I’m not at all sure what has set it off this time. I thought it was long since resolved. I thought I’d made peace with my losses, past and future, and with the alternative life I’ve seen stretched out before me.
But something has set it off. Maybe it was seeing something from my daughter and realizing how badly damaged she is. The sweet, gentle-spirited, loving girl has grown up to be a crass, defiant, almost-militant woman who, it is obvious, has embraced her daddy’s causes and still can’t get him to take her seriously.
Dear God! How long and how far must the hurt and the wreckage be flung?
It’s bad enough I’m damaged beyond repair. I know I’ll never be able to trust my own judgment about men, or the honesty or integrity of a relationship. And, yes, I still have periods of grieving for the loss of the old dreams of a close (and large) family. Of love. I still resent having been used, reduced to being less than a person in my own right just so he’d have someone to hide behind. I resent the psychological abuses he inflicted on me so that when I needed help I trusted no one, not even for a long time my own judgment. I resent, still, that he had to be protected at all costs.
Because the cost has proven far too great.
Now that cost involves our children, who didn’t ask to be born, but whom he’s manipulated and used and abused to hide behind, even now. Nothing is his fault, he will not face his own failures and responsibility – everything is “your choice,” said with a sneer and a look of utter contempt. He will always think of them as he has done of me: as idiots. Useful idiots, perhaps, but idiots all the same.
And I can’t help my children, even less than I can help myself. And I don’t know how to climb out of this pit of grief.