Life is hard.
In sitting down, my intention was to write about what it meant to have to jump back into a life that is saturated in shit. Today I received news from my most favorite government entity that painted me in a light even darker than the first round of papers. So, I sat down and stewed and cried on the phone with my mom and then stared aimlessly at the TV and I lost hope.
I lost motivation.
So, I read the early entries in the Candy Jar.
Which, perhaps, wasn’t the best thing to do. Reliving those early years of pain and loss and bitterness.
But, I thought that in rereading them I would find the motivation and the bitter edge to fight the good fight. I remember struggling before. I remember fighting. I remember the bitter cape.
And I’ve packed it away. I’ve been rolling around in gratitude and forgiveness.
And quite stupidly, I’ve been swimming in trust for people I know I should never have trusted. Not the first time…and most definitely not the second time.
So, I sat and read and cried.
And realized, I’m tired.
I fought long and hard to get through it. I have been working a spin cycles of jobs to keep food on the table and my kids housed in a safe neighborhood with a good school nearby. I work 60 to 70 hours a week more often then not…often times working late into the night and waking up hours later to make sure I have projected completed. I have been working tediously with my kids on school stuff…learning the cycles and processes of sports teams and academic support teams at schools. I’ve spent years balancing meetings and jobs and interviews and all the mommy responsibilities and working to stay physically strong to heal the emotional wounds of my abusive marriage.
I have fought like a motherfucker to prove that I am not the piece of shit human my ex-husband led me to believe I am and the family court system stamped their seal of approval on.
After today…well, I get it.
From my experiences dealing with my ex-husband the the family court system, I finally have come to terms that I am, indeed, a piece of shit.
Here I was thinking…ALL THESE YEARS… that it was the system that sucked.
I thought it was my abusive ex-husband who sucked.
And today, FINALLY, I have come to terms with the reality that NO! it isn’t the heartless court system that makes decisions based on qualitative bullshit that takes the human out of any child or the ex-husband who said I disgusted him because I knew how to form a complete thought and write a complete sentence and was just too fat for him to deal with that was fucked up.
So many people have told me time and time again, if the door isn’t opening for you, kick the shit out of it until it opens.
Other people have said, if you kick the shit out of it and it doesn’t open, then it isn’t meant to open.
God is sovereign they say.
God once told me I wasn’t meant to be a mother through a diagnosis premature menopause at 21 which turned into a diagnosis of poly-cystic ovarian syndrome in my mid-20s to miscarriage and loss as I have aged.
I have lost baby after baby.
The miscarriage of New Year’s Eve of 2008 told me I couldn’t trust my then husband.
The loss of my pregnancy in 2015 taught me the deep pain of losing something that you didn’t even realize you wanted.
The loss of my children I have fought SO. FUCKING. HARD to raise in a safe home with family meals at the dinner table, story time and movie nights on the weekend is the straw that broke this mommy’s back.
If I was meant to be a mom, it just wouldn’t be this difficult.
I’ve suffered loss.
So much loss.
And I have fought.
Every day is a fight.
Sometimes just taking the next breath is a fight.
Relearning my value in the world has been a journey that took me years to sojourn through.
As soon as I finally felt I did matter in the world, I wished deeply for a cloak of invisibility.
I’ve learned when nobody can see me, they can’t hurt me and they can’t take away what I’ve fought so hard for.
When life is breathed into me, I exist and find myself fighting in a world of uncontrolled turmoil where survival beckons from oceans away.
I’m drowning again in the stale air of a life I thought had passed.
And this time, I don’t have the fight in me to go out kicking and screaming.
I’m realizing shit doesn’t work out the way I think it should because, apparently, I’m not meant to be a mom.
And that hurts.
An open wound. Not festering with infections.
Life it is meant to be painful.
I am meant to live in a life where fear and loss and pain seep into the walls and dampen the air.
Fear and pain suffocate me.
And I realize, I’m in the midst of a losing battle.
Once in which I have no place and no power.
Like I mentioned in my last post, it is a battle I can’t win because I am not supposed to be fighting.
This time not the pain of losing a baby that has yet been giving the blessing of life outside the womb, but the loss of losing my grasp to three beautiful children who deserve a life that isn’t dictated by a court system that sees them as case numbers or a father who sees them as possessions to be won.
They deserve family and love.
They deserve a home.
A permanent one.
Where they have their own beds and own space to grow.
A home that is clean.
A place where they are not objects of narcissism.
I am struggling tonight.
And it hurts to breathe.
And I am afraid.
Not for me.
I know I don’t count.
I know I don’t matter.
And I’m OK with that.
But I am so afraid for my children.
I am afraid because I am powerless.
I guess the Candy Jar is open again.
They say write about the hard stuff.
This is it.
Loss of family.
Loss of children.