life has taught me anything it’s that it’s better to be safe—and to always trust your gut.
I muster every bit of courage I have, march past the security desk, and open the door. It’s a beautiful day, only there’s no time to enjoy it as I scan the parking lot. Nothing looks awry. I walk to my car at a slightly faster than usual pace. I get in and lock the door. Nobody appears to notice me.
It’s an emotional drive home. I make a few extra stops and turns, but I think that I’m in the clear.
It’s not until I’m safely in the driveway that I feel a weight lifts off my chest.
I did it.
I made it.
They’re safe.
I’m safe.
They’re happy.
I’m happy.
It’s surreal.
It’s amazeballs.
3 weeks ago…
Life is good.
Despite my inner deviousness, I don’t broadcast my victory. I tell my inner circle—of course—but decide it’s not worth it.
See, despite everything that happened I can’t hold hate in my heart. I can recognize anger and resentment, but even that needs to be let go. Not for him , but for me. For once, I need to do something for myself.
The more I find out about his current situation, the funnier I find it. I don’t have to use any form of retaliation against him . He does enough damage to him self. I won’t add to that. The fact that he already cheated on his new girlfriend just confirms my suspicions that he was never faithful. Even more so when one of his friend’s confirmed it further, giving me actual names. It was bittersweet. It was also something I needed. Maybe I was never enough for him, but that’s his problem, not mine.
I owe him nothing. That much I know now.
I’ll wish him well anyway…even though I’ll likely be laughing hysterically every time karma fucks him . I will do this for me. To hold hate for him still gives him control.
No, I won’t hate him . I’ll never bash him to the kids—because that’s not what’s best for them.
He has no hold on me anymore.
And he never will again.
Now…
There are still good and bad days. Fourteen years of abuse doesn’t come at no cost, after all. There are demons that still scream loudly in my mind. They feed off of my deepest fears, telling me I’m worthless. I keep busy and drown them out with music.
There are still days when I don't know exactly who I am...but what I DO know is what I am NOT. I’m not evil. I’m not a horrible mother or person in general. I’m not a liar or a cheater. I’m not someone who derives pleasure from the pain of others. MFA promises me that all I do when I sleep is snore a bit. I work hard, I love hard, I care hard about those close to me—and I’ll never change that. I’d never want to.
I still have panic attacks, but they’re few and far between (not to mention more manageable) now. Anxiety is still a motherfucker, but it’s my hope eventually that’ll fade as well.
Despite how far I’ve come, certain things remain. Nightmares still plague me with flashbacks. Sometimes I still feel like I say something dumb. I worry that maybe I am selfish or horrible—despite knowing I’m not. If something’s wrong, I automatically assume the worst and that it’s my fault.
I’m not sure that I’ll ever feel I deserve the love of this wonderful man. In my eyes, he deserves the best…something I’m most definitely not. I’ll always be fucked up. I’ll always have days where I cry for reasons no one can help. I’ll always have that darkness inside of me, questioning every move I make. I’ll always overthink everything. And most likely I’ll never really feel like I can be enough…but somehow the universe decided we needed one another—and I’m glad it did.
I’ll fight every day for inner peace. Some days I may be more triumphant than others, but I’ll never give up. I’ll never conform to anyone’s idea of what I should or shouldn’t be. I’ll never compromise myself or my values for someone—because if they respect me they’ll respect my feelings. If
I muster every bit of courage I have, march past the security desk, and open the door. It’s a beautiful day, only there’s no time to enjoy it as I scan the parking lot. Nothing looks awry. I walk to my car at a slightly faster than usual pace. I get in and lock the door. Nobody appears to notice me.
It’s an emotional drive home. I make a few extra stops and turns, but I think that I’m in the clear.
It’s not until I’m safely in the driveway that I feel a weight lifts off my chest.
I did it.
I made it.
They’re safe.
I’m safe.
They’re happy.
I’m happy.
It’s surreal.
It’s amazeballs.
3 weeks ago…
Life is good.
Despite my inner deviousness, I don’t broadcast my victory. I tell my inner circle—of course—but decide it’s not worth it.
See, despite everything that happened I can’t hold hate in my heart. I can recognize anger and resentment, but even that needs to be let go. Not for him , but for me. For once, I need to do something for myself.
The more I find out about his current situation, the funnier I find it. I don’t have to use any form of retaliation against him . He does enough damage to him self. I won’t add to that. The fact that he already cheated on his new girlfriend just confirms my suspicions that he was never faithful. Even more so when one of his friend’s confirmed it further, giving me actual names. It was bittersweet. It was also something I needed. Maybe I was never enough for him, but that’s his problem, not mine.
I owe him nothing. That much I know now.
I’ll wish him well anyway…even though I’ll likely be laughing hysterically every time karma fucks him . I will do this for me. To hold hate for him still gives him control.
No, I won’t hate him . I’ll never bash him to the kids—because that’s not what’s best for them.
He has no hold on me anymore.
And he never will again.
Now…
There are still good and bad days. Fourteen years of abuse doesn’t come at no cost, after all. There are demons that still scream loudly in my mind. They feed off of my deepest fears, telling me I’m worthless. I keep busy and drown them out with music.
There are still days when I don't know exactly who I am...but what I DO know is what I am NOT. I’m not evil. I’m not a horrible mother or person in general. I’m not a liar or a cheater. I’m not someone who derives pleasure from the pain of others. MFA promises me that all I do when I sleep is snore a bit. I work hard, I love hard, I care hard about those close to me—and I’ll never change that. I’d never want to.
I still have panic attacks, but they’re few and far between (not to mention more manageable) now. Anxiety is still a motherfucker, but it’s my hope eventually that’ll fade as well.
Despite how far I’ve come, certain things remain. Nightmares still plague me with flashbacks. Sometimes I still feel like I say something dumb. I worry that maybe I am selfish or horrible—despite knowing I’m not. If something’s wrong, I automatically assume the worst and that it’s my fault.
I’m not sure that I’ll ever feel I deserve the love of this wonderful man. In my eyes, he deserves the best…something I’m most definitely not. I’ll always be fucked up. I’ll always have days where I cry for reasons no one can help. I’ll always have that darkness inside of me, questioning every move I make. I’ll always overthink everything. And most likely I’ll never really feel like I can be enough…but somehow the universe decided we needed one another—and I’m glad it did.
I’ll fight every day for inner peace. Some days I may be more triumphant than others, but I’ll never give up. I’ll never conform to anyone’s idea of what I should or shouldn’t be. I’ll never compromise myself or my values for someone—because if they respect me they’ll respect my feelings. If
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