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translations

today is finally over and i am glad. what a long damn day. a very long day, indeed.

it was beautiful here, though. a perfect fall day. sunny skies with a temp right around 60°. a nice, steady light breeze tickled my skin. everything was perfect, except for the company i was surrounded by.

i often ask myself why i stay married to my husband. i’d like to hope that at the core, my true and most honest answer would come out as because i love him and because i believe in the sanctity of marriage. yes, both of those things are true.

the whole truth is, though, that there is so much more to that answer. while those two reasons are part of the answer, there is always…another answer. or two. or three. life is complicated. i am tired. i don’t want to start over again. i don’t want to lose my family…my granddaughter…our son. this life we have built together is safe. it’s stable. i am fond of that. we work hard for it. i am not willing to give that up.

there are always so many more people to take into account than just yourself, or your spouse, when considering the status of your marriage. not judging anyone else, mind you. not here to say “no. never get a divorce.” no way. not my place. and i definitely believe that there are justified reasons for divorce. i am merely reflecting on my own situation. my own circumstances.

my husband is awful to me sometimes. ok, ok. let’s just be honest. i don’t know why i feel the need to sugarcoat things here with you guys. i still hold back, even though i have no need because no one knows me. truth? he’s horrible to me most of the time.

now, i’m not complaining. well, i don’t mean for it to come off like that. i made my bed. i choose to lay in it. but damn, it makes for long fucking days sometimes. long days. and even the strongest can break under pressure eventually.

he’s more of a verbal and emotional abuser. not so much physical. only physical a couple of times. and as someone who has been physically abused in the past…i don’t know if i’d so much really count those incidents as too much of a big deal. not compared to previous experiences. i mean, ya know, when you’ve taken some beatings here and there…a slap or two isn’t really that big of a deal. a raised fist in anger is more of an annoyance than a threat. and a shove is just something that triggers memories of men who did more than shove.

the nonstop verbal and emotional onslaught really begins to get to me after taking it all. freaking. day. when he has days off, he’s the type of person who has to be entertained. so, we have to spend the day together. he doesn’t know how to just exist on his own. he doesn’t spend much time with friends. he isn’t a reader. no known hobbies. he hasn’t been much into tinkering around the house these last few years. and he has a touch of adhd. so, he likes to go. i’m a homebody.

he has a hard time just being kind. the way he builds himself up is by tearing others down. i am the one who is around. don’t get me wrong, he is extremely charming and sociable…when he wants to be…to people you would classify as “acquaintances.” basically he’s textbook. textbook abuser. gaslighting is one of his favorite tactics. and he is your classic narcissist. not so much book smart, but incredibly street smart and old-school man smart. you know, can fix anything…your typical man’s man.

he has no filter anymore. i miss filters. i miss being treated like a woman. i miss being treated with kindness and respect.

well, wait. i’m not for sure i’ve ever been treated with kindness or respect…ok. i miss dreaming about how it would feel to be treated with kindness and respect.

i tell ya what i do miss. i miss being able to go a day without being insulted. one day, that’s all i’m asking. just one damn day.

he’s extremely immature. he’ll tell you that himself. almost as if he’s proud of it? most days it’s like i live with a 12 year old boy. it isn’t fun. it’s impossible to have a calm, rational, adult conversation with him. it’s extremely frustrating.

i know now that he primarily just wanted a woman around to take care of him. clean, cook, pick up after him. he’s a slob. he wanted to be mothered, in a sense. freud had so many things right, sometimes. crazy ass damn men.

i miss having sex. i miss being loved. i miss being held. i miss being cuddled. snuggled.

the thing is…i don’t miss being touched by him, though.

i quit asking for sex after being rejected over and over. normally i would assume he’s having an affair. after all, i have had my share of affairs with married men (when i was single…and young…and…lost). i know the type. i know the signs. i know what to look for. i know all the reasons, excuses, etc. but, my husband is home. he is home with me…not having sex.

for all of his faults he has good qualities, too. i don’t know why i feel the need to defend him now. for some reason i do, though.

he’s one of the best father’s i’ve ever known. our son (my step-son) is a good boy. well, he’ll be 26 this year so i suppose i should say he is a good man. a great young man. my husband is a great father to him. and my husband is a great grandfather. he loves our son and our granddaughter very much. my husband works hard to provide for our family and takes very good care of us, in that respect. when he isn’t being hateful…in those rare moments when he chooses to be nice, he is kind. i suppose in his own crippled way, he loves me. to the best of his ability.

i hate that, you know. i hate that saying. “they love you the best they can.” for once in my life you know what i would like? i’d like for someone to love me the way i deserve to be loved…not the best that they can. those are two very different things. all my life i’ve been thrown that bullshit line,

they love you the best that they can.

well, i got tossed some extremely shitty people. and the best that they can was severely lacking. their best was the worst fucking deal i’ve ever been dealt. it’s just a giant line. their “get out of jail free pass.” like, cut them some slack…it’s ok to be loved less because they are giving it their all.

no. no it’s not. it’s not ok for a child, who never asked to be brought into this world, into their lives, to not be loved fully because they were too selfish and self-centered to get their shit together. it’s not ok. it’s not ok for a wife to not be loved the way she should by her husband, who chose to marry her, because he refuses to get his shit together. it’s not ok…to love the best you can.

i am 50 shades of fucked up, i don’t deny it. i think about killing myself off and on countless times a day. all day long it crosses my mind. that, and so many other things. but, i tell ya, when my two year old granddaughter is here with me, i make the effort. i do what needs to be done to love her the way she deserves to be loved.

i have her at least once a week. when she is in my care i refuse to have thoughts like that in my head. so, i do not entertain them. i don’t. i have had a lifetime of counseling. therapy runs in my veins. i know the ins and outs of healthy vs non healthy. when she is with me, i am healthy. because i will not, will not, inflict any part of my negativity on her. she gets only the best part of her grandma because she deserves nothing less. i choose to have her with me. it’s my responsibility to guard her, protect her, love her. keep her safe from harm. i take that very seriously.

we spend our time together laughing. laughing and playing. she is the very best thing for me. she brings out the best of me. the person that i could be, if all the hate and negativity were at bay.

the point is, there isn’t really any excuse in the world great enough to overcome love. i love her the way she deserves to be loved because to me, she’s worth it. yes, she’s worth it.

and that’s it right there. i’m just not worth it. i never have been. i’ve never been worth anything, really. not even as a baby. not as a baby, a child, a teenager, a young woman…or now. never worth it. that seems to be the constant theme in my life.

i dated a man once who told me that very same thing. we were talking about many things. i don’t remember them all. but that was his reason for everything. “you’re just not worth it.” it’s such a vague answer, really. a vague answer that covers such a large spectrum.

not worth what? love. respect. fighting for. choosing. not worth responding to. not worth knowing. not worth checking up on. not worth saving. not worth getting clean for, staying sober for. not worth seeking help for. not worth being kind to. not worth writing. not worth…anything.

worthless.

throwaway.

nothing.

trash.

all things i have known my entire life. it’s ok. don’t be sad or feel sorry for me. i’m not sitting here crying as i write this. it’s more matter-of-fact. it just…is.

me being worthless is just a characteristic. a description. such as, the sky was very blue today. they are one and the same. just as, i am not really a pretty person. average, at best. same with intelligence. on a good day, average, at best. but as far as my value, my worth, i have none. i’m nothing more than garbage. simply a piece of trash that you toss as you walk out the door. disposable. i’m ok with it, now. i’ve had a lifetime to accept it.

perhaps knowing, and accepting, that fact is what helps me stay in my marriage. being nothing, having no value…i mean really, what more should i expect? and if i look back at my life and examine the people who have been placed in it…my husband is the best one yet. out of all the people, those chosen for me and those i have chosen myself…he really is the least evil. the nicest.

normally i really do try to focus on the positive, concerning my marriage. it helps. it helps me get through the days. today was just exceptionally hard. probably because it was just another hard day in a long sequence of very hard days. a hard two months, really. he goes through phases. it will pass. i just need to keep that in mind. it will pass.

in the mean time, i have decided that i am going to just break down and revert back to an old coping tactic that i spoke about the other day. it has been on my mind off and on for quite some time now. i don’t know why i have been fighting it. it’s not going to be a big deal, and no one will ever know.

i’m sure most of you have heard of cutters. well, while i have done that here and there in the past, i was never big into it. cutting burns. it’s messy. i could never get into it on a regular basis. no, i was more of a bone breaker. i liked deep-tissue bruises. fractured bones. i liked the sound of my bones snapping. i was more into self-harm in that area. a good hit to myself here or there with something heavy and hard. or slamming my hand in the door…or a variety of other ways that might make you queasy so i’ll spare you the details. bruising ribs was always a great spot because it hurt with every move i made, and was easily hidden.

i have decided that i am going to bruise myself up a bit. i need a release. drinking really isn’t an option. my husband doesn’t drink, doesn’t like alcohol…and i’m not really supposed to drink anyway. i’d give anything for some pills…or some drugs…for just one moment of release. however, i got rid of all my connections when i got sober…and can’t seem to make any new ones. go figure. it’s almost like i’m being shielded by God. perhaps i am meant to stay sober. things are so bad right now i’d honestly throw all almost 7 years away just for one hit. what can i say? i’m a drug addict. i’d love to use sex as a release…but i’ve never been much of a whore. so that really narrows down the playing field. alas! that leaves me with pain. pain as a release.

drugs, sex, drinking, pain. i’m stuck with pain. eh, beggars can’t be choosers, right? i’ll make do with what i have. i’ll enjoy whatever release i get, i’m sure. since i am not talking and am keeping everything inside, things are really starting to build. it’s too heavy. too tight. i need to get some of it out somehow.

i’ve never been one to choose the healthy options.

i was thinking today how ironic it is that complete strangers are beginning to know more about me than the people who claim to know me the best. or people who claim to just know me at all. then i thought how deep that was. how that’s really just life, in general. the people we know really don’t know us at all. most of the time because they never really give a shit…they never take the time out of their day to ask the people they see all the time how they are. not genuinely. or they never bother to check up on the people they claim to love and care about.

we live in such a phony world…i almost don’t feel so bad about lying so much. pretending to be fine. pretending to be happy.

when i was outside, sneaking a smoke today (yeah, yeah, i know. i quit for years…i started again. no one knows. let it go), i was thinking about peace. quietness. stillness. death. whenever i think about my own death it gives me hope. hope for all of those things-peace, stillness, quietness. i was standing in the sun and it felt so nice on my skin. the gentle breeze kissing my face. for a moment i got so lost in the tranquility that i thought, perhaps, i had already died. my hopes were up. my heart skipped a beat. my eyes were closed and i refused to open them, because i knew that the moment i did, reality would come crashing down.

like every morning when i wake up. it’s like waking up to a fresh new wave of hell every single day. why? for the simple fact that i am waking up. every night i go to bed and i pray that i won’t wake up. each morning when i awake…it’s the most painful experience. physically, emotionally, spiritually…it breaks me.

every day i am broken before my feet ever hit the ground.

one of these days, though, it will happen. one of these days i will get my wish. death will find me, if i don’t find him first. the only questions are when? and how? this life leaves little hope for much, that’s for sure. fortunately you can always hold out hope for death. it’s one of life’s few guarantees. death is always a safe bet. now, the timing of death will take your money every time.

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