Worthless and Weak

              I just wiped out six hundreds words of my original post. I’ve been writing around the subject again, and the writing just sucks when I do that. The problem is I’m frightened. I’m scared to write what’s really in my head because I don’t know if I’m going to get into trouble for it. I don’t know whose reading my blog.

My blog was supposed to be a place where I could empty my “non-novel” thoughts that were taking up space in my brain. Often, I need to clear out the distractions in my head so I can work on my novel. Writing the blog helps me get to a place where I can flow with the book. But I haven’t honestly cleaned out the brain space because I’m worried that if I wrote what’s really in my head, I may lose everything. At the very least, there could be a very ugly argument. Right now, I’m just so tired of fighting, I try to keep things calm.

Maybe I’m paranoid and suffering under the tension of where I am right now. However, it’s so very possible that my blog is being read with the idea that later, it can be used as a weapon against me. It’s a trapped, helpless feeling and I’m nervous, and anxious. I dance on glass, hoping it won’t shatter under my bare feet.

Some days, I am full of bravado and don’t care. Most days, I fear what isn’t being said aloud.

We’ve never been good at calmly discussing things. As the years have passed, we’ve discussed fewer and fewer issues. When we cannot easily agree, we generally let things just fall as they will and deal with the consequences, without an attempt at planning first. I am choosing less and less to engage, and more and more to just acquiesce. Without any agency in the relationship, my thoughts and ideas are irrelevant and it is best to just agree and move on. Cross off another day on the calendar and breathe again.

I have been thinking about all the “should haves” lately, and I’m doing a lot of mental self-flagellation. I am my own best whipping girl. When I think about my list of “should haves,” I can boil them down to one overarching lesson: I should have been stronger.

Years ago, I was told that I should marry someone with a strong personality who could handle me. I wish I hadn’t listened. I wish I hadn’t let that idea sink into my brain and act as a filter. When I think of the nice people I knew, whom I saw as weak, from whom I walked away because they weren’t “strong enough” to be my friend or colleague, let alone my partner, I realize what I tremendous mistakes I made. I chose to place myself in this position, where I’ve sublimated myself to keep the peace, because the truth is I was weak. 

It’s taken me years to figure out that just because you made the bed you lie in; it doesn’t mean you can’t change the damn sheets.

I don’t really know what he’s thinking at this point. I think he’d give his right arm to walk away from me tomorrow and never come back. I am horrible in his sight. I am turning my back on almost twenty years of marriage. In his mind, I’ve said unforgivable things. I have asked for this divorce and to him the contempt with which he treats me now is what I deserve. Maybe so.

Maybe I am a horrible person for walking away. Maybe I’m a quitter and the loser that I was once called. Maybe I’m a bitch. Maybe I’m a terrible mother. Maybe I deserve to be poor and homeless, to be without a car and the independence that transportation brings. Maybe I am all of this and more. Maybe I should give up my writing and go work at Home Depot or Wal-Mart so that I’m not living off his money.

On stronger days, I tell myself that I work every day on my writing and I’ve even picked up a freelance job that pays. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s proof that I can make money from writing. I remind myself, despite what he says to the contrary, that we decided together that I would stay home to raise the kid, take care of the household, and work on my writing because, frankly, when I did work outside the home, we fought more than ever. The laundry was always behind, there were dishes in the sink from when I did cook, which wasn’t often enough, and dammit if I didn’t once forget to pick up the kid at school. Now though, I am just living off his money, proving how worthless I am.

This hurts. This whole damn situation hurts like broken limbs and failing organs. I wish I could convince myself, “You tried, you worked hard, but there’s no way you can be happy here, so you have every right to go.” There are moments when I can say those words, but belief is a different level of being. I wish I believed that I deserve to be happy. When I can, I release myself saying, “You did what you were told you had to do – you got your kid through high school with his family intact,” I feel a little better, because those are facts. I have done what I was told I had to do. My kid will graduate from high school before his parents separate. That’s a hollow victory though, because I feel like I could have done so much more, been so much more, and still have been a good mother. That line from On the Waterfront comes back to me every now and again, “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it.”

I’m hard on myself, I know. I’m hard, and I’m cruel, because there’s a part of me that says I don’t deserve better. Have I tried? Yes. I tried to be everything I was supposed to be, everything that was going to make everybody happy with me. I did what you asked, I did what you wanted, and none of this has worked. So here I am, another Monday, thanking the gods that the weekend is over, and feeling very guilty that I am wishing away the next weeks and months until the day dawns when I am free again.

     I’m still frightened, not that I don’t know where I’m going to live, how I’m going to get there, or if I’ll have enough money to make it long enough to find a place to live and a job. I’m not frightened of those unknowns because if I make it to that day, I won’t have to be scared again. Not that I am physical danger, I don't believe that I am. The danger is that I am too weak to walk out the door. That I will turn back and beg to stay. But if I can stay strong enough the day will come when I will write what I want, publish what I please, and I have this feeling, the words will be happy ones. And that’s all I want, to be happy again.