He asks me what I want, but I don’t want anything.
He wants me to tell him what would make me happy, but I don’t know what that is. I just don’t care anymore.
I can feel his love tonight. He even came home an hour early to give me somewhat of a break. He could tell I was past my breaking point when he called me earlier this morning.
I’m glad he’s here, his loving presence makes a huge difference, even if he doesn’t know it.
But he doesn’t know about last night. He doesn’t know about the conversations (or lack there of) that went on. He doesn’t know about the hours spent breaking the fuck down, absolutely drowning in pain, while he slept off a migraine.
I want him to know, but I can’t make the words come out. I’m simultaneously numb and completely distraught. Overlapping and opposing forces, wreaking hell within me.
There isn’t joy, there isn’t even ambivalence. There’s only silent pain, drowned and muted with substance.
I don’t care anymore.
They’ve taken a lot from me over the years. I’ve given them a lot, yes. But they’ve absolutely taken a lot.
Why? Why intentionally reach out when you see that I’m in pain…and then completely disappear when I’ve done nothing but respond to you in a very careful and respectful way?
I don’t get it. I never will.
But I am fucking done.
I can’t win, I can’t succeed, I can’t navigate this.
Alcohol wants me to feel right now. We’re in the tricky part of the night. I want to be numb. But I need to drink. And drinking usually opposes the numbness.
I don’t see anything going well. I don’t see my life becoming tolerable anytime soon. Let alone live-able.
It hurts, I’m alone, and I’m done.
If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to open wounds so deep that there’s no way to stop the bleeding…it’s this. It’s them. I wish he didn’t do this to me.
Why attempt humanity….and then just….
I’m the fucking mother of your child. And I promise you….my son cares. Maybe not now, I honestly don’t know what he knows or thinks. But he will, if not now, ￼he will care soon. My kids are all over-feelers…. Another genetic flaw. Gift?
It’s fine. I don’t care. I’m over it.
Numb is better. Numb is safe. Except for the fact that that’s a massive lie.
Every day from now until April…but really May….every day is pain. Pain that doesn’t feel worth it.
I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. Not this year. Not again. So many times over the last 2 years I should have died.
Sometimes, I really wish I did.
I don’t deserve all of this. The grief, the horror and pain of watching my other 2 kids physically decline incredibly rapidly, being continually fucked up sexually and emotionally by someone who I thought “loved” me…
Losing more and more of my birth son, of myself, every year.
Yeah, I’m numb. But I also fucking hate this.
I end these the all same, the ones about him. Tonight I don’t want to. Tonight I’m angry and bitter and so fucking hurt. But that isn’t his fault. It isn’t about him.
So maybe I’ll lean into it instead of pushing it away, instead of running. I’ve been trying to do that lately. Lean into the pain instead of running from it.
(Kid…I fucking miss you, love you, grieve you…always. But lately, it’s all SO much extra. And I am sorry. I always will be.)