Screw It All

Screw it. Screw it all.

It appears that I have a breaking point.

It’s today.

My ex husband shared with me today that a “longtime friend” has betrayed me, too.

This is just one betrayal too many.

It has been an awful week so far, with so many stones thrown at me. I thought I was strong enough to hear his malicious words, spitefully attacking me…but I am not. Rather than let them bounce right off of me, I absorbed them. All of them.

Guys, I’m done.

I want him to hurt. I want to intentionally cause him so much emotional pain that it physically hurts him. He’s been accusing me of purposefully hurting him all the while anyway, so why not just lash out and do exactly what he thinks of me anyway?

The rage and hurt and frustration and anger have all reached a violent boiling point. It has consumed me. It is literally all I feel right now.

He has accused me of not giving him grace.

He believes, with every ounce of his being, the world he has painted. So I may as well jump in the painting and show him that reality.

I. Am. So. Done.

Living life with grace is for the birds.

My daughter can learn a different lesson.

One where a strong woman can fight back against the emotional abuse of a disgusting and broken individual. One where I don’t have to tolerate being spoken to with such venom spewing out of his mouth.

Amongst other vicious attacks, he claims I am weak because I don’t make enough money to support myself and my daughter or be able to stay in this home without his money (which I cannot, but it surely doesn’t make me weak!). He laughs that I have to turn to my dad for help.

I HATE that I have to ask my dad for financial support.

I HATE that this is the world I now live in.

I HATE that I can’t trust.

I HATE him.

He has thrown all the stones he can think of in the last two days to intentionally hurt me. And he won. He did it.

So now I’m done. I’m angry. And hurt. And sick to my stomach. And I can’t sleep. And, really, I’m just done.

He wins. He’s gotten inside my head.

He’s beaten me down.

I quit.

I have no desire to live life with grace or class or anything that gives him an ounce of kindness right now.

I mean, I’m nice enough to him in front of my daughter…but I am done when she’s not around. He doesn’t deserve it and I’m too exhausted to muster the energy to give it.

I’m not strong.

I can’t do this anymore.

Today, I am defeated.

It took just a bit over 2 months. Two months of trying to be strong. Of trying to be the bigger person. Two months of fighting for my sanity every single day. Two months of being on the worst emotional roller coaster I’ve ever been on.

Two months. And I’m exhausted. I just can’t do it anymore.

I hope it’ll get better from here someday, but for now, I’m sure it’s going to get ugly.

Because I don’t care anymore.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. I care so much that I am so emotionally defeated that I can’t care anymore.

And definitely don’t care about him.

There is just too much to process. Too much pain. Too much stress.

It makes me physically ill. Drained.

He thinks he hasn’t been receiving grace thus far. I wonder what he’ll think of my new attitude towards him…? He has no clue, apparently, just how graceful I have been.

For the last 2 months, he’s been on the attack, throwing stones left and right. Calling me names. Some days were better than others. Some days we were able to finish out the 24 hours without a single stone being thrown. A lot of days have been an absolute living hell.

Oh, man, the stones that he has thrown in the last 2 days alone…

And, tonight, I finally threw some back.

And will continue to throw them.

Because I just don’t care.

It’s like he forgets what he’s done, the tailspin he’s thrown my life into, his daughter’s life… He takes no responsibility for it. Shows zero accountability. According to him, his actions don’t matter because I deserved it all. His actions are all justified because I was an awful wife. (And I was…because I retaliated for being treated awfully. We were stuck in a horribly sad, negative cycle.) But they aren’t justified and weren’t deserved.

“Romantic love” is stupid. Romantic love won’t exist in my world…not for a long time. Possibly not ever.

It’s just not worth it. It’s not worth this. When Alfred Lord Tennyson said it’s better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all was obviously not betrayed by people he thought loved them.

First, my husband. Now, at least one friend. I just can’t take it. It’s all slightly too much for me.

So, yeah, that’s been a thing. He talks with my “friends,” apparently. And my “friends” are talking about me behind my back. Awesome. I needed more betrayal in my life. More proof that nobody is to be trusted.

Fine.

Talk.

But could you at least be adult enough to tell me to my face what you think of me?

Because I don’t want to have to waste my time on you, too.

We’re all so old now. Grow up.

So, if you’re a long time friend, I guess you have to prove that you’re really my friend. And not talking smack about me behind my back. It’s going to be a long road.

Because now I trust no one.

I’m done.

I don’t have energy for nonsense.

And my life is filled with things that just don’t make sense right now.

God, I just want it all to make sense.

I want him to hurt as badly as he’s making me hurt.

So grace is gone. For now. Probably for a while.

So I can hit him where it hurts.

Intentionally.

Purposefully.

Like he did to me.

Over. And over. And over.

I’m so done.

Today, I don’t care.

About anything (except for, obviously, my daughter).

Because I hate him.

And it’s consumed me.

At least for today.

And for tomorrow, I’ll never forget. I am a changed woman. And he especially isn’t going to like the new me.

So screw living life with grace.

In the long run, it just doesn’t even matter.

We’re born. We die. Nothing in between really matters.

So, I’ll join him in his crappy little painting for now. Show him what this reality of his that he’s painted really looks like.

Because it is ugly.

And I have no more energy to try to paint rainbows and butterflies.