The abuse will end.. NOW

I am praying the Ibuprofen kicks in.  I threw my neck out this morning.  It’s gotten progressively worse over the last hour to the point where now, I’m at work and can barely move and am fighting back tears over it.  I’m not supposed to take ibuprofen.  The doc forbid it a few months back based on my kidneys – but with this kind of pain, I don’t know what else to do.  I may have to call the bro and see if he can come swoop me up.  There’s no way I should drive like this. 

Fought with the ex this morning.  HARD.  I’m so upset I can barely form words.  I’d gotten into the shower.  The bro usually gets the door in the morning and I was running a bit behind, so I got in the shower and didn’t think to even see if he was up.  The ex drops off my son around 6:30 – although, lately he’s dropped him off at varying times.  Sometimes 7, sometimes 8:30, once last week it was even 9:30.  I don’t mind the variation too much – life happens.  When I finally got to the door however, the ex was livid.  He’d been standing outside for 10 minutes…where was I?  How could I be so rude.  I answered the door dripping in a towel – isn’t it obvious where I was?  I was in a good mood and maintained my politeness.  I asked, like I always ask, when I can see Logan – my step son.  I also asked him if he found my little one’s newer stuffed toy.  He’d taken it last weekend despite my protests.  He always takes his toys and then they never make it home again, and this was a new toy bought at the zoo by Grandma.  My little one picked it out himself and he loved it.  It’s now lost.  Apparently me asking these two simple questions unleashed hell because the next thing I knew, I was being screamed at.  I’m sick of being screamed at.  I’m sick of being made to feel like I’m a horrible person…and worse, a horrible mother.  I’m NOT a horrible mother.  I’m NOT a horrible person.  If I was… I wouldn’t do all that I do and have done.  How about the fact that I’ve loaned you money…multiple times?  How about the fact that I still pay for you to have a phone?  How about the fact that I don’t ask you for ANYTHING for our kids?  You don’t pay child support.  You don’t donate towards camp or additional education.  Hell – you never ask to see our daughter.  I ask to see Logan at least once a week.  Your excuse is always the same… “I’m busy.” or “Ask me” … um, what do you think I just DID you asshat?!  How much clearer can “When can I see logan?” be?! 

I’m hurt.  I’m frustrated.  Hell – I’m positively TICKED OFF!  I’m trying so hard to just get along and be amiable.  I’m trying to not fight and be a reason for stress or drama in either of our lives.  I work hard at respecting your needs and your life.  I keep my children’s lives compartmentalized from my personal love life as best I can, out of respect to you.  But what respect do you give to me?  None.  All you have ever done is make me feel like I’m not good enough.  Like I don’t measure up to whatever impossible standards you have in your head.  Nothing I have ever done in 11 years has ever been good enough.  And that’s ridiculous.  I feel like I need someone to tell me that I’m good enough today.  That I’m not a horrible person.  That I matter.  I need that reminder today. 

I’m so sick of this.  11 years.  I put up with this same shit for 11 years.  Who says I have to continue?  The abuse has to end.  I think it’s time.  I think it’s time that I do what I’ve been avoiding.  I cannot allow this to continue.  I cannot allow a person who is broken, unorganized, lazy and hateful to continue to have such an impact on me and my life.  I wanted to avoid taking this to court.  I wanted to avoid anything that would make this split be less than amicable.  I wanted to avoid doing to you what I did to Alayna’s dad.  I thought that it was possible to make this work.  But frankly, I’m done.  I don’t deserve the continued abuse.  I don’t deserve the insults.  I don’t deserve your constant manipulation, degradation and deceit.  I want protection from that.  I need protection from that.

I’ll see you in court. 

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