9/4/2002 - feelings during marital separation:
You are of no use. To yourself. To your children. To me.
You cry to the counselor. You think I don't know this, but I do. You tell him that you don't want a divorce and that you don't understand why I do. You tell him I am a bitch. I have a terrible temper. You work part time and it isn't your fault.
Nothing is your fault. It never was and it never will be.
You tell him that you don't do 'your stuff' anymore. Again, another lie. You pay to lie. Your insurance pays for you to lie. What is the point? Does lying put you into some sort of denial that you don't have to look into the mirror and see who you truly are?
You don't tell him that I found more. You don't tell him that you hid more. You don't tell him that I caught you the other day, hiding more in the trunk of your car and then lying about what I saw.
I know what I saw. You and your family never let me forget where I came from. How I grew up in the city. How I grew up poor in your standards. I may have grown up poor, but I am not stupid.
You lie to your family. You tell them that you are not getting a divorce. You say that I am confused and just having a hard time dealing with the kids...the kids? You have the nerve to blame this all on the kids? The kids are the only things in this marriage that was ever done right! How dare you use them as your own excuse to dismiss all of those serious issues you have with yourself. How dare you hurt them any more than you already have!
You watch me taking pills. You see me getting more pills. You say that it is my fault. Everything is everyone else's fault but your own. It is partly my fault. I admit that. I stayed when I should have gone. I was blinded by grief and did not want to see anything else at the time.
I didn't want anything to come between my grief and myself. I couldn't deal with your inner obsessions on top of the pain I was already feeling.
You only come here when it is convenient for you. You never call. You don't call even once during that time you are away and check on your children. You don't call and ask if they need anything. You didn't even call on their first day of school to ask how it was.
You say this is your house. Your name is on the mortgage. The fact that my dead mother's inheritance made this house what it is today doesn't matter to you. You don't admit that you sat on your fat ass, while I held a hammer, helping build the room that is now a den.
I use to love that den. I hate it now. It is where you sleep when I am stuck with you because you whined during a court hearing. You lied and said you were homeless, so here you stay on weekends. You don't tell the truth that, when you have taken the children on weekends, you have lost them in crowds. You don't mention that they have bruises on them from falling because you were either sleeping or watching television.
You don’t tell them about the massive amounts of letters that I have accumulated from EI, IEI and the school system, that mentions how much THE MOTHER (that is me, if you didn't know) is the root of these children's strength and progression. You don't mention that, when I had a good job outside of the home, your Autistic children regressed to the point of having EI come in on a daily basis, without pay because they felt they NEEDED to be here. They did it for our children, which you could not find the balls to do yourself.
I used to love my bed. Again, another piece of furniture bought by my dead mother. The woman you didn't like but had no problem spending her money, secretly on your own obsession. I now hate that bed, because it hid your secret between the mattress and box spring. It reminds me only of lies and betrayal. You took all the good memories and turned them into dirty little secrets.
Yet, you lie to everyone. You don't understand what went wrong. Do I pull out the strong box that is FILLED with your dirty little secret, and then pull the baby-sitter into court that found your secret in the children's VCR?
You let me live on 17.00 this week for food for the kids. Yet, in your online checking account you have dined in restaurants all week. You have been all the way to Lowell, only 10 minutes from our house to withdraw more money. What is in Lowell, other than the porn shop and prostitutes? Why do you have to come an hour drive to get 30.00 out of your checking account?
I know why. And, so do you.
You will come here this weekend and plop your fat ass on the leather chair that I purchased this year. You won't leave that chair all weekend. You will watch TV, ignore your children and tell me, many times over that this is your house too.
As your children stare at you with tears in their eyes. And they are blank stares, for you do not stare back.
Then you will have the nerve to complain that they help me around the house, and give me breakfast in bed but don't do it for you. To gain respect you must show respect. They may be young, but they are wiser than you will ever be in a lifetime.
I hate you. I hate HATING you, because I never felt such hate before. You don't care that I hate you. You just keep going to that counselor and saying that you don't want a divorce.
I hate that too.
When you come this weekend, I will devour my life into this dark and dirty basement room, avoiding every bit of air that you breathe. You will say that you came and all went well. You will lie, yet again to that counselor.
You also will not mention that you dined out, while your children were eating Mac & Cheese.
You will say that you can't get a job part time. You are too tired. Again, you will make excuses from being a provider that cares about your family.
You make me sick.
I have found a way. I hate what I am forced to do, but I found a way to divorce you and quick. I just have to get the guts up to make that call.
Once I do, this will be over. Our 6 months of 'separation' are over.
This time, saying goodbye will be final. I never want your sorry ass in our lives ever again.