A little better, a little worse.

Things are different. I still love him. Sometimes I struggle with my feelings, but I still love him. 

The dark times I wrote about lasted but a week. Since then, we have been so good. My life at home, with my parents, is not as good anymore.

Mom acts as though I, her adult daughter, am personally out to make her as miserable as possible by speaking with my own husband. She is so wounded. She is hurting. I owe her because I have to live with her while I get back on my feet. I hate it. This is the hardest, worst time in my whole life, and I should not have to coddle my own mother. If I don’t sort out my feelings regarding him now, I never will, and I will always live with regrets.

My purpose, my goal, in these months is to NOT make any major decisions. I must not let anyone pressure me either way. Neither into staying with him, nor leaving him. I hardly know where my own heart is anymore; how can I be expected to know what to do with my life?

I am so sick of her manipulation. The pointed silences, the heavy sighs. The speeches about how MY life is ruining HERS. You know what, Mom, deal with your own shit. Stop taking my struggles so damn personally.

Of course I am still struggling. He is changing, but I don’t yet know if it is enough. I am rebuilding my heart and my strength, bit by bit, and I don’t yet know if it has room for him anymore. And that is OK. That is expected. I miss him, but I am not crippled. I love him, but he is not my everything. Maybe he will be again, maybe not. But now is not the time to decide that yet.

Dad is angry more and more often. He and Mom snap and bicker. I can’t even stand being on the same floor as them when Dad is angry. Not since he yelled at me and I felt the old fear rise up, take hold of me, and scream at me to run and hide. That is what made me feel like a child again, hiding from her raging father, clutching her own anger tightly to her chest. Crying like a fragile thing. Since then I have been aching to leave, to make money and find my own place. I will force myself out of bed when the depression comes, I will do anything to save up a bit so I don’t have to live here anymore.

I feel so much pressure from so many sources. I wish I could just be. I wish I weren’t broken, sad, and lost.

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