I Hate Down Days
It’s one of those days. It’s a Bad Day. A very big, bad day.
I’m having very big feelings and most of them aren’t rational. I absolutely *know* they aren’t rational yet there they are. One thing I’ve learned is that no matter if they make sense or not, I have to feel these feelings. It sucks. But it is what it is.
I started reading When Dad Hurts Mom by Lundy Bancroft. And I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I’m only on page 17 and I just feel so overwhelmed. I need to get this book read before the kids gets home. I don’t want them to see me reading it. Why? I don’t know. It isn’t like they don’t know that their dad hurts me. It isn’t like they don’t know that their dad is an abuser. I’m still trying to protect them from anything I can because I absolutely can’t protect them from anything he does.
Serenity had to call 911 because Bubba was in her face screaming, “Fuck you!!!” She was terrified so she ran away and called the police to help her. When they showed up, they told her she was lucky that Bubba wasn’t having her arrested for being a runaway. What? They told her there was nothing they could do unless he hit her. Thank you, Mr. Policeman. The girl is obviously terrified and Bubba is cool as a cucumber and you tell her that it is HER fault? Did they teach you nothing about abusers? They are always cool when the cops show up, making their victims look crazy.
This summer has been hell for them. And I think therein lies the crux of the problem.
I’ve had an amazing summer. I’ve had fun while my kids have lived in hell. Where is the fairness in that? I could divorce him and get away from his abusiveness but my kids have no choice. How am I allowed to have the most awesome summer of my entire life and my kids are living in hell? I can sit and plan how I’m not getting out of the car at pick-up because it protects me, but what about them??? I can’t protect my babies and it feels so very selfish to worry about protecting myself when my kids are going through this. I’m no longer putting myself in the line of fire to protect them and that feels so very, very selfish.
Then there’s the fact that I’m lonely. I want to be a wife. I truly do. I was meant to be a wife and mother. I feel like a huge chunk of who I am just doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like a piece of me has died. I want to be a wife again, but I want to be a wife who has a husband. I want a partner. I want everything I was robbed of by an abuser who chose his abusive ways over getting healthy. I feel very cheated. I was a good wife. I wasn’t perfect, not by any means, but I was a good wife.
So now, I’m left with the will to be a wife but not the ability to be a wife simply because I’m not anymore. I want someone to share my life with. I don’t want any big romance. I don’t want to fall in love. I want a friend, a companion, someone to share my life with, someone who will let me have my own life and will have his own life, but we come back together and have a shared life too. I don’t know if that makes sense or not. I want someone to cook and bake for, to clean with, to make love with, to laugh with, to share our sorrows and triumphs. I want someone who will hold me when I weep, who will laugh with me when I laugh, who will carry me when I need it, and who will let me carry him when he needs it.
I want a partner.
I hate days like this when everything is all twisted in my mind and I’m trying to untangle all of it. It’s exhausting and it rarely feels productive.