I am suddenly finding difficulty writing. After reading so many posts from other women who have been through what I’ve been through, I am filled with an intense hatred for women I don’t even know. How can these women shatter lives and ruin families with complete and total disregard? And what about the men? How can they not consider their wives, not to mention the innocent and forever after affected children?
Although there are so many similarities, I find there are three main differences in our experiences.
• Some of these women can actually forgive their husbands.
• The children of some of these women have completely abandoned their fathers. One particularly poignant post was the verbatim account of a letter a child had written to her father.
That has not happened with my children. They still have the mindset that even though their dad is “a piece of shit, he’s still their dad.” They have apparently forgiven him and welcome “his new life with the attachment he was parading around while he was still married to me.” They don’t seem to be able to forgive me however, for “falling into a ditch and remaining in my dark place.”
• Another thing that I don’t share with these other women, is the fact that at some point in their marriage, they FELT loved by their husbands. After having wasted forty-one years with a lying, cheating, disease-giving husband, you would at least hope that for a while, I had felt loved. You would be wrong.
My lack of education, my completely trusting nature, my refusal to be a “court holding queen,” my disdain for alcohol and my unwillingness to be tortured and ridiculed by an abusive, drunken mother-in-law, cost me dearly.
When my mama would beat me until I cried and then beat me until I stopped (while chastising me for “turning on the waterworks), I swore I would never cry again.
There are days and nights, when it takes every ounce of strength I have not to break down. I’m afraid if I started crying…I would never stop.
And, what if somebody found out? Would they say what my mama said…”that’s right…turn on the waterworks?” Or, would they say what J*** said the one time he saw me tear up…“are you proud of yourself?”
Or would it be like the time when I was going to visit my sister and told J*** I might stop by and see him? He said “what if she wants to come over? What am I supposed to tell her…”no?” I said, “well, yes.” Then he said “and what if she wants to know why…tell her it’s none of her fucking business?” When I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, he said “are you fucking crying?”
When other people cry, it affects me deeply. I can see the anguish in their faces and I can feel the pain in their hearts.
If I cried, I would be afraid I would look weak. I would be afraid I would get mocked. I would be afraid I would get hit. I would be afraid it would be a step backward to my childhood, when I cried…and beg to be loved.
Many of you may ask yourself…”what is wrong with her?” It’s a legitimate question but I have no answers. I only know that I spent my entire life, trying to do the right thing. I was faithful to my husband. I tried to instill a sense of honor in my children. Even when they would often tease me for not experiencing “those slutty college years.” or experimenting with drugs or alcohol, I was unapologetic. Those were my values and I stand by them to this day.
Every day I get up and think “today is the day when I begin to heal.” Every single day.
But every single day, even before I get dressed, I am putting one more block in front of the only access to my self-constructed tomb.