I’ve been mulling over the last two emails you’ve sent me, trying to work out my feelings in some sort of logic seeking process. You see, the first one, kind of said you miss me. So, it caught me off guard, and my breath caught in my throat and I wanted to vomit. Calm down, I was told, maybe that’s not what he meant. So I ignored that part of the email and responded to the remainder with only a, “thank you.” You responded, cryptically again, with “I wish you happiness.”
You wish me happiness.
You stole my children.
I am not happy.
You stole my children’s innocence.
My parents have incurred huge debt as a result of your drawing out a custody battle, not to mention not financially supporting the kids for 14 years.
You broke my grandfather’s heart by severing his relationship with the children.
I left my family and friends because you couldn’t stop following me around town.
I no longer volunteer for PTA or coaching because, well, I don’t have kids anymore because you took them.
You took away everything that previously brought me happiness. You broke up with your (married) girlfriend and now you wish me happiness?
Well thanks, because since you took away what originally made me happy, life lessons have taught me how to find my own happiness.
My man? He’s amazing. Super happy. The group of people I’ve met since I left? Could not imagine a better group of people to be around. They don’t judge, they don’t waiver, they’re amazing. So yeah, happy. My job? Love it. I work a lot of hours and some of the customers can be pretty crappy, but working with my best friends makes me pretty happy. I go to a great gym where I’ve made more great friends.
I don’t need your blessings or your wishes for my happiness. I’d be perfectly happy if I never had to speak to you another day in my life. I can be happy on my own terms.
So in closing, I hope YOU find happiness. Keep walking around destroying everything around you and wishing for happiness, let me know how that turns out.
I could just start writing my posts directly to you now, since I know you’re reading them… But this isn’t your blog. It’s my blog. This blog was a place for me to be able to safely get things off my chest without having to filter them through you anymore. I was ok, when you started reading, since again, I write for me, not for you… But I’m not ok with you following me around online because you can’t do it physically any longer. Twitter? Really? You never wanted me to socialize while we were together, this is no different. So I’m going to pretend you’re not there. Because, you’re not. I’m gone, far away. I’m moving on with my life. I’m making new friends. I’m learning to be ok with myself. Every day is a struggle to get out of bed. Every step is a struggle to put one foot in front of the other since the girls were taken away, but I keep walking. I will keep walking. I am building an identity. I’m not just a wife or a mom or the neighbor getting beat. I am productive in my own right. Sometimes people like me!! Crazy how once I was convinced no one would ever want me… I am learning to love my body. Funny how I once thought putting effort into my appearance was something I didn’t need to waste my time on, since no one would ever want me. I love fashion… Boots, skirts, dresses, makeup… Sometimes I buy things for myself and it feels amazing! I am learning to hold my head high, to be proud of my scars and left over quirks. I am finding the me I used to be… Adjusted my sails and set a different course. I found my own jet stream and navigate my own course. I am unapologetic.
In 2006, things were volatile in my home, to say the least. Baby 2 was diagnosed with Aspberger’s and Baby 4 was struggling through cardiac issues and development issues… Oh, and there was a new war. I was 25 with 4 small children and a husband deployed for over a year. When he came home, in the course of the month before the above email, I caught him in bed with one of his lower enlisted sailors, he beat the crap out of me in base housing and then he tried to kill himself.
When I decided to reach out to the command master chief for help, my husband was sent the above email from his shop’s LCPO (his boss).
If someone would have helped me 7 years ago, when I started asking, how much different would my life be? Where would my girls be today? Because he was told to shut me up, no records were ever found of his violence that night…
I’m so tired of keeping quiet and trying to protect the Navy I once loved.