A year ago today I celebrated my 38th birthday. Something was magical for me about being 38. When I was little I knew if lived to 38 it would be the most life changing year of my life. Throughout my life 38 would always stand out to me and I had a deep down knowing that 38 was the year of change for me. Since September 3rd of 2015 my first D-Day (LINK), up until my birthday last year I went through a huge awakening.
This picture of me was a little project I made last year on this exact day I had gone through a transformation or so I thought. Turns out the year I thought to be the most magical was in fact magical in a way I would never have imagined. One day I will look back and appreciate what a life changing year this has been but for now I am pissed I am in the midst of it.
Today on my 39th birthday my seven-year-old son held up a nerf gun and pointed it at my head. He was just playing and using his imagination. But what I saw was his Dad with a gun to my head, loaded, one in the hole, safety off and trigger finger ready to pull. I immediately flashed back to all the times I had that gun to my head. Today I could feel the cold hard steal, thankfully one day I won’t. This was a way to remind me to be patient and acknowledge how much I am damaged and to take the time to heal.
Through this last year there were countless times I tried to run, tried to change his behavior, made excuses for him. I look back and realize that the universe finally made the decision for me and in the safest way possible. So many times I questioned why I stayed and now I know, it just wasn’t the time to leave.
It is strange to be able to be free. I can now talk in the car to myself and know he is not listening and will not make up things he heard when he listens to his recording device. To this day I still have not heard any of his proof. It was always a pigment of his imagination and interpretation.
I miss my husband and pray that one day he will be healed from his illnesses and he can return to having a family. I know my kids miss the Dad they once knew. They know he is ill and cannot wait for him to get help in the same way my eldest son had to get help for his schizophrenia.
We are all a lot happier without the burden of Dad’s illness as a constant for us. It is much more peaceful and we laugh a lot more. I am curious to what I will be writing a year from now?
This was originally written on May 14, 2019. This is an edited version.
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