Looks like my passport has arrived. I have been like a dog jumping at the door whenever I hear a van. I knew it would be any day now. 

This afternoon I took my eldest daughter, my boy and me out for haircuts. In that time the courier arrived. I have a ‘come to collect’ waiting for me. So tomorrow I will duly collect my passport, head to immigration in the city for a stamp and will at that stage be free to leave when I choose.

Some power back.

No more limbo.

To date, my husband and I have avoided each other. Sick of arguments and knowing that we are only existing around each other. Communication is the odd question or text, usually relating to the kids.

How did it get so bad so quickly? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment. Just the awareness that things were cracking. Then the panic, no one likes the status quo to change. The fear of being alone, of being rejected and unloved. The attempts to band aid the situation. Barely lasting a day. My desperation to see the caring supportive man I devoted most of my life too. And no doubt he too has been trying to remember why he fell in love with me in the first place. 

Then the honesty, it’s been like this for far too long. Is it actually fixable? Is it worth it?

Considering I’ve been so alone the last few months and my husband has been aware of my pain, aware of my fight, but chosen to turn a blind eye is testament to the degeneration of our relationship. The change in the way he makes me feel. The look of disdain, freezing me out. It’s been a hard pill to swallow. 

But I can’t ignore this sadness in my soul, even just for the children’s sake. I feel like crap, I feel so empty. 

I’m sat in the bedroom now while he plays computer games. He has no interest in me. I have sought him out time over to encourage dialogue but end up feeling like a neglected puppy trying to get his masters attention. That’s not me. Our relationship should be equal. It always used to be.

Everything has changed. Can I give a time and date of when that happened? No. Could I have predicted such turn in events? Actually yes. When you pretend that everything is all right for so long, you are lying to your heart and soul. And this emptiness grows inside like a seed. Stressors come and go, but the damage is done. The seed grows a bit more. Eventually you are forced to face the truth. You can either hide from it or embrace it. I’ve always preferred to hide. I’m a coward. But now I can’t handle living like this. The gnawing away at each other, the second guessing. 

I have to find myself again. I have to experience my passion – for doing something I enjoy and for life in general.

I have to learn to love myself again. Over time I became dependant on my husband. He was my guardian, my rock, everything safe. Familiar, warm and loyal.

Recently he’s made me feel inadequate, unattractive, unworthy, lonely, weak and desperate.

I need to breathe. And I need to relinquish this seed.

I need to remember who I am. I need to be ready for my trial, because my husband won’t be holding my hand anymore. He won’t be comforting me in the night. He won’t be my person.

I’m so sad. Devastated that it’s come to this. But determined to be true to myself.


A small victory

I went to the family planning clinic today. I wanted the Depo injection. I’ve had before between births and aside from one time it’s always been good at holding back periods. My menstrual cycle can be a huge trigger for me. Despite having four children, the blood and the available sanitary options provoke nightmares. The pain and loss of control can make nightmares worse. 

My gynaecologist care is done separate to my GP. I like it that way. I can rely on nurses and discretion. Which is a huge contrast and surprising since after my rape case it was a family planning clinic that lost my notes and has been slow to respond both to the police and my lawyer for my subsequent treatment – following the rape.

But there is some comfort in its ethos, the lack of judgement and its usual especially nowadays awareness of my plight.

I had been called by the kindy prior to my appointment that my son had blisters around his mouth – they suspected hand and mouth disease. I was doubtful. They tend to dramatise on the slightest symptoms – but I dutifully picked up my full of beans boy and I took him with me.

I knew that if I didnt make this appointment – I never would. Fear and the unknown would envelope me. Form bubbles of panic in my gullet, squeeze oxygen from my lungs. A place to avoid. A place that might represent memories. The child in me, not seeing a clinic in NZ but a clinic in the UK, being talked at. A world unknown to me. Diseases unheard of. Pain encompassing my entire body. Fear so great it freezes me. Tears wanting to form, the world help I learned to choke on, and still do.

But I went with my boy. He sat on my lap while I answered standard, innocuous questions. I breathed in his hair, kissed his soft scalp. He help keep me present. 

The injection itself painless. The conveyor belt shifted, we left as others walked in. I consciously ignored the waiting room. Terrified to see the heartbroken, desperate, confused, lonely girl waiting there. 

So this evening I celebrate my ability to a, prevent an ongoing traumatic event for me – for not especially while I’m overseas. And the ability to forge forward. Without support, just my boy sat on my lap. Calm and watching.

A close call between past and present. 

This evening I sat in the spa pool for hours. My husband had taken my son to the GP appointment confirmation of his virus, of which I received some shitty texts because my son had poo in his nappy. In both our sleep I’d missed it.

Other than that we haven’t spoken. There is no need. Why would there be? So he can ridicule what I say? Point out my failings? Now we’re on territory that points to me being a bad mother.

I’m over it.

I sat In the spa for ages. Enjoying the warmth. The jets massaging my back. A cold glass of NZ Marlborough Savignon Blanc.

What made me think this was fixable? 

I have faced a fear, I have managed myself. I no longer expect support, I no longer expect any acknowledgement.

My journey is mine alone. There are no comforting arms, no familiarity anymore.

I am alone. And I must deal. 

Horrible weed in a garden

I’m fed up trying to defend my actions to my husband. I’m the perpetual bad guy. 

I have relinquished control of my family. He’s on his own course now, and anything I say, feel, think or do is irrelevant to him now. 

Most of the time I feel like this annoying bug that he wants to swat away. 

Sometimes I wish he’d just lash out and hit me. A tangible release of his frustration and annoyance with me. He might feel better for it. And the pain, a ripping blast, would be a wound. Visible to watch heal. As opposed to the look of sometimes revulsion, sometimes hate, mostly fed up – that lingers and bores into my soul. The way his presence fills the air with static – his mind a million miles away. The way he corrects me, my arguments disintegrate into childish babble, beneath him. I’m beneath him. That’s how he talks to me, makes me feel.

I feel more alone then I ever have. 

I dream constantly of getting away. 

I want to wake up and feel like I have a chance to be happy. I don’t want to wake up and feel the intense misery and loss of hope.

My daughters make constant remarks about me not doing anything. How Daddy does the work. He doesn’t defend me like used to. Why would he? It’s true. 

I want my children to be proud of me. I’m tired of being seen as weak, useless, pathetic – although in truth, that’s entirely what I am.

My fire has died. 

My precious son is young enough so that he can still love me unconditionally. And I adore him. He gives me purpose. He gives me strength. 

Today he had a rare moment of sadness before kindy, perhaps he picked up on my own misery. I picked him up and cuddled him. So close, his little heart against mine. Time stopped. A warm, soft doll in my arms. A need between us for affection, for love and understanding. Neither wanting to let go. My beautiful boy. I don’t know how long we stood like that, even when the rain started. He stayed silently holding me, safe, cherished. 

But one day soon he will look at me like his father, like the others. What do you do? You’re miserable? You don’t do anything. The reality that I’m a nothing, a nobody. Their disappointment a mirror of my own.

I have no fight. How can I expect respect?

Even as I write this my tears are flowing, my nose is running.  I’m a mess. 

It’s not a case of wanting to go away anymore, it’s a case of needing to.