LJ Idol Season 10, Week 1 -- I Need the Struggle to Feel Alive
Something has changed within me
Something is not the same -- Defying Gravity, Wicked
There used to be a time where the fight thrilled me. Where it pushed me, kept me moving. There used to be a time where her eyes would flash and I would grit my teeth and brace myself for the inevitable -- how I’m abusive, how I’m passive-aggressive, how I’m a liar, and a cheat, and how I’m turning everyone in the world against her. How I always made her out to be the bad guy.
I guess, in some ways, I still do.
She has a lot of drama, Wazi told me just yesterday. We’d gotten to talking about how Evelyn doesn’t know whether she’ll be able to renew her lease or not -- and how she might be homeless, come the start of the new year.
There’s always something with her, Dante’s said once or twice, his wide grin suspiciously absent from his face. If it’s not one thing it’s another, y’know?
It’s the same vague timeframe as before, when she told you she was dying -- Sarah, just the other day, as I quietly panicked about my health insurance rates going up -- and how I can’t afford to lose three hundred dollars every month but I have to do it, anyway, because my kid needs to be covered -- I need to be covered.
I can’t even think of something positive to say about her -- except maybe that when I expected her to fight the hardest, she didn’t. Oh, and she offered to answer all of my questions -- in light of the big reveal that no, she isn’t dying after all, and in fact, I was right when I guessed she was actually suicidal and therefore planning her death.
So she’s not dying. She’s not going anywhere. She might be homeless in a couple of months -- does that mean she won’t be able to send me Bob’s child support? It also means I’ll probably lose much needed childfree time. But I’d lose that anyway, right, if I go on to prove her unfit to be his parent?
It’s too much. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about how even a life without her means I’d still have to deal with her voice constantly living inside my head. Or how a life without her as a coparent means I would have to work that much harder to survive -- which I’m not sure we even would. Actually I know we wouldn’t -- and I make just enough not to qualify for assistance.
It irks my soul more than anything. I have a list of questions swirling, none of which would end well -- not with how I want to phrase them. Not with how I want to find her buttons and push them all over again like I used to. Prove her to be the abusive one -- prove her to be unfit to be the coparent of your child. Something. Anything. It’s been too quiet. There’s been no fight.
In the past, that was the proverbial quiet before the storm. A moment of peace before all out war broke out and I was left standing in the kitchen, clutching Bob to me as he grew increasingly upset because Mommy and Momma are yelling again. Mommy and Momma were always yelling, always fighting, always sniping -- well, really, it was me doing the sniping, me feeling so frustrated because everything I said was twisted and reshaped into what she wanted it to be.
I was such a passive-aggressive waste before leaving her. Because being outright aggressive would never fly. Because I needed to bury the knife deep and made sure it stayed there. Because everything she’d ever said about me -- to me -- to others? It stays. It doesn’t leave. I hear her voice when I’m arguing with Sarah; when I’m failing to be a supportive friend and all I can talk about is me me me and my feelings and how I’m selfish and self-centered and --
Except Sarah’s not the one accusing me of those things. She’s always so careful not to. I’ll “pause” the conversation, back away for fifteen minutes, breathe. Think it through. Am I triggered? Why? What bullshit little thing did she do inadvertently that put me right back in front of Evelyn, feeling like a child with no voice?
This isn’t the fight I wanted. This isn’t the fight I need. I don’t want it to be like this. I never, ever wanted it to be like this. I thought leaving would make it easier -- I thought unpacking it all just once was enough. But it’s not.
It’ll never be enough.
Something is not the same -- Defying Gravity, Wicked
There used to be a time where the fight thrilled me. Where it pushed me, kept me moving. There used to be a time where her eyes would flash and I would grit my teeth and brace myself for the inevitable -- how I’m abusive, how I’m passive-aggressive, how I’m a liar, and a cheat, and how I’m turning everyone in the world against her. How I always made her out to be the bad guy.
I guess, in some ways, I still do.
She has a lot of drama, Wazi told me just yesterday. We’d gotten to talking about how Evelyn doesn’t know whether she’ll be able to renew her lease or not -- and how she might be homeless, come the start of the new year.
There’s always something with her, Dante’s said once or twice, his wide grin suspiciously absent from his face. If it’s not one thing it’s another, y’know?
It’s the same vague timeframe as before, when she told you she was dying -- Sarah, just the other day, as I quietly panicked about my health insurance rates going up -- and how I can’t afford to lose three hundred dollars every month but I have to do it, anyway, because my kid needs to be covered -- I need to be covered.
I can’t even think of something positive to say about her -- except maybe that when I expected her to fight the hardest, she didn’t. Oh, and she offered to answer all of my questions -- in light of the big reveal that no, she isn’t dying after all, and in fact, I was right when I guessed she was actually suicidal and therefore planning her death.
So she’s not dying. She’s not going anywhere. She might be homeless in a couple of months -- does that mean she won’t be able to send me Bob’s child support? It also means I’ll probably lose much needed childfree time. But I’d lose that anyway, right, if I go on to prove her unfit to be his parent?
It’s too much. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about how even a life without her means I’d still have to deal with her voice constantly living inside my head. Or how a life without her as a coparent means I would have to work that much harder to survive -- which I’m not sure we even would. Actually I know we wouldn’t -- and I make just enough not to qualify for assistance.
It irks my soul more than anything. I have a list of questions swirling, none of which would end well -- not with how I want to phrase them. Not with how I want to find her buttons and push them all over again like I used to. Prove her to be the abusive one -- prove her to be unfit to be the coparent of your child. Something. Anything. It’s been too quiet. There’s been no fight.
In the past, that was the proverbial quiet before the storm. A moment of peace before all out war broke out and I was left standing in the kitchen, clutching Bob to me as he grew increasingly upset because Mommy and Momma are yelling again. Mommy and Momma were always yelling, always fighting, always sniping -- well, really, it was me doing the sniping, me feeling so frustrated because everything I said was twisted and reshaped into what she wanted it to be.
I was such a passive-aggressive waste before leaving her. Because being outright aggressive would never fly. Because I needed to bury the knife deep and made sure it stayed there. Because everything she’d ever said about me -- to me -- to others? It stays. It doesn’t leave. I hear her voice when I’m arguing with Sarah; when I’m failing to be a supportive friend and all I can talk about is me me me and my feelings and how I’m selfish and self-centered and --
Except Sarah’s not the one accusing me of those things. She’s always so careful not to. I’ll “pause” the conversation, back away for fifteen minutes, breathe. Think it through. Am I triggered? Why? What bullshit little thing did she do inadvertently that put me right back in front of Evelyn, feeling like a child with no voice?
This isn’t the fight I wanted. This isn’t the fight I need. I don’t want it to be like this. I never, ever wanted it to be like this. I thought leaving would make it easier -- I thought unpacking it all just once was enough. But it’s not.
It’ll never be enough.