Chapter 1
We all grow up to that idea of what our lives should be. Go to a nice school. Meet a nice boy. Marry nice boy. Have kids. Work. Be a good mom. Be greater grand mom. Die.
Don’t we ever get sick of it?
I know I do. Constant screaming and arguing why my two year old can’t eat a bar of soap. As the tug of war goes on I think maybe he should take a bite, but then there’s the MOM side of me, that silently sits there and think, if he pukes, YOU need to pick it up. YOU then need to sit with a pissed off toddler, screaming because:
A. The soap is disgusting in taste/ and, or it’s burning his mouth.
B. There vomit all over him, me and the floor.
C. I’m pissed at him for both arguments.
Listen, don’t get me wrong - I love the little man to death but sometimes I just want to say fuck it. I’m leaving. And if you are the judgy type I urge you not to read this continues blab I’m about to share pieces of weekly. It’ll bore you.
Why am I writing this? Well, why the fuck not. I feel we are so forced to shut up, keep our face straight, and do as society say. But frankly I’m sick and tired of my life. The people in and around it.
I’m not writing this for any reason other than in the hope I may reach out to anyone else in this great big badass world of ours that it’s okay to feel estranged from your husband. It’s OKAY to feel like you completely hate your family - (in-laws) with the deepest, innermost being that you can find within yourself. It really, really is OKAY to fall out of love, but not want to leave at the moment because, we do what we need to do to keep our kids happy, even if we are miserable and crying at the fact that we are so scared to go out there and be the happiest people we WANT to be. There are always sacrifices to be made. Losing my son in a custody battle because I feel the strong urge to be really WHO I am, scares me beyond anything else. So I stay - for now.
With everything that has happened in the past year, “life” as I shall call it. Co-parenting and co-existing is going fine-I mean, I need to make it work. What else?
But I’m in love. Oh, God, I’m one, love struck woman. The problem is not Him – The problem is we are exactly 10,299 mi or 16575 km (for those who don’t know miles) apart...
This story is not about my life per say. It’s just my rambled thoughts, my nightly cries, my hopes, and my dreams. How I just want to be in his arms. When my own estranged husband doesn’t want to even look at me. I take comfort in the fantasy that someday, we will be together.
I just want to hear his voice in my ear, his accent. His breath on my neck. But… in reality I know that this will most probably never ever happen. You see it’s like this….
