I feel like my network has watched this so many times over, that history keeps repeating itself. I wonder where the justice is, and yet I feel like an ingrate for wondering, because really I have received so much to be thankful for, and truthfully, I have no right to complain. God has been too kind to me already, and I have no right to question the difficult times. I have, after all been blessed with more than my share. I guess it's only fitting that I endure some hardships as well. I want to say 'why me', but really, why not me?
I guess the best summary is that I feel like I'm in a bit of a confused state. I mean, who wouldn't? I'm tired, ragged, and need a break. I am, after all, the good parent. I'm the one who supports my kids, loves them, hugs them, tries to keep them safe.
The other day, my daughter was complaining that life was so hard. Why does she have to come from a divorced home? Why couldn't she have a normal life or at least a normal father. And then here is the kicker...my son replies "we have a mother that is better than most mothers in the world. She more than makes up for dad. Be happy with what we have".
Have I mentioned that I adore my kids?
I think that is what keeps me going. My love for my children. I adore them. I'm glad they are a part of my life. I will fight tooth and nail for them. But I am also getting tired. And I feel sometimes like I am going to die fighting this fight, like this will never end. That it will haunt me for life.
He is, ever all, bipolar, and this is the nature of the beast. He will forever go through his cycles, and I am forever condemned to ride the waves with him. As long as the children are children. And when their innocence is over, the waves might stop.
Then again...who knows, maybe these waves won't ever stop. Ironic that I thought a divorce would end the pain. It didn't end it, just lessened it, and gave it a new face. A few days ago, I was lying in bed and realized the scary reality...this is NEVER going to end. He's going to haunt me until the day I die. Until death do us part. Because there is a part of him that is pure evil and wants to get even with me. There is a clinically psychotic side that will not ever let me breathe. Even when he remarries, he will focus on revenge. It kind of redefines "till death do us part".
With abusive men, the abuse never really ends. It just changes faces. And you can be strong, and smile around your friends, and pretend that it is all OK. But it isn't. You're just kind of waiting for something to end the misery.
And last week a friend called me a "survivor of domestic violence". Funny term. I mean, I didn't "survive" anything. I'm still kind of attempting to survive. And here is the other funny thing. When you climb that scary mountain and get to the top, and reach that point where you think it is all over, you realize two things:
- You are all alone up there.
- You still have to make your way down again, and that is another lonely journey.
Getting to the top of the mountain was just half the journey. The other half is just beginning, and now you're tired, ragged, and alone. In some ways, the climb was the easy part.
