Resurrection

I took the abuse but died each time. I took the beatings and the lies and died a little more with each one. I died with the knowledge you cheated on me and I died more each time another name appeared on that list. I died again and a little more with each pregnancy scare with “the other woman”. Each fight, each scream, each curse...I died a little more. And what was once a vibrant, energetic, friendly, bubble of a woman slowly became an empty husk.

I confided in you. I told you my secrets, my dreams, my fears. You manipulated and twisted and found ways to use them against me. Nothing was off limits with you.

You screamed I should kill myself; I’d be doing everyone a favor you said. I’m just a burden on everyone and no one needs me. Not my mother. Not my son. Not my friends. No one, you assured me, woukd ever miss me. The 911 dispatcher heard you telling me to kill myself through the bathroom door, over the phone as I cried because I wanted to die but didn’t. I locked myself in the bathroom with a knife - self harm or eternal silence? You knew I had the knife, you just didn’t care as you visciously encouraged my suicide. I called because I needed help; your voice was pushing me over that edge.

I should’ve left a hundred times. I believed your lies. I believed the apologies. They were lies too.

Even though I don‘t remember the day or date, I can never forget that day itself. Your mistress in South Texas was pregnant and you needed to be with her. The tears streamed down my face of their own volition, before I had even processed the words I’d read. It was a raw reaction. To this day I can feel that deadly ache in my heart. Nothing would ever be the same for me, good or bad.

I was at work. We were waiting to be dismissed from morning routes. My boss was at the head table talking to some of the other drivers, assigning them extra work duties between routes. My coworkers saw me crumbling in front of them. My boss saw too. He waved me out oftheroom without a word, nor was I given hell when I called out from afternoon routes. I was no longer the strong, stone castle I tried so hard to be. I was a sand castle melting away with the tide.

I died that day. Whatever was left inside died that day. I left work immediately and went and crawled in my Mom’s bed. The ultimate comfort place, but honestly, I was not sure where to go. I cried. I bawled. I suffocated on my tears and choked on the snot running from my nose. I had nightmares and I screamed out your name. I was hollow, numb to everything except the pain that consumed me.

I still have those nightmares. I still am stuck reliving that day. I still call your name. I still love you.

Today I am alive. Some days barely. Some days with such ferocity it would take your breath away. The scars are there- physically, mentally, emotionally. I’m still recovering. You will probably never see this. That’s fine. This is more for me anyway. I’m a fighter. I don’t know when to quit. You didn’t win because I’m still standing. I’ve had amazing people along the way helping me, they know my worth. So do I. I was always worth more than you could give, even at my weakest. Even when I didn’t see it