It is getting more and more difficult to pretend. I have times, sometimes hours out of the day, that I can put a smile on my face and pretend this is okay. I can pretend that I am happy and can make this work. Five minutes at home reminds me it will never work. I simply can't do this and remain sane. Okay, perhaps sane is overstating my mental capabilities, but how about somewhat sane?
When it is just he and I, it isn't awful. It isn't all "oh I am so happy and in love", but it isn't me plotting my quickest escape. No, that happens when we walk through these doors and re enter hell. The absolute disrespect shown to me by his children wears me down. As I am telling one of them to stop doing something he is laughing in my face. He knows damn well my word means nothing and he will get away with it time and time again. I don't want to live in a home where I am treated like trash. I must get out.
Easier said than done. Fear is a big factor in why I stay. Do you think that makes me proud? It doesn't. It makes me angry that at the age of 42, I am still too scared to walk off that cliff. So what if I fall? I have had no less than a dozen people offer me help and yet here I sit, crying and wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I guess the fear is that they will figure out the "real me" and turn their backs.
Perhaps they will discover I am indeed as crazy as I have been told all these years and turn their backs. I am so tired of crying myself to sleep. So tired of feeling like I will simply never measure up. Tired of feeling like no one could ever possibly love me. The real me. The one that spends so much time in her own head remind herself what an absolute failure she is. So tired of pretending like I just ran into something and that is why I am crying so that my kids don't know I am dying on the inside.
I remember happy. Happy was a quiet day with friends. An afternoon at the mall with the little ones. No worries, just us enjoying each other. An unexpected laugh over something entirely too silly to explain to anyone else. I miss happy. I miss me. Hell, I don't even know if I remember me.
I sat here tonight and tried to discuss with him some issues. I don't know why I even try. Within moments it was all my fault and I am breaking this "happy family". Do you think I like the idea of taking my children away from their father? The idea tears my heart out, but damnit, when do I get my chance at happy? Why does it make me a terrible mother to want more?
My greatest dream is not to go back to Texas with my tail tucked between my legs and admit to my family that once again I fucked up, but if that is where life takes me, then so be it. I just want to be the best mom to my children that I can. Living in, if not misery, than serious unhappiness, is not helping me be that mother. Will it be easy? No. Am I terrified? Without a doubt. Will I find the courage to walk out that door? I wish I knew.
One foot in front of the other...all the while praying to God I don't fall flat on my face.
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