I think what bothers me the most about my current situation is that my kids are the actual problem. It bothers me because I pretty much am always thinking of them. I think of things we can do that they will enjoy, I think of things that will help them do better or have a better chance.
Like a lot of parents, most of the decisions I make are centered around them. I haven’t had a problem with this. They didn’t ask to be born, is my premise for parenting. I even gave up my dream of going to UCSB because I figured it would be too much moving and I knew that L, who wants to go to SLO, would do better if he had a home instead of a dorm. To be clear, SLO was never even in my top five school choices.
Now that I see just how little they give a f*ck about me and the few things I am forced to rely on them to do just to ensure I can still work and go to school, I don’t even want to speak to them. In the space of less than two weeks, my youngest has probably lost his place on the school bus because my kids, whose biggest (read only real) responsibility is to pick him up at the bus stop (which is in front of our house) couldn’t be bothered.
If the supervisor determines that R can no longer ride the bus, I can no longer work. Because, I say again, I have no one to help me. Not one person. I have no family, because I told my parents to take their abuse and shove it and my extended family believes that is horrible. And I left my abusive ex so I lost all the friends I had when I was married. Then I completely left the church and lost the few friends I had started to make after the divorce.
Now it’s just me. Which I again tried to explain to my children last week when they conveniently forgot that R had to be picked up—in the front of the house, remember. I spent half of the Chem lecture on the phone trying to find a way to get R home. To say I was angry would be an understatement. I wrote about my anger and how upset I was about it.
I’m not going to apologize for my anger today. I am pissed. My kids were too busy playing video games in the back of the house, after I had insisted last week that they remain in the front of the house until R got home. The school bus company called while I was in a work training so I never noticed because I have to keep it off, obviously, and I stupidly trusted my kids.
Now I don’t even want to talk to them. L was still giving me attitude this morning, as if this is somehow my fault.
In less than a month it will be the one year mark since my breakdown. I am in nearly the same place I was then. I look around and absolutely nothing has changed. I still have no one, I have zero support that can make a difference here and now.
The reality is, I’ve worked hard to try to get back up and it hasn’t made one bit of difference.
But worse than last year, it has become a glaring fact that not one of my kids gives a f*ck about it. At least when I thought they did I could operate under the illusion that I wasn’t completely alone in this, that we were fighting this battle together. Not anymore.
As I was raised to do, I have sacrificed everything I ever wanted: first for my parents, then for my ex, then for my kids.