It’s been building for awhile. The tightening in my chest, the room feeling too small, the air too heavy to breathe. Some days, I feel like I just want to peel off my own skin and leave it behind, feeling as if I am trapped and constricted by it, just to be able to think or breathe. It all feels so tight, so restrictive and suffocating.
It makes me want to scream.
I’ve been able to hold it at bay the last few months, pushing it out of my mind to focus on what is important, and good, directly in front of me. I’ve struggled to get through some of these days, wanting to jump out of the car and run. Just run until I can’t any longer.
To where? I have no idea.
I’ve been doing my best to keep it all together, at least in public and around my boys. Pushing the ugliness of my reality to the back of my mind, only willing to look at the good things and put my energy into positive areas. I’m trying to be strong, like I promise everyone I am. Strong, like they all believe that I am.
I’m trying to put on a good face for my kids, not bad mouth their father, not be the lunatic that I know I can be. Nothing but love and “yes” as often as I can. Gone is the ranting mom, yelling about dirty laundry and messy rooms. It’s not nearly as important, or worthy of my energy, now. I know that this is just as difficult for them as it is for me. So many unanswered questions and so many things that will be changing, but when? The timeline keeps moving further and further away. False starts and false hopes.
The light at the end of the tunnel is only getting smaller.
I’m trying to be a good friend, a good mom/daughter/sister/soon to be exwife. I want to be the better person and to feel good about it, to know that I am doing my best. It’s a personality flaw, that I’ve been honing since I was a kid, sadly. I don’t want to be too much trouble, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I don’t want to ask for more than I should want or need. I want you to like me, to love me. I’m a good girl.
But at what cost? Not just the monetary cost, but the personal cost, the mental cost. The toll that it takes on my emotional stability, on my kids mental health and self-esteem. Am I sacrificing all of us to be the “good girl”? Playing nice so I don’t make waves or draw too much negative attention. And in the end, will that even matter? That I played nice, that I wasn’t “difficult”, when we have to make do with less and possibly struggle for the years to come. Will it make a better life for us, the kids and I, to know that I was “cooperative” or just make it easier, cheaper and quicker for him?
I have come to the realization that it only benefits one person, and he doesn’t even live in our house anymore. He is living the life he has always wanted, and without apology, only demands of me to make it easier for him. He doesn’t want to accept the guilt, or the responsibility for tearing our lives apart and creating this chaos, because it “isn’t fair of productive”. Convenient, isn’t it?
Going along with the program, so as not to make anyone angry or disappointed, is exhausting and draining. I am tired of being last on the list, taken for granted, given unrealistic expectations. I am tired of apologizing for wanting to take care of myself and my children when it is inconvenient for others. I am just plain tired, a lot.
I am tired of being the “good girl”.