I've been stressed, really stressed. And feeling a little sad about The King. We've had to talk this week a little bit because I'm filing our taxes. Yes, I basically black mailed my way into being "allowed" to take over that task by threatening that I wouldn't give him my w-2's and file seperately, keeping him from getting all the stimulus' that we usually qualify for. Yah, I know, well played Al, Well.Played. Queen-1 King-0. Well maybe that's a conservitive score...The King is probably at what
Anyways, I've been feeling nostalgic, guilty, sad, stressed, impatient, and I've cried more in the last seventy-two hours then I have since Christmas Eve when Adam served me with the papers. That's right, I made it a full four weeks with out crying. With out looking back. With out wondering what if. With out thinknig maybe, just maybe one day he will grow up and come back for his family. Did I do the right thing by choosing to walk away, or should I have tried harder? I asked my Mom that yesterday actually. She reminded me that I DID try everything, and I spent three weeks in my chair crying all day crippled by a broken heart and unable to parent my child effectively, becuase I was too worried about The King and if he would leave us. And guess what, he did. He didn't fight for us, he is not worthy. I need to remember the last day, as he jumped the fence like a lunatic with my phone to delete all the evidence I had of his relationship with B-dizle. The look on his face when he sat there in front of me as I asked "You are never going to give me what I want are you?" and he replied "I don't want more kids, and I don't believe in GOD." suckerpunchtothegut. holyshitballs. I just spent six years with the wrong man.
Our breif conversations about all things tax related, turned into late night texts about the future. His future. His life. The guilt he feels. It doesn't help that I was sent a message by a mutual friend this past week that was from The King saying that he was sorry he has let everyone down, he just couldn't do it anymore, and I was so much more then he ever deserved, that he always felt like he was holding me back. True on all accounts.
But the self loathing is getting old, though it get's me every time. My poor little baby who's favorite animal is a monkey, who had red spikes in his hair on the first day of sixth-grade, who's mom wouldn't let me speak to him on the phone when I called repeditely at the ripe age of thirteen, who would eat tacos for every meal,literally, who would watch stupid old movies on comedy central all day and laugh out loud freely the.entire.time. Who's arms I fell asleep in for the five years we shared a bed at night. Who I made a home and a child with, who I wanted to grow ould with and wanted to grow old with me...the boy who loved me. And who I still love. In his vaunerable moments he is still that boy, but he can be a real monster at the drop of a hat. I miss him this week, or rather I feel as though he is missing from me.
It's been a rough weekend. My saddness about The King has festered over into the rest of my days. Into my parenting. Into my being a member of my family. Into my motivation to work out, that would be zero. Maybe it's my heart hurting because I'm lonely. Maybe it's the fact that I'm oozing hormones & uterine lining this week. Maybe. But I am so very glad that tomorrow afternoon at 4 o'clock I start therapy. I've been putting it off for