Tying the threads together.

Stitch by painful stitch.

Can you repurpose my cardiovascular blob of broken memories?

TRH Fragments36

I’m supposed to worry less about upsetting you now..

Like something has changed after seven years.

It doesn’t feel like that long ago. When I was less than human to you.

The dirt under your fingernails, the foul taste in your mouth.

You called child support blood money.

My maternity leave after a cesarean laziness.

I wasn’t human. I wasn’t allowed to grieve my marriage.

I was trash that you discarded and held so much hatred for and I didn’t leave.

You hated me because I still loved you. After every cruel word..after the infidelity I clung to the remnants .

Turning the page I’m supposed to trust you now.

Or so you say.

I honor your image and your name for little hearts but my trust in you faded many years ago.

Our friendship floats on the surface sugarcoated in half smiles and practiced hellos.

I’m recovering I’m growing into a person again after the years you broke me.

I’m raising two young women to never fall victim to domestic abuse. That will grow strong and understand how to walk away.

Even when it’s over that’s the hardest part walking away. Recovering. Becoming human again.

I believe I can be that again.

Human.

TH Fragments36

You walk into the doorway and visit for awhile nonchalantly fixing the door knob screw driver in hand without skipping a beat in conversation. Sharing a few belly laughs and smiles. Grabbing me up and squeezing me in a tight embrace before you go…I’m always so awkward I hug you back again tightly and laugh nervously. I miss you. I always do..as soon as you leave a part of me always goes too…
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-TH Fragments36

The dread to mention his change in schedule will make parent teacher conferences unobtainable.

My job hangs by a string. I am a woman in a mans world.

I’ve already been told time and again this company just isn’t the place for me.

Should have thought of that before having children.

Should have thought of that before becoming a single mother.

What was wrong with me anyway that my husband didn’t stay?

The fact of the matter is he wrote my story before he ever met me.

He doesn’t know how I fought for my marriage and how much I loved the man who chose to leave me for another woman after infertility treatment.

Even after I was eight months pregnant.

How I have raised my children alone and worked hard to be where I am.

I didn’t choose my path but I’ll make the best of it.

I just wish other humans could be more kind.

That my story wasn’t told for me.

It’s strange needing reaffirmation.

Baking a cake for the acceptance of the familial pillars of women.

Seeking some unforeseen pat on the back.

Confirmation of the prize. Surprise adulthood. You have completed the final round.

It’s just a cake.. I’m just human.. so are they. Why do I need to be reminded?

He used to make fun of how long I kept mine. #Ithasbeenyears

What gives you the right to overstep your bounds

To inappropriately involve yourself in past relationships in my life and budge in and do as you please?

To try to make sound decisions with my children whenever you never made the right ones with me.

I wonder what a woman has done to you that makes you so angry when I smile or do something intelligent.

What the inferiority complex you beseech as you bash me in front of the entire office and sneer.

How you elbow the good ole boys and scowl when I walk into the office to ask a question.

How walking on eggshells and chewing my own stomach acid has become a daily routine.

When did my genitalia start defining my intelligence and my pay scale?

TH Fragments36 10/9/18

Normalcy is just a word that falls off my tongue and finds itself in a heap with the other words on the floor..like rational, human, loving.

I haven’t spoken with or seen my mother in four days. This isn’t a deviation from the normal cycle of my life.

It’s sad that we are neighbors. I’m just too exhausted to hear insults. This is a fragile week. The anniversary of his death is keeping my mind and emotions on pendulum.

I still haven’t visited his grave.

Part of me knows it will finalize everything.

“There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever,” Sacks wrote in a New York Times op-ed in 2015. “When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate—the genetic and neural fate—of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.”

Tomorrow is a year one whole year since you’ve been gone. I miss you every single day.