Tired of Struggling

Tired of Struggling

I matter. The violence that happened to me matters. My voice and my emotions matter.

The people who refuse to validate me by accepting that they hurt me just can’t matter. I cannot let them. The weak little girl in me wants desperately to hear them say they love me and to feel their group hug. It’s what I know…or knew. But my mind is so confused about what reality is at this point. What I spent my entire life thinking of as normal is now a hazy memory, a mixture of warm and fuzzy feelings and excruciating pain. The emotions felt after being rejected by my children, my siblings and even some of my best friends after my attempted murder are not easily expressed. My life continues. I work two jobs, one in a domestic violence center and one as a freelance editor. I’m married to a wonderful person. I have THE most adorable cat on the planet. I’m not only existing, I’m contributing to society in a positive way. I create music and art. I continue to write. I do EVERYTHING in my power to ensure I’m living a “good” life.

But I’m dead inside. I feel numb and detached. I fight the demons that tell me I don’t matter, that I’m worthless. And that’s because my family, from my mother to my brothers and sisters, to my very own children, have demonstrated to me how invaluable I am to them. The demons cause a daily struggle in my head and heart. And I’m SO VERY tired. I don’t remember what it feels like to be relaxed and in my comfort zone. I’m on high alert 24/7 and I’m proactively defensive to the point of paranoia.

I want to just forgive and forget, but that’s impossible when my babies hate me and the rest of my family enables that hatred. I am a survivor of the most heinous domestic abuse. But unfortunately, my abuser was the father of my children. And they chose him. I know in my heart that I am not to blame for the suffering he caused us all. And I know in my heart that I am worthy of love and acceptance by the people who I devoted my life to.

I will die at peace with myself, but in perpetual turmoil over the loss of my babies at the hands of a sociopath. My heart is in shards and I crave the familial glue to repair it, but it will never be. My family failed me.

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