Some real stuff… truth hurts

Life was supposed to go back to normal today and as I typed that sentence I realize that is highly imaginative thinking, for sure.

11 days later.

Fuck.

I have been losing it because of my 2 year old son because he won’t talk and he just whines non-stop.

I just yell so loud and I am so losing my mind right now.

I am kind of scaring myself.

(before I ended this I had to go hold him and say sorry and I did while sobbing, saying we are going to be o.k. over and over again, I am not sure that I believe it though)

 

I hate Chris so much for doing this to us.

What a selfish piece of garbage.

I hate myself for ever coming back but my son is amazing and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

He would not be here today had I never come back.

 

Now I feel like I am only going to fail these kids

But I know I was already failing them by being with him.

And I. Cant. Stop. Sobbing.

I feel so alone and dead inside

I feel like I have no idea how I am going to move on from this.

I know that I will but I am scared to trust the process and the universe even though I am really open to it and trying to be positive no matter what.

It’s totally an act and I hardly believe the positivity coming out of my mouth.

But 2 years ago I began telling myself daily
“Today I am going to be happy”
and eventually I started to believe it

And that’s how I made it to this point today.

Except now I have a lot of shit to do and responsibilities and stuff and I don’t want them

I just want my kids and cats and to blink and be away from here

And into a new life.

 

I just feel like I have nothing.

I feel like I do not belong here. I feel like I do not belong anywhere.

It is so hard not having a vehicle.

This house haunts me.

We are stuck here.

I now see the abuse playing out in front of my eyes all over the place.

Everyday.

Flashbacks that I did not anticipate.

The left over bruises would someday turn to larger wounds I am sure of it.

I don’t know how he ever held back from pulling the trigger,

When he was enraged,

with the barrel to my head.

Screaming in my face.

 

Still sleeping on the couch because our bedroom is hell to me.

I run down to our bedroom to grab clothes daily and for a split second I see him in there

Tie on his arm,  blood on the floor

Trying to hit a vein, always, just trying to hit.

I am traumatized.

 

I remember the moments when the needle would call my name

This was in the last year

I started having dreams about using one

He was ready several times to do it all for me

I was so close a few times to giving in and having him load me one up

I still to this day have never used a needle and I can’t believe I was able to stay so strong,

especially considering how weak I was in the first place.

I already knew that the needle would take everything from me and I could not ever choose that route no matter what.

No matter fucking what! And I am so glad I never did.

I was using a lot for a while there, cocaine more than anything, my drug of choice.

Even though every single time and before this all ever began I told him I never wanted any part of it and please don’t bring it around me, I begged him please don’t bring it around me.

I spoke the phrase “please don’t bring it around me” a million times.

It didn’t matter.

He would.

He always would.

Every. Single. Time.

And he would dangle it over me

Like it was cheese and I was his pet mouse.

It took me too long to catch on to that control technique.

 

But, as I promised myself, I will not lie in my memoir and coming May 7th I will have 1 month clean.

I should be looking at like 7 years in October.

And I lost that all because of him

And I never could admit it to anyone over the last few years

Without giving away the entire secret toxic hell that we were living in

 

I feel like I am drowning

That is the word.

I am drowning.

I can’t fake it anymore.

What if I don’t want to save myself?

Why can’t I for once be the one who gets saved.

I am so tired of having to save myself.

Men are terrified of me.

Most women are intimidated by me.

 

 

Where is this setback coming from?

It probably began yesterday when I was told I wouldn’t have to see him

And then I did.

And he saw me.

His eyes…. Manic as ever.

Neon yellow jumpsuit

Shackles.

His eyes. Full of rage.

Glossy and scary.

The look he gave me…. Something I cant ever put into words but thinking about it makes me break down.

I wish I did not have this image in my mind

And now its stuck there forever.

 

He wants me dead.

And how am I supposed to live like that.

 

 

 

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