Or maybe a better title would be I’m angry and afraid….
Right now I’m so angry at Sam that I can’t think straight whenever his name enters my thoughts. I feel like a little girl who wants to jump up and down and stamp my foot and yell, “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” Can I? For just a little while, a minute or so… Maybe a couple hours…
I’ve been having horrid nightmares about the rapes again. I’m almost certain that they’ve been triggered by Max coming home and smelling like Sam. So insomnia kicks back in. I don’t close my eyes until after 1, 3 or 4 am. Eyes wide open again between 3 and 5 am. The best sleep I seem to get is after my alarm goes off at 6 am and I hit snooze until 6:45 am. (Hmmmm, maybe I should set my alarm for 1 am and a 2nd one for 6, maybe then I’ll get at least 5 hours of sleep…)
I get up and check the locks on the doors make sure the windows that are easy to climb in are closed and locked… I’m sure I drive my family crazy if they hear me wandering the house at night.
Every little mention of him brings a white-hot anger to the surface. And it’s so hard to fight and so hard to hide when it’s Max talking about all the fun he had at Daddy’s: they rode their bikes to REI (nice to know Sam can spend money at that expensive toy store while not paying child support or 1/2 of Max’s medical bills….); they played with the neighbor kids; they went to the Park for a picnic… All stuff, of course, that I begged Sam to do with Max and I when we were still together, and which was always denied so Sam could sit on the couch and watch the games and drink. So it’s so hard to smile at Max and tell him I’m glad he had a fun weekend. But I do try. Because I am. Glad that Max had a good weekend. Glad that it was one more weekend where Max didn’t call crying – hopefully safe.
I should be happy that Max seems to be getting the best his father can offer during his visits, even if Sam is just playing and not actually parenting. Sometimes I am. But right now….
The only word that comes to mind right now when I hear Sam’s name is RAPIST. Followed closely by the desire to RUN. Just run, run, where can I go, where? And then the anger kicks in. How dare he still intimidate and scare me! How dare I let him have that power over me!
So I guess the question is: Who am I really mad at? Sam? or Myself?
This is years after the rapes, years after the daily emotional abuse, years after being out from under the same roof as Sam. Shouldn’t I be further down the road than this? Shouldn’t I be able to see Sam and not have to fight the urge to turn around and run? In the very literal sense.
My therapist tells me often that I need to stop “shoulding all over” myself. Intellectually, I get that. I can usually, now, stop myself when I realize I’m doing that, but it’s much harder to actually stop before I do it.
Anger and fear. Fear and anger….