I’ve dealt with a lot of hurts in my life. Maybe not as much as you have, but maybe more that you have. But who really knows where the hurts rank? Everything is relative and what I might deem to be hurtful, you might deem to be normal. And vice versa.
All I know is my story. My story is complicated and hilarious and awful and awesome and it is what makes me me.
I married a man who loves me despite my crazy and because of my crazy and for reasons that I do not understand. He knows all of my quirks and my insecurities and my flaws (so many flaws). He encourages me and supports me and he loves me. He loves me so much. God bless him.
There has been a lot thrown at me that I have needed to deal with. Both of my parents have been married multiple times over. Step-parents and divorce and how do these people who were once legally bound to you fit into your life? I have figured out what works for me and my biological parents have come to peace with it.
Speaking of biological parents, my Dad and I are (more than) good. But two years after she ripped me a new asshole, I have not talked to my my Mother. I forgave her immediately (Pro tip: Forgiveness is truly for the benefit of the forgiver. Because who needs to carry that around?) As a Mom myself, I honestly don’t get it. How can you be angry at your child for being happy? No, really. I would love the answer to that question.
That said, I know she had it rough. And all she needs to do is pick up the phone. And while I’ve left messages, she has made zero effort.
I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I don’t get it.
I look at my children, who are one hundred levels of amazing, and I don’t get it. How do you birth and raise a child and not love them? How? No, seriously. HOW?
While I thought that I had dealt with that particular issue when I sat down to write (HA!) I have been dealing with another issue lately. The jerkface across the road has been gone for two weeks and it’s been a lovely reprieve. I could eat again, which was kind of awesome. I like eating.
I drove the kids to school this morning and he and his dad were out on the deck, arms on the railing, staring at us Dexter-style. I played it cool, because the kids have seen all of the Crazy, and I didn’t want to alarm them. I turned up the music, we sang along, and I masked my shaking hands.
When this first started happening, Matthew suggested that I go for counseling. He isn’t scared; just angry. I flip between angry and scared for my life. (I’m not one to exaggerate; the dude is batshit insane.) But today, with the shakes, again, I think that it might be an idea to talk to someone. This (obviously) isn’t my only issue, but living in fear isn’t something I want for myself or my kids.
I have no problem seeking help when my kids need it, but I keep thinking that I can fix myself all by myself.
It appears that I can’t.