I’m not cut out for it. I never should have had children. I have never been emotionally equipped to deal with it. I guess I should be thankful that this is the last one I have to go through puberty with, but really… I’m ready to just send him to his dad’s and be done with it. Just pack up and walk away and never look back.
I mean, that’s not what I’m gonna do, but running away never sounded so good.
Nah, I’ll just sit around in a very dark place in my mind and feel terrible about myself and my life and think the kind of thoughts that I shouldn’t. I don’t have the right tools to deal with this and I don’t know where to find them. I don’t know how not to be triggered when my 19-year-old son threatens me and then punches shit over and over. I’m instantly transported back in time and it’s not my son anymore, it’s his dad, and it’s only a matter of time before one of those fists lands on me. And all I am capable of is sitting in my room, crying and thinking that life is too hard to live sometimes.
But, I live it, on and on. And I don’t run away and I don’t give up. I just… wallow a bit.