Twenty years ago, for almost ten, when anxiety got the best of me, his presence brought a sense of safety, security that he’d never leave me. Time made jade a dark daily demeanor with an insipid tone and harsh evaluation of every word I say, every single thing I do. A decade of me feeing dead (except for my kids), ten years of “fuck hope” because Netflix limited series lineup got me fine with laying alone in bed, ten fucking years of ugly I carried inside, wondering, Am I really here? Am I breathing?

Upon a Transcendental moment, the light beamed so bright, it flowed from my eyes changing my sight.

Now, I own a power I don’t understand yet, a perspective differing from my own…

YES, outside the one he’s been able to control.

I’m empowered to take on his many ‘big dick days’ with something beautiful instead of hating myself for being myself, which obviously is someone he doesn’t like.

I want to be fair, but after 20 years, I experienced it all many, many times before, nothing is new. Even though his physical body is here every day after work, he does not participate, with the exception of the occasional short moments of loving on the kids.

I’m a burden, but expected to be warm.

Days like this, I’m glad I have my blog because he really hurt me today and I just want to run away.

I found a moment of magic along the sunset walk with my son. While he played, I watched as the lyrics singing in my brain  bloomed a rose on a mushroom head.

“Inside the heart a book of matches.”

(Gratitude streams flow through my soul for the wizard who helped me find my own life-light out of the deadest darkness. I’m stronger.)

Trying to erase this doesn’t ease the pain of what is next, so I am putting it back up as a reminder that I do have fucking strength if I’d just allow myself to speak…

I wish I could handle conflict instead of literally hiding from it in my closet pretending to organize the chaos I’m in. No one knows, no one sees the battle raging in me.