No contact.

5 years.

1,825 days.

43,800 hours.

And the hours are fucking slow.

But it’s worth it all. The trials. The court dates. Learning how to have a voice again. It’s worth it. You had broken me completely. Split me in two. Gagged me by cutting out my tongue. Yet, you can’t even say fucking sorry. Because, it was all my fault.

Accountability. Something you always struggled with. I swear to God, you avoid it like the plague. Makes sense, never wanting to carry the burden. The shame. Any emotion that makes you vulnerable. It’s too much to process. You always blamed your childhood. “My trauma makes it hard to deal with this.” No, you just never wanted to take responsibility for it. Why am I surprised? That mindset has been in you longer than I’ve known you.

Insanity. Our marriage truly was. I spent years trying to fix you. To help you. Did the same thing over and over again. Only to be left with the remnants of your disease. Still fragments in my mind. Rewind. If I could take it back I would. I would tell myself, “Stop. Grow up. Stand up for what is right. You know what she is doing is wrong. She will hurt you, your children, everyone you care about.” However, I would still be the fool who fell head over heels.

Unfortunately I wouldn’t change it.

Purpose. You gave my life purpose. To protect the boys. Help them grow up. Strong, secure, stable. Understanding what love should be. Not what I was conditioned to accept. You couldn’t even give me or them the bare minimum. And fuck. I wasn’t a saint. I had problems too. But, I sure as shit wasn’t you. I never enacted violence.  I never broke our vows. I never blamed you for my problems. They were mine to fix, not yours. I used to spend hours telling you and showing you how much I loved you. Constantly needing your validation, because that’s how you conditioned me to be. Unable to feel anything unless it was allowed by you.

So now I sit here, writing this, because this catharsis is the only time I can actually put my thoughts to paper. I won’t tell the children, it can ruin their thoughts of you. Their relationship with you isn’t mine. I have to protect that. I can’t tell my parents, they will just blame themselves for enabling you. I can’t tell God, because God knows it all. I can’t tell my friends, because you took them away from me with your fucking lies. Lovely. Unbearable weight. You have left me to raise three kids, alone, and abandoned. All because you can’t understand right from wrong.

Great.

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Panic