It’s Not Fair

I’m so angry right now. I mean livid, rage-at-the-world, pissed. Why the hell am I the bad guy? Why the hell does my daughter blame me because my ex-husband is a piece of shit who couldn’t do right by me or my child? Doesn’t anyone understand how fucking impossibly hard all of this is? I didn’t want to tear apart my family but I had no other choice. The alternative was just too much to bear. He was hurting her. He was killing me. Not physically but emotionally and mentally he was destroying me. Piece by tiny piece until I was left as nothing but a shell.

But to him, and to my child, I did this. What the fuck? Because I was the only one strong enough to step up and say “No more!” Because I refused to take anymore of the shit?

My seven year old daughter doesn’t understand it. I don’t know how to make her understand that the man who has been her father for the last four years is a manipulative, lying dirtbag piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to lick the dirt under her feet. He doesn’t love her. How could he when he never loved me? She’s a part of me. All he does is hurt her. And yet, when she looks at me with those baby blue eyes and says, “It’s not fair, I miss him,” what the hell do I say to that?

I’m happy in my life. Not perfectly but for the most part, I’m happy especially compared to where I was. I have a man who loves me and accepts my child as his own. Truly accepts and loves her. And yet she wants my ex-husband. And nothing I say or do can change that.

I’m just fucking tired. I’m tired of listening to it. For four months I’ve had to watch her cry, listen to her blame me and no matter what I say or do, it’s not enough. So I finally said, “Fuck it,” and called him to arrange a time for him to see her. Which also makes me the bad fucking guy. WHAT THE HELL! I can’t fucking win.

All I know is I’m tired of being in the midst of it all. I’m tired of being the bad guy no matter what I do. I can’t do right so what the fuck is the point?

I hate how hard this is. I hate watching the child I love more than life, hurt. I just want that to go away. I just want my life back. I really fucking hate him for lying to me. He promised to love me, to be there for me and then refused to do as he promised. He married me and decided that meant he owned me, and could do whatever the hell he wanted.

Yet I’m the one suffering while he goes on about his life. I hate it. I officially hate him and I don’t care at this moment whether that’s the right thing or not. I fucking hate him. I hate him for hurting me, for lying to me, for belittling me. I hate him for all of it. Most of all, I hate him for fucking hurting her. And for that hurt being the one thing that made me break into little pieces of despair and allow him back into her life.

What the hell kind of mother am I? What the hell was I thinking? And why is it so goddamned confusing? Why does it hurt like someone is stabbing me over and over in the heart? I just want to see her happy and whole.

On top of it all, the man I love is livid with me. He’s angry and I don’t know if he has a right to be or not. Am I just stupid? Selfish? Weak?

One thing I know is I’m lost in it all and I have no idea what the right path is. Which also isn’t fair.

Unfortunately, I’ve created this path and I guess I just have to walk it and see where it leads. If there is a divine essence or presence, please protect her from my foolishness and weakness. Please help her to understand what even I can’t seem to understand myself. Please give me strength to carry on because right now I feel so weak, lost, and alone I can’t stand it. It really just hurts. And that’s not fair either.

Life Story Part 6: The Parents

My mother recently found me on Facebook and sent me a friend request. Three days later I’m having dreams about her. Triggered? Oh yeah, you bet. I haven’t talked to her in years, since I was 18 and she called me a liar and said I was making up stories to make other people look bad. The woman abandoned me at 10 years old to my father, a monster who began sexually molesting me at 12. I am not entirely sure which I resent more – my father for torturing me or my mother for abandoning me.

My father’s punishments were always a little off. For whatever reason, he was into bizarre and torturous punishments. Timeouts were not used in our house but standing in the corner, arms stretched up above my head, for hours on end, were. My father would use a pencil to put a line at each of my fingertips and if my fingers weren’t right where they were supposed to be, I got beat with a belt. Do you know what happens after you stand in that position for a while? Your whole body sweats, including your fingers. Your legs start to tremble. When you’ve stood there all day? Your knees will start to buckle from the strain, your calves quiver and your arms ache from fingertip to shoulder blade. Your back will start to spasm. This for the smallest infraction like not making my bed. At age eight.

My mother would often step in and mediate a compromise. She kept him from going too far. Then one day, she was just gone. I came home from school, not long after my grandmother had died (she had lived with us since I was a newborn) and my mother was gone. No soap opera on the TV, no dinner cooking on the stove, just gone like she never existed.

For four years I didn’t hear from her and then just one day she called and was suddenly talking to me about moving in with her. By that time I’d been tortured every which way by my father. Laying on ice, kneeling on rice, writing thousands and thousands of sentences, not to mention the oh-so-embarrassing vagina “inspections” to make sure I was clean “down there”, the thousands of beatings with the belt buckle, the midnight awakenings where my father would grab me by the throat and slam my head into the ceiling for no real reason, hissing at me in a drunken rage. I leapt at the chance to be free.

It only took nine months, one rape, and running away from home, for my mother to send me back to my father and label me an “out of control child”. Somehow my father had managed to get busted for selling drugs and within six months of me returning to him, he was in jail and I was in foster care.

Now a mother myself to four children (only 1 is biologically mine, the other three I’ve “pseudo-adopted”), I cannot imagine ever leaving my child behind. I was tested when she was two years old by becoming homeless and at no point did I leave my child behind. We struggled through it together. It bonded us in ways I never would have expected. I had my tubes tied after giving birth to my daughter, determined not to birth any more children, but children with mothers who don’t love them seem to be coming into my life. And I can’t help but love them.

I haven’t talked to my father in almost a decade, since I entered therapy. I stopped talking to him when I started therapy and then neither of us ever reached out again. I needed to break free of the chains he had wrapped around my mind and my heart. Once I did, what little shred of parental/child connection there was, vanished. I sent a letter to my mother about 7 years ago, right after my daughter was born, telling her how I felt and she pretended it never happened. I told her she was dead to me and if she died tomorrow I wouldn’t shed a tear. That still holds true today.

And yet, here she is, friending me on Facebook. Was it an accident? Why did I accept? Am I just a glutton for punishment? What purpose could it serve? Why trigger myself in this way? I accepted and the thought at the time was “I can always block her if she starts trouble” but if she starts something, the damage may be done. So far she has been silent – maybe she just wants to see how things are in my life and see her granddaughter? Who knows?

In any case, neither of my parents deserve to know me or my family. I’ve worked very long and very hard to build a life for myself without their help. They’re not going to destroy it.

So Tired I Can’t See Straight

I just spent the majority of today sweating my ass off in a laundromat because the washer and dryer isn’t working right. Five hours in 91 degree heat has got to be as close to hell as I really want to get. But we have a truck full of clean clothes and this time the cat is NOT going to pee all over them.

The last month has been really tough. Financially I’m in deep shit. As in repossession/homelessness/go hungry deep shit. If not for my roommate/boyfriend I would have been there already. I’m not quite sure who I pissed off in this life – all I want to do is say I’m really sorry and please stop punishing me.

My life would probably be great if it weren’t for the financial despair. I have over $1500 hanging up in the air right now pending transfers for various banking reasons. Seriously – just give me my money already.

Not sure when I’ll post again – things have been so busy I haven’t had the energy to do any self-analysis. Blogging has just felt like work rather than therapy. And I just don’t have the energy for anything more lately.