Dirty Messy Love

I didn’t feel loved as much as I felt…needed. As in medicinally. As if my presence was required to not go off the deep end. The deep end of thoughts, and anxiety, and destructive behavior.

I couldn’t leave. I could barely go to the store alone. Much less have a conversation about divorce…

Any time I brought up the fact I didn’t feel safe to talk about these things, whether in therapy or just us, I was shut down and blamed…ironically enough.

My daughters don’t talk to me. And I can’t explain how, even after seventeen years, we were broken from the start. 😔