I wasn’t going to talk about it, because I don’t want to talk about it. I want to take the high road. I want to believe things will work out quickly.
Here on the high road, I am having migraines every couple of days. I have some good meds for the migraines, stuff that’s so expensive that my insurance will only let me have six pills each month, which I think is pretty ridiculous for non-narcotic medicine that doesn’t even do me the courtesy of making me high. Hmph.
And I’m working, and taking care of the kids, and doing the things I need to do. And I’m happy, most of the time. But my head feels like it’s going to explode.
I am tired. I am tired of apologizing. I’m tired of spending my every conversation with Otto venting about the latest ridiculousness spouted forth to Put Me In My Place because I have dared to move forward with my life. I am tired of being treated like my every move is part of a nefarious plot.
I am tired of receiving no credit for stabilizing my children’s lives over the last few years, or for trying to figure out how we proceed now in a way that fosters the very relationship that is focused on making my children believe the sky is falling. I am tired of putting on a happy face for them because, HELLO, THAT IS WHAT WE PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, when the other party in this equation is leaking so much self-pity that my very sensitive daughter is coated in its sticky poison and is now alternately furious with or clinging to me, sobbing that she is so worried about her father.
I am tired of being sabotaged. I am tired of my children paying the price because he is angry with me. I am tired of spending so much of my time trying to put back to rights everything he’s knocking over in his pain.
I am tired of defending him, with a hug and a gentle smile and reminders of love, while inside my head I am screaming, seething with rage that I am left to justify the indefensible. I am tired of being blamed and reviled when it would be so much easier to play the same game, let my emotions take precedence over what they need.
I am happy; happier than I’ve been in a very long time. The future will be wonderful for all of us, once we get through this. But getting through this is a lot of work, and I am tired.
And I am tired of pretending it’s not happening, or worrying that it will get worse if I speak my mind. It’s already worse. Here is my mind: I’m tired. It’s exhausting, watching someone self-destruct. It’s exhausting, trying to protect my children from so much love gone awry.
Years ago, fighting this particular undertow, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to swim clear. Now I know that I am, but that doesn’t make it less scary while I’m in it.