There comes a point where you’re just done with all the shit and you don’t want to hear anything anymore. The broken record has been played, time-and-time again. There is no promise you haven’t been made, no dirty name you haven’t been called, no excuse you have not been given, no made-up story you haven’t been convinced to believe. There comes a point where you mentally and physically check-out, you stop caring and just close your eyes, breathe deeply, and exhale from pure exhaustion.
There comes a point where the apologies mean nothing because nothing is ever sincere, everything is twisted around on me; nothing is ever addressed, nothing ever resolved. Everything remains in constant limbo, every second is a time-bomb. You can never just relax and just ‘be’. There is always some problem brewing on the horizon.
You get fed up being forced to ‘just forget’ about everything that was said and done.
Tired of the lies.
Tired of the games.
Tired of the clowns, tired of the circus, tired of the act, tired of all the constant fuckery in public and behind closed doors.
Tired because nothing really changes.
Tired of someone else’s life and drama completely erasing your own life, your own hobbies, your own dreams.
Tired; because you’re just completely depleted, done, spent.
The fight is over.
There comes a point where you consider your own happiness first, for once. My own well-being and emotional recovery have become important once again, which means he makes me out to be the ‘selfish piece of shit’ because I’m putting myself first so that my own pitcher is full when I pour out for others. I can’t keep running on empty myself as I dote over and pamper everyone around me hand-and-foot, never replenishing myself, never taking time for just me. I am so extra with my children and close loves, but I still need the time and space to rejuvenate. I enjoy my time alone; reading, writing, studying, painting, cooking, decorating…. there are so many things I love to do that I enjoy doing all by myself. I’m creative, and it is pure bliss to just put music or a movie on and work on lesson plans, do my toes or a beauty mask, or work on a piece of art.
When you’ve tried everything, been blamed for everything, been kept awake for years for the all-night-brawls, reasoned, been logical, and practically begged someone to change for themselves and for their only son; and you just don’t want to do any of it any more. Words are empty, promises are as weak and watery as skim milk.
Adding insult to injury, my son’s father tries to convince me that he ‘never did shit to me’, it wasn’t as awful as it really was, he didn’t do anything ‘that bad’, he ‘wasn’t nice’. He tells me that he ‘has never touched anyone but me since we met’, I believe that as far as I can bowl him. With his dating apps, his sweet messages to his dealers and groupies, the hanging out at his ex-old-dog nicole’s trap house and dungeon, his sneaky conversations with all his recycled exes, flirting with all his ‘homie’s’ girls in such a snake-lie fashion, it’s disloyal, it’s gross, it’s cheating, period.
His constant defense is that he isn’t a cheater because he hasn’t touched or physically been with anyone but me since we met, give me a break. I’m not even allowed to lift my eyes to look at anyone without being called a whore and Chris saying ‘there’s a prospect’. Ummm, and I don’t say this at all lightly…. ‘What…. the…. fuckin…. fuck’?? Who would stay with someone who is nothing but shady to the woman he supposedly loves, always with ten side-pieces in rotation, constantly creating a sickening environment for everyone else while he walks around with a smug look on his face.
In his eyes, I have to now forgive my abuser, embrace my abuser, laugh and play with the cheater, love and surprise the cheater, serve the bully his meals, clean the bullie’s house, take his shit, spread my legs, and shut up about it. Yeahhhhh…. thattttt’s not gonna happen. You cannot be the devil to someone 80% of the time, then expect the injured party to fan you and feed you grapes; topless, all dolled-up and with a lovely smile. It doesn’t work that way. Some women are able to get far and away in their minds from their nightmare of a relationship their mates put them through, and just go through the motions, go with the the flow. I am not one of them. Conflict, chaos, and disrespect don’t sit right with me. I won’t encourage it by ignoring it or accepting it. I wasn’t raised that way.
I won’t stay.
I won’t shut up.
But, what I WILL do, is swing first, especially with my son’s father who is three times my size, because, THERE COMES A POINT where all bets are off; you’re over the edge and you want him to be accountable for each and every thing you had to suffer through. He seems to think that he says sorry and plays nice for two weeks, and that all will be forgiven and forgotten. I see his face, and I just want to punch him dead-center, so I’m not exactly there.
Three years, 26 months of which our relationship has been over, and he still won’t let it be over.
Not only did I have to deal with his addiction(s) and all the hell which that brings, I also had to deal with the extreme, suffocating love he felt for me, and the unwarranted, yet extreme disdain. One moment the love would be extra thick, the next, it would be non-existent and icky.
Another added bonus of this ‘relationship’ were/are the flying-monkeys in the drug-addict circle. Low-down dirty females anxious to step-in, but too scared to step-up. Busted-ass dudes, who have nothing to lose so they don’t care if they’re a big cause of their ‘homie’ losing his son, family, and life. There comes a point where you realize that your so-called ‘man’s’ loyalty belongs to a bunch of nasties, and that bunch of nasties hates you simply because you’ve called them out, each by name, and by drug, and by the problem(s) and drama they’ve caused. They look haughty; blank like they’re A.I. robots, no care whatsoever, stone-faced with an empty distance behind their eyes, questionably human.
I tried to help him, many times hurting or draining myself, my energy, and my resources, and there comes a point when you let go. You don’t care if it’s fixed, you don’t care where he’s at, you don’t care who he’s with, you don’t care about what time he will land back home because you don’t want him there anyway.
The kind of woman I am, I don’t try, I just ‘do’. I do things because they should be and need to be done. No magic fairy is coming to clean the house, take care of the kids, work, cook, and fuck like a wild animal after the day is all done and the kids are asleep, and ideally before the day gets started.
This man, never had to worry about a thing, everything was done, eagerly and without complaint.
His house was clean, I brought in a sizeable and respectable paycheck, I worked until I was nine months pregnant, kids were fed, clean, taught, nurtured, and cared for, his plate, and his BJ’s were served; in fact he got one in the bathroom at his brother’s wedding. Passionate and all-consuming fucking and lovemaking are a huge part of who I am as a person, but after someone has said and done all these foul things to you, over and over and over and over, intimate isn’t on the list of things I want to be with him anymore. Again, there comes a point where you don’t want the person who physically and emotionally hurt you the most, to have any of the benefits or pleasures of that once-so-enamored wifey I once was. I don’t want to work it out, I don’t want to be touched, I want a permanent separation.
I’ve hit the ceiling of what I can take.
The peace I have found alone, has been heaven-sent.
I’ve been dating since the second grade and the ‘relationship’ was merely staring at each other, sitting next to each other and giggling. Ever since then, I have never been alone. I’ve been proposed to six or seven different times, I lost count. I have always been pursued, and the thought that I could be alone if I wanted never even entered my mind. But after this break-up with my son’s father, I want to be solo-bolo. I want a substantial break, to date myself.
I feel so grateful to sleep peacefully, blessed with a loving home, and relaxing environment. There is positive energy throughout, a sense of calm but silly, it’s the most serene it can be. Last night, I got in my cozy and warm black onesie jammie, grabbed a bag of Dill Pickle sunflower seeds and orange juice, and watched ‘I Love Lucy’ episodes. Then I read about seventy-five pages of my book-of-the-week, prayed, then fell asleep listening to my rain sounds app.
It’s exhilarating to take your life back, to stop the abuse and neglect, to put an end to all the things you could only fantasize about ending as you were in the midst of the quicksand. There’s nothing quite like breaking free and being able to breathe….