“I’ll keep the box I found under your old bed. That way I can show L one day that his parents actually loved each other one time,” my mom shouted it into the phone. My heart dissolved into a million pieces.
Failure. That is what I feel like. Every day. I wake up and I am doing the best I can, but I feel like an epic fail day after day. I disappointed everyone. I hurt my ex-husband, and he hurt me, and I want to not feel this way, but I don’t know how not to.
The box under the bed at my parent’s house held: Old movie stubs, love notes, cards, maybe a picture or two. I threw away a bunch of pictures away in my house when I was sad and heart broken. I kind of wish I hadn’t, but part of me needed them gone.
This has been difficult. So much harder than I thought. Two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes a hundred steps back. Perhaps if I wasn’t also dealing with alienation from my family, it would be more manageable. But I’m dealing with all of that, plus a list of other things. I feel like I can’t. But I do. I don’t have a choice. I must. Each morning, I take all my broken bits and defeat and put it in a box, push it under the bed, and do what I have to do to support and love my little family.