I've been angry.
So, so angry.
Beating my head against the wall and wondering why it wasn't hurting any less.
I was married.
If you don't know about that, you've come too far. Turn around and read the rest of the blog.
I'm not married anymore,
and as good as that feels, it has also been frustrating.
It's not (not anymore, anyway) that I wasn't important, that despite all his begging and pleading and plotting and arm-twisting, when I didn't come back,
I was almost instantly replaced, like a set of fucking steak knives.
It's not the name he foisted on me that I hated, although I didn't waste any time giving it back.
It's not the money I've lost or the opportunities I've lost or the (questionable) friends I've lost
or the credit that is now forever in the garbage
-I'm in the 22% APR circle of Hell for all eternity-
or even my long-term affair with anxiety, low self-esteem, and gut-wrenching poverty.
(Because, it seems, being not wrong also entitles you to not pay court-ordered child support.)
It's that he will never, EVER, be sorry.
He will never, ever admit to being wrong.
He will never regret anything he did while we were married,
or in the name of getting me back, and then later to keep me away.
He has told his story so often and so vehemently that he believes it himself,
Because he's a brute.
For all his need and his cunning and his inability to lick his own nutsack,
he's an animal.
Realizing that he won't get it,
I mean really knowing it,
has helped a little.
It doesn't change anything but my perspective, but that's the last thing, I think.
That's what is restoring that last little bit of sanity that I'm going to get back.
Knowing that he can't get it, and not only is it not my fault,
but it's not my responsibility to fix it, or live with it.
I don't even CARE if it gets fixed now.
He's wife number TWO's problem,
and gooooood fucking luck to her.
I'm good, now.
Becoming successful and wealthy beyond my wildest dreams, just out of his reach, however, wouldn't hurt either.