J. Shalomar
Take responsibility for your choices.
Most days I am able to distract myself enough that I hardly think about the sham that my marriage has become. Between my son, my mother, job hunting, apartment hunting, online schooling, trying to get public assistance and child support (and all of the paperwork and interviews that that entails), church, and whatever other distractions I can come up with, I do a pretty good job of distancing myself from that particular disaster.
Tonight though… Tonight has been a three cups of tea at midnight (because I can’t sleep)- web surfing- 2am movie- 4am text to the bff- WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE??! kind of night.
In other words… Exhausting.
I know I’m not doing the wrong thing. The wrong thing is what I’ve done for the past five years. Trying to salvage an increasingly abusive relationship that seems to have been doomed to fail from the start.
Someone told me that I must be feeling guilty. It’s not guilt that I feel. I’m beyond guilt. I know that I’ve put everything that I had into and sacrificed so much more for my marriage. No, I don’t feel guilt. Nor should I. What I’m feeling is drowned by anxiety about what comes next…
It’s 5am and I’m tired enough that I think I can chance trying to get some rest. I lie down on the twin bed that I share with August. He snuggles close to me and wraps an arm around my neck. His right leg is thrown over my hip and then he’s comfortable, secure in the knowledge that mommy is safe with him - utilizing whatever rational his four year old sleep soaked mind has come up with to make that so.
I’m an August taco. I’ve no space of my own, but I don’t care. Not really. He’s safe. He’s asleep. I know that he’s confused about the changes that have taken place in our lives, but at least he can take some comfort from the fact that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
With that in mind and running my fingers through my little boy’s curls, I fall asleep.