I started to rage last night. I’m so fucking angry! FUCK HIM for leaving me. FUCK HIM for leaving his kids. FUCK HIM for making me hurt so fucking badly. Fuck him for getting to be free and endless while I am stuck here crying so hard I vomit on the floor. FUCK HIM.
If anyone starts talking to me about forgiveness, I swear to Elvis and all that is holy that I will bite you.
I don’t know how to love and miss someone with every fiber of my being and want to beat the living shit out of them at the same time out of epic rage and hate. I don’t know how to raise his children without him. I don’t know how to buy groceries without buying his favorite stuff that he ate and no one else did.
I opened the refrigerator this morning and all the mother fucking condiments in the door knocked me to my knees.
We have had 3 tiny, old school CorningWare plates forever. I always thought that we had either 1 too many or 1 too few. Now we have the exact right amount and I want to smash those fucking plates to smithereens.
FUCK YOU BRIAN FOR MAKING OUR CHILDREN, OUR BABIES, COMFORT *ME*!!!! What the fuck is that?
And I scream and I yell and I sob, oh god, I sob. I sob until my eyes are swollen shut, I sob until I throw up, I sob until my legs don’t work anymore. I sob and want to throw rocks through every thing I see.
People tell me to forgive, to think of the good times, to be grateful for the amazing run we had. I want to strangle them with razor wire.
People tell me, “I know exactly how you feel. My grandmother / uncle / dog / sea monkey / begonia died.” No, you don’t. I’m sorry for your loss and I know your grief is very real, but it is NOT the same fucking thing and you have NO idea how I feel.
Everything feels like a betrayal. Eating. Driving. Laughing. Either betraying me or betraying him or something.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!
I want him to hold me, to kiss me. I want to kick him the balls. I want to drink myself into a stupor and also never see a drop of alcohol ever again in my life. I want to eat myself into a coma and I also want to starve to death. I want to laugh, I want to die. What the holy hell is this shit?
I have aged 10 years in 2 weeks.
I have moments of “Ok.” I have moments of “shitty but functional,” but mostly I have minutes like this when I would gladly still lay right down and die with him, when I see no fucking point in anything anymore. I am on autopilot with the kids because their life has to go on. I still arrange them playdates. We still have movie night. I still joke with them and tuck them in at night and we still laugh, but often I’m not really here. I’m somewhere else and that part of me just wants to lay right down and never get up.
I start therapy tomorrow.
Today is too fucking hard.