I have to prepare myself.
It isn’t as easy as 1-2-3.
It isn’t as easy as flicking a switch on or off.
It takes time.
It takes patience, which I have very little of.
And it feels like each and every time a part of me is ripped open. After taking so many years to heal.
Fleshy. Raw. Each and every time my mind wanders over and over the material.
Only it’s not material.
These aren’t stories.
These are facts.
Bits and pieces of my life. Worded together to form a post.
Only each and every time I arrange a sentence the letters that compile words peel another layer of skin and I am exposed.
The most painful scars get re-opened every other weekend.
They are now 14 and almost 12.
They live with their father.
Because I was too fucked up to care for them and wanted an abusive man to love me more than I wanted to be a mother. Even though that was years ago. It haunts me.
I am a disgrace.
And each and EVERY time I try to put more of my story out there those two facts. 14 and almost 12, race to the surface begging to be released.
To test me.
To test my faith.
To see if I am worthy to be forgiven.
Sometimes I wish he had killed me. That I never regained consciousness. Then I wouldn’t have to live with the fact that I made such horrific choices.
If I wasn’t so damn blind. I would have 14 and almost 12, here, now, with me everyday.
Instead I share them with their father and another woman, they now call Mom.
Just forcing my hands to type the letters forming the word Mom, tears another layer and blood pools at the surface.
Pick. Pick. Pick. Word after ugly word.
Blood drips.
Spilling out of every pore.
Will it ever feel less painful?!
StoriesUntold7 
This brought tears. Such raw emotion. I’m so saddened for you. I truly hope things get better for you soon. Hugs,
Terri
Things are much better, but the past still haunts me and sometimes it makes the days gloomy and hard to face, but I am blessed with a new babe and my boys are happy, health, and forgiving and we have a bond that no one can come between… I have to trust in that.
You have things now that you wouldn’t have if he had killed you. And there IS time for you to make a relationship with your kids. 12 and 14 still have miles to go. The biggest tragedy here is if you do not take what has happened and learned from it- you have to search for a reason why and try to improve going forward. Ask yourself- Why did I leave? Why did this happen in the first place? And start there for your answer. Don’t blame- you aren’t at fault. The key is to never repeat or make those mistakes again- while making life for you and those around you better. I know this is true- we all have our scars to bear. xoxoxo
Thank you for bringing to light the things that are most difficult to accept when these dark days take over. Thanks for visiting and sharing such insight. I know I will NEVER go back to a situation like that again. The scars are just taking a lot longer to heal then I could have imagined.
Hang onto every breath with gratitude. You know you are mom. They know you are mom. That blood and those tears share the same DNA as their blood and tears. You need to tell them your story…someday….so the cycle stops. If you leave them, this world, they will never know the truth. They will never know the power of healing, the significance of being human (meaning, imperfect), or the great love you have for them, unconditionally. Hugs to you. Real ones.
Gratitude. Gratitude. And even more Gratitude. That is what I try to teach my sons, especially my oldest, who is struggling with some things right now. They know the story, they lived part of it, and stood by me through it all. Some days are harder than others, but that is life, and my journey. I trust in being their mom and believe a little differently than others on the subject. If you have ever read Kahil Gilbran’s poem on parenting. “Your children are not you children…. they are on loan to you.” I don’t need titles or to possess them. They are in my heart and I am in theirs… thanks for the reminder.
I hope it does feel less painful some day.