It Isn't Easy

It's hard to let things go when the past seems to be nipping at your heels.

Some days, I see divorce as a new beginning and other days, I see it as a messy reality---filled with hard decisions and memories that can never be erased.

I hated Peter last week. I looked in his eyes and I hated him---hated that he called me a bitch with our child listening from the other room, hated that he cannot figure out how to grow up, hated that I am forced to have him in my life.

I get really frustrated with the rollercoaster of telling people we get along pretty well to realizing that maybe that isn't true to thinking maybe it is true again.

It isn't easy.

But then I remind myself that marriage wasn't easy either. Sometimes I think I forget that. I forget how hard it was to feel alone, to have to sneak out of the bed and cry alone on the couch because if he saw me crying, he would get angry at me. I think about how free I am now---free to show my emotions, free to show my children my emotions, free to think for myself and make my own decisions.

Divorce isn't easy but I am becoming more of who I want to be.

And I try so hard to remind myself how worth it that is when I have really hard days.
All of the pain from divorce is worth it because my children and learning and growing in ways I never could've planned or imagined. It is worth it because I am strong enough to find empathy for so many difficult things in my life and others'. It is worth it because I have learned how to be a better friend and person, a more kinder Wendy than I used to be. It is worth it because I now know that I am a warrior and I'm positive that I can handle the things life throws at me.

It isn't easy---but it is worth it.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

I am not going to sit here and tell you that it is always going to be ok.

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

I don't care who you are or what your life is like, you will have bad days.

 

So it isn't necessarily a matter of making every day amazing---it seems like the heart of the matter is making sure we are strong enough to handle the days where we are punched in the stomach over and over.

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

We build them. They seem like they're strong. And then someone finds a way to destroy a piece.

 

We have to learn to rebuild them over and over again.

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

I had counseling and had almost nothing to talk about---which is good because I truly wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't being afraid. I was just doing good!

I felt like life had hit a stand still of happiness.

Just give me a few days, please?

 

But my life just doesn't seem to work that way.

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

Last night, Peter accused me of being a prostitute. And I'm not joking even a little bit. Like not even the teensiest, tiniest bit. He was acting like an ass and kept sending me weird texts about photography and when I'd ask what he meant, he would reply, "You know what I'm talking about...", as if I'm the world's greatest ass hole reader.

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

And after a bit of asking and a while of ignoring his idiocy, he told me a friend had showed him pictures of me from a Craigslist ad.

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

I'll tell you what my first reaction was---I wasn't worried at all. Because even as a rebellious teenager, I have never in my life taken and/or released inappropriate pictures of myself on the internet. Ever. But my next reaction was anger and hurt all mixed together.

 

I told him I would not be playing his mind games and that if he would like to email me proof, he could do so and then we could discuss it further---or not---because really, either way, it's none of his business.

 

With some coaxing and then a little more ignoring, Peter called me on the phone to apologize for upsetting me---because apparently, that was never his intention. Who knew!?!

 I told him without him sending me proof, our conversation would be over so as I sat on the phone with him, he sent an email with a picture attachment.

 

A picture attachment that consisted of a busty woman's cleavage---and her head cut out of the picture.

 

And I couldn't help but bust out laughing on the phone.

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

Well, my laughter offended him---because remember, he is just looking out for me. He claims there were multiple other photos that were more inappropriate and showed sides of this woman's face and that it looked like me.

I asked how "his friend" would even be able to recognize me. I also pointed out that his friend {and he} needs therapy. Like yesterday.

He claims he matched my freckles to the freckles in the picture because, remember, "no clear-face pictures were involved in the making of this soul-selling ad"

 

And all I could think to say was, "Peter, it really offends me that you would even consider that being something I would do."

 

And he replied, "We haven't been together for a year. I don't know what you are doing with your life."

 

And I felt waves of trauma hit me because right then and there, I remembered how little Peter knows me. I remembered how little he gave to me in the seven years we were married. He doesn't know the real Wendy because he could never see her for who she is.

 

She isn't a prostitute. I can assure you of that.

 

 

I'm not better. In fact, most of today I have been feeling anxious and jittery and dirty---which is confusing because those pictures weren't even me. But I feel dirty even thinking someone was looking at pictures BELIEVING it was me.
I cannot imagine Peter would spread rumors but the worst part is, Peter has done a lot of things I never would've imagined he would do.

Never in my life would I have thought I would be accused of being a prostitute. That just wasn't even on my radar.

So it's thrown me for a loop which is just so effing ironic because I was GOOD in counseling yesterday. And now I want to go back today but because I've been doing good and I'm trying to save money and I'm trying to be brave, I go to counseling every two weeks now.

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

Thank you for reminding me why I have to fight the urge to hate you. Thank you for reminding me why my worth has nothing to do with your broken brain. Thank you for reminding me that YOU are the one with more problems than I can even count on this page.

And to think, I was planning on using my Friday night to write about my eating disorder. I was planning on getting on here and telling you how, for the first time in...ever..., I am struggling to eat every day. Where the hell is my bulimia? At least that was familiar.

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

I'll get to that post someday. I'll write it out and process it and learn things from it.

Today my writing taught me something I hope to never forget---I cannot rely on the actions of other people to determine my life. I am fighting against the urge to hate Peter. I am fighting against the urge to swear at him and post nasty things about him all over the internet. I am fighting the urge to lay in bed all night and cry. I am not a hater. And I am not going to become something that I'm not just because someone hurt my heart.

I am going to spend tonight with friends and I am not going to let my fears override my fun.

Not this time.

You can't take that away from me, Peter.

Today I am Wendy

My high's have been higher than I've felt in a year.
My lows are crazy low in comparison.

My heart is angry a lot when I'm alone. Put me in a group of people and I'll perk up. Put me in front of the cyber world of friendship and I'll perk up. Put me in my classrooms at school or at my work desk and it doesn't compare to the thoughts going on in my head.

Am I just an effing crazy person?

Because as I sit and fight for recovery to win again, I truly believe that I love myself. Am I just stupid? I love who I am on the inside. I still don't like who I am on the outside. I am fat. I am truly, by definition, overweight. Am I obese? No. But I'm not skinny.

A lot of my choices at home are stupid. A lot of them directly conflict with my Christian beliefs. Am I just so weak that I can't get my shit together when I'm not being watched?

I'm eventually going to get a tattoo. I know...right?! I have it drawn up. It's just going to happen. But when I found out about Peter's tattoo that he lied about, I flipped out. We were up until 2am fighting that night. So am I just a hypocrite?

A lot of times, I don't feel like I'm genuine because how the hell can I be this awesome serving Christian and in my mind, the most constant phrase that plays is, "Who fucking cares?"? It doesn't make sense.
Like at all.

How can I be angry at Peter for looking at pornography when sometimes I consider just sleeping around because I like sex and I want to feel connection---even fake connection? I hate that I like sex. I know that's ironic. Sex is good. It is natural. It is fun. But I hate liking it because I hate missing it. I hate struggling with the loss of connection. I don't want to struggle. I don't want the struggle to get harder the longer I go unmarried. I thought it was supposed to get easier.

I don't know if there is a bigger contradiction in my life than the fact that I teach my children gospel principles and yet, I struggle to pray. I have a strong testimony and yet, I struggle to go to church. I do not doubt that every word in the scriptures are true and yet, I don't open them up for answers.

I know my Heavenly Father loves me but I don't get why He can't just answer the prayers that I do pray. I don't understand all of this. I wish it weren't so hard.
I can give you every "correct" answer of why I've been given the specific trials in my life. I can point out the blessings from each and every one of them. But that doesn't mean I want them to continue just so I can grow more and get more blessings from hard trials.

I'm done.

I'm done being single and not knowing if there will ever be someone to love me on this earth. Everyone says he's out there. I'm supposed to trust that I'm worthy of a man's love. But have I had a single second date since my divorce? No. Have I kissed anyone? No. Have I had any type of relationship where the guy wanted to be with me more and more? No.

I can trust facts. Facts are facts. They don't need arguing. They just are. So everyone in the world can tell me I'm going to be loved by a man but how am I supposed to trust that? Dream Boy didn't have feelings for me. And I thought I was dealing with that ok but it really freaking hurts. Not because he rejected me. It's ok that he was honest. I kinda like him even more for being honest with me /damnit/. It isn't the simple form of rejection that hurts today. It is the fact that Dream Boy having any inkling of interest would've shown me that love---someday, today, a hundred years from now---is possible. Because I just don't have enough hope that it is. There's a little hope---but each day that passes, a piece of it dies.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to just be perfect and not make any decisions against my religion because that would just make me a liar and put me on the highway to hell? Am I supposed to recognize that I am imperfect and give myself a break? What the hell is my next step? Because the one I choose will probably so freaking contradicting that I am going to go crazy.

Like literal crazy.

There is so much good. I shouldn't be struggling because I am able to recognize the good. I feel like such an ungrateful bitch for NOT acknowledging gratitude in my every day thoughts and actions and feelings.

Today I am Wendy. I am the part of me who is struggling with faith and security and connection. I am the part of me that still gets angry and ignore the empathy I've felt toward Peter's decisions. I am the part of me that is stupid and irrational and unsettled.

Say Something

For years and years, I was screaming on the inside, "SAY SOMETHING, PETER! SOMETHING! ANYTHING! Tell me how you REALLY feel. Tell me what you want me to do!" as he made decisions that ultimately destroyed our marriage.

I didn't always understand those inner thoughts. I wondered why I was such a controlling, paranoid wife, thinking my husband was lying all the time when he promised he wasn't.

And when Peter left me and A Great Big World came out with the song, Say Something, every word spoke true to the things I was feeling.

"You're the one that I love and I'm saying goodbye. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

The very first time I heard that song, I was a few weeks out from d-day and I wasn't sure what was going to happen. That song came on the radio and I started to cry as each word came closer and closer to the pain in my heart.

A few days later, my sister called and said, "Wendy! Have you heard the new song Say Something? I was bawling in the car thinking about your heartache right now and I felt like you could've been singing every single one of those words." And she was right. Every word was my story.

"Anywhere I would've followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

After years of wanting him to say how he feels to me and getting nothing in return, I wasn't sure how divorce would change that. I wasn't sure about the levels of communication and how we would both deal with the new boundaries that had to be set.

And at first, it was a mess. I tried to let Peter be a part of our family, even though we had filed for divorce. We went on hikes, we watched movies late at night...and one night, we had sex. There are days I'm still in disbelief about that because it was all so...awkward...and I felt like a whore. So it was after that night that I knew I needed changes for the safety of my heart.

Boundaries.

I started reading the book Boundaries that was recommended to me by my eating disorder therapist. I recognized some traits in the beginning of the book that were DEFINITELY me.

I was so sick of fighting that I decided to allow Peter back into my life more than was healthy for ME. I was making those decisions for the well being of our children and for his well being but in the process, I ended up more confused and hurt.

Ever since I talked to Peter about the boundaries I needed to set, there has been a frustration about him that I didn't fully understand. I knew he had changed when he left me. He seemed darker and less of the man I had married. But this was different. Peter was angry at me for taking away his kids and his opportunity to have the best of both worlds.

His anger has changed him into someone I don't recognize.

Tonight, Peter told me he wouldn't be able to contribute to our son's preschool bill for a month or two and I started to walk away in frustration and he exclaimed, "Calm the fuck down, Wendy!"

In front of my four year old.

Oh hell no.

My anger was at a boiling point but there was nothing I could do because I am about to head out of town and Peter has the kids by himself for four days.

On top of that, I started working this week and school started two weeks ago. I am now leaving that precious four year old FIVE days a week.

This is just a mess. All of the shit going on is a mess. I feel so much guilt and shame. I feel so much weight on me to be this perfect mother and this perfect friend and this perfect daughter and I JUST CAN'T DO IT! I cannot please everyone. But that won't stop me from trying.

Last night, I had a melt down. Like a scream-into-my-pillow-yelling-swear-words melt down. And I wrote in my journal how sometimes I feel like dying would be easier than all of this.

And that is the damn truth. I cannot even tell you how often in the past year I've layed in bed shaking from the fear of being responsible for two little children and myself all on my own. There isn't anything to describe what this feels like to me. It is just a whole bunch of hell and the responsibility feels like it's too much sometimes.

I couldn't even tell my counselor today how I wrote that sentence in my journal because even THINKING about dying makes me feel shame...because I would never truthfully kill myself or even want to die and ruin my children's lives more.

But when I get so buried in fear and shame, I can't think of anything else that would release my pain.

Please tell me this gets better. Tell me I will find hope and that I won't always hate myself and that I will be able to afford to take care of my kids on my own and that I will stop feeling so anxious about life.
Please?

Because I just can't keep having break downs and feeling so scared for the future. I can't keep doubting myself and wondering if things will ever get better.

I just can't.

But I'm so afraid to feel and give emotion to my pain because I don't believe it will ever go away if I let it out. I feel like being strong and COURAGEOUS means to keep myself in check at all times and never let my emotions run free. I cry sometimes but ONLY when I'm alone and I always shame myself for being weak and out of control.

I'm so afraid of what my pain really feels like.


Since music is therapy, I recorded Say Something for you tonight. And with that, I am off on an adventure with my friends for four days. Please pray that my kids won't miss me too much and that I'll be able to relax and trust that they're in good hands.

Angry Words

In counseling on Tuesday, I kept saying the made up word EFFING and after a while, my counselor asked, "Wendy, do you ever just say the real F word?"

And it got me thinking because the real F word is always in my mind. I'm not kidding. Always. When I get angry or something happens, I think it every time. This never used to happen but since I'm now an angry person, it does.

So this week, I released the F word into my journal a few times. I wrote it and felt the power behind it even though it's just a stupid word. I felt like it finally got my point across of how ugly this all feels. No other word can quite describe how messy this all is for me. No other word has been able to describe my pain and anger.

It sounds kind of weird. It's just a word. But because it is a word I used to never ever say, it holds an ugly power and helps me process the way I'm feeling.

The physical letter I wrote Peter the other day was full of language and hatred and I was writing it as a step toward my healing. I knew I was going to burn it. I scribbled almost illegibly through two sheets of paper and when I was done, I read it to myself out loud.

And then I burned it. I took a lighter and set it on the concrete outside and I watched it go up in flames until all that was left were a few black ashes.

I came inside and damnit, I was still angry. I was hoping that magical letter would just erase my anger but it didn't. It couldn't.

I punched my pillow over and over and yelled out some of the ugly feelings I've been feeling lately and then I crashed in my bed, sweaty and tired from the physical and emotional torment.

So here's the thing, ladies and gents, I woke up a little less angry the next day. I woke up a little less distressed and hopeless.

Physically proclaiming my anger wasn't a fix-it-all but it helped me process through a few of the hundred angry feelings I'm feeling. It helped me to know what to scribble in my journal because often times, I don't even know where my anger is coming from or what I should write down. But that night, I knew it. I knew there were some really painful things I haven't faced regarding how our divorce happened.

There is so much trauma that came with being the parent who had to endure the nightmares and the puffy eyes and the million questions. I did it alone. Not only was I forced into a new reality where I was alone in my marriage, I was parenting children through some pretty significant trials and I did it alone.

And although I can happily report that my children are doing much better these days, I am still traumatized from those first few months of our separation because Peter was never man enough to sit down with our children and explain everything together. He left me to pick up the pieces of their shattered worlds. They blamed me. They physically lashed out at me. They called me hurtful names and begged to see their dad. And because they couldn't always see him, I was the bad guy for a while. Because they didn't understand the choices that were made or how divorce works, they thought I was keeping them from someone whom they love very much.


I won't mask my anger any longer because in a year, I don't want to be doing this all over again. So today I will stay angry at him and at my parents and I will continue to process these feelings so that someday, I can allow the atonement to take this pain away from me. I feel so strongly tonight that there will be a day where that happens.

Resenting his move, resenting his return

I'm just so damn angry. Ever since Pan moved back to the same general area as us, I cannot stand him.

I seriously cannot stand him!

Everything he does and says is stupid and his face is stupid and his actions are stupid. I am usually a more reasonable person but for some reason, I cannot stand to be in the same room as him!

I'm confused about this because I don't remember being this angry with him the last time he lived here...as in, three months ago. I think I feel a resentment toward him for moving because he left so quickly. I feel like he doesn't really accept his responsibility to our children like I do. He takes them "often"---as in, every other weekend and a night or two a week except he only saw them TWICE the whole time he had lived in another state...which broke his promise of coming home every other wekeend. But he's a hero, right? He should be able to make equal parenting decisions, right?

I know that's the way it is supposed to work. I know he is supposed to be able to tell me his opinion on babysitters and discipline and everything in between but because I feel like he abandoned us for a few months and left his responsibilities behind, he shouldn't have the right to come back and act like NOTHING HAS CHANGED!

Because while he was gone, I did everything on my own! I didn't have a break consistently. I made decisions for our kids, took them where they needed to go, and got babysitters when I was ready for the looney bin. I did it all. On. My. Own.

We had a routine. I was used to being their sole caregiver. I was used to the decisions. But I was excited when he decided to move back because I'd have some weekends and weeknights free again.

But Pan has come back and everytime I've seen him, I've wanted to punch him in the face. I can't stand the sight of him, let alone his voice. He says the dumbest, most controlling things. He reprimands me for decisions I've made regarding our kids. I got a babysitter for 45 minutes instead of calling him and he got angry because "that's not on the parenting plan". Everytime he has come to get the kids, he walks through the front door and perches himself on the couch or at the kitchen table while I try to rush the kids out the door. I don't WANT to hang out with him. I don't WANT to have a friendship right now.

So yesterday, I talked to him about it. I asked him to keep his distance and when he gets the kids, to stay outside and wait for me to send them out.

And as you can guess, he got offended...because "Why can't we be friends? Why am I so mean? Why am I so angry? Why?!" and I didn't give him a response. He doesn't deserve a response right now. He just needs to keep my boundaries or shit is gonna go down. People are gonna get crazy---and by people, I mean me---and by crazy, I mean eat a bucket of chocolate ice cream and throw shoes at the wall.

So I hope Pan can stick to the boundaries and shut his face the rest of the time. I hope he can try to understand that I cannot always do things exactly how he wants them done because he chose to leave me and I no longer have to listen to him. I can parent however the hell I want!

And I'm sorry I had a friend's husband watch my kids while I went to dinner. I did not have time {literally} to drop them off to him at his residence twenty minutes away because I had a meeting immediately after dinner at my home. I had to have my kids close by for the sake of that meeting happening on time.

So...
GAH! Go away, Pan! Better yet, stay close by but keep your mouth shut more often!!!

And stop calling me every 3 hours to ask a ridiculous question "about our children". Because even though it's not technically breaking a boundary, it kind of is in the sneakiest way possible.

Get the hell out of my life but make sure you still take the kids every other weekend because I sincerely need a break. I love them but I need a break.

Sincerely,
The-burnt-out-but-otherwise-awesome-Wendy

Lots-o-shit

Today. This week. This month. This year. The past seven years.

I often ask myself why. Why would God allow all of these things in my life? Am I just "feeling" him because I want to believe in something greater? Is He real? And does He really care? Peter Pan used to tell me that believing in God was for weak people. Am I weak?

I worry that even questioning God will ruin all of our lives...and I'm already ruining our lives, right?
I worked so hard to get custody of my kids on Sundays so they would be able to attend church with me and be raised "the right way" but tonight, I just want a break. I know God is real. What I'm having a hard time believing is that He knows what I'm going through this very minute. And if He does, why is this all happening? Why with the pornography addiction? Why with the eating disorder? Why with the divorce? Why with the infertility? Why with the miscarriage? Why with the childhood traumas? I just don't get it! I don't get why it's never "easy".

This morning, I had an appointment with a new therapist. Hell-to-the-yeah. It was just a basic appointment but I could tell that I'm going to like her approach to all of this crap I'm dealing with.

Then I came home and wrote two essays. I never did finish the third one but without it, I'll still have a B in that class so screw it! I skipped the essay completely! I started to stress out because I was going to be brave and eat some toast for lunch (Hi, unhealthy carbs, Meet, Wendy, the freak who loves/hates food) and although I stressed and panicked and stressed and freaked out, I did it. I did it knowing I could beat the hell out of this body at the gym in the afternoon. And then on the way to my daughter's dance class, I realized I couldn't get to the gym tonight and that I should've gone earlier. PANIC MODE. Food is effing just sitting in my body and I'm not going to burn the calories?! Oh, hell no.
So I was agitated.

And then I babysat at my parents house for an hour---an hour---in which time their house flooded from a clogged toilet. NOT EVEN KIDDING! That was the unluckiest hour to be at their house. My parents both reprimanded me like I was a five year old and I left their house feeling like shit---which is ironic, because I had just been cleaning up shit. Why was I in trouble for something that could've happened on anyone's watch?! Because I'm that kid, that's why. There's always a reason it's my fault.

I had eaten dinner right before the shit incident because well, everyone was eating and that's awkward. But halfway through the shit incident, I realized my older sister was there helping me clean it all up and there was no escaping this one AGAIN! So I sat and festered and obsessed and hated myself because I had food in my body again. Twice in one EFFING day.

And tonight. Tonight is when I really started questioning this God business. Because how is all of this possible in one day; the good, the bad, and the extremely ugly? How do I change my heart as it gets more hardened? I want to open up but I can't. I can't trust anyone with this heart of mine. Not family, not friends, not ANYONE.

Because anyone can abandon me. Anyone can be someone one minute and choose to be a jackass the next minute. Where is trust even possible? People make mistakes all on their own and the rest of us are just supposed to trust?

Trust is scary.

Peter Pan is Our Story

I always thought so too.

I dreamed of forever with my Peter Pan. I was his Wendy and instead of growing old with me, he returned to Neverland to keep from growing up. This is the significance of me choosing Peter Pan as our story. Peter Pan is our story. I am Wendy and my Peter Pan has left to Neverland.

When I decided to use this story as my background, the word Neverland really stood out to me. This land that Peter Pan is trying to find is a land where his family won't be. It is Neverland; a land full of boys who don't want to grow up, a land where evil and sadness are lurking at every corner, a land of trickery. I used to pray that Peter would wake up from his distorted reality and realize that the happiness he once experienced with me and with our children would be enough.
But it was never enough and he searched for Neverland, trying to find the happiness he was missing.

Divorce brings a lot of mess into a relationship. With children, there will always be a relationship and trying to work together on specific parenting issues can be hard.

Saturday was one of those messy days were Peter was trying really hard to manipulate me. In his addict brain, he was making sense. In his addict brain, I was in the wrong. In his addict brain, he was being held back by me.

Peter had made a commitment to have our kids for the weekend and when his plans suddenly changed and I wasn't available to take the kids back early, he was angry.

You guys, I need to confess something.
On Saturday, I said the F word---out loud---in front of some friends.
Because usually I stand at the edge and wait out the storm but this particular storm caused me to jump off the edge.
Sometimes ex-husbands are idiots. And almost ALL of the time, addict ex-husbands are idiots.
Sometimes addict ex-husbands gaslight the hell out of you and tell you that you are the manipulator, that you aren't a good person, and that you are selfish.
Sometimes it's hard not to believe what addict ex-husbands say, even though you know the words aren't true.
So sometimes you end up walking into a room full of friends and the door is really hard to shut and you yell the F word at the door.

THIS IS NORMAL, PEOPLE!!! It has to be normal. Right? Someone tell me I'm not crazy!

So there I was, trying to concentrate on the things I was doing while receiving manipulative, angry messages from Peter. I was angry and shaking because I have a hard time when someone bashes my character. I'm glad my friends who had witnessed the F word rant were there for advice giving and support because I made it through.

I made it through and the next day, when addict brain was turned off, Peter apologized for his behavior. This is how life with an addict is. Things go from being irrational to apologetic really quickly. Gaslighting is an ever present threat. Rationality is often out the window. Feelings get hurt on purpose so the addict doesn't have to reflect on their own feelings.

I think about my eating disorder and how that is an addiction and I wonder if I do that to other people. Do I gaslight? Am I irrational? Do I deflect on others to avoid my own feelings?
I think because my eating disorder is so inward and reflects the hate I have for my own body, the biggest possibility is that I gaslight and am irrational toward myself.
I'm choosing to do something I don't want to do and have an appointment with an eating disorder therapist on Thursday. I think I'll bring those questions up to her because I don't want to be hurting others. Hell, I don't want to be hurting myself but I certainly don't want to hurt anyone else.

I don't want to end up like the addict in my life who continues to hurt me, even after divorce. I don't want to do that to other people. Boundaries are lost on us because we will always have to talk about the kids and dealing with Peter Pan, even regarding the kids, when he is in addict mode is extremely hard to do.

I want to end up different and break the cycle of addiction. I want to be a better me. I also want to stop saying the F word over and over in my mind and having it slip out once in a while but I have to admit, sometimes the F word makes me feel better.

I want to overcome. I want to step away from the edge of the cliff and walk down the mountain to safety.
I am strong enough for this. Right?