now left unprotected from depression.  I think this next mental health mountain will be multitudes harder than the PTSD--the biggest challenge I've ever attempted.)

Lacking PTSD, I even had a moment of curiosity about how my ex's live is playing out.  That's just plain stupid, I know.  My ex does not share...at best she trades.  Since I no longer share, she's absent.  Non-existent, except as a nagging symptom of PTSD.. 

Also, I miss our conversations.  Wouldn't it be nice to know we agree on Palestine, for instance.  I'd love that connection--similar to what I fantasize I once had.

So, it's nice to see her name pop up again, along my healing journey.

Foolish.  To trust that an enemy won't do what she always does to enemies.  Disappoint me as absolutely as she possibly can.  She's already back to ghosting, and we haven't even had an Open House yet.