Sore, More, & 7 Years Ago (Today)…

Anniversaries… Are generally days out of the year, earmarked in time, meant to be celebrated. Yet for each of the 12 months out of the year, I remember the anniversaries of unpleasant events. And being me, I can do nothing but reflect on them, until I’ve beaten myself up, am worn out, and my past, deep wounds have been re-opened, and those raw feelings I’m able to repress throughout the year resurface their ugly little heads, and I leave myself open til the date passes so I can band-aid it ‘til the next year.

Every single month out of every year… I don’t have a friggin’ 30-day break. I remember dates too easily, and can never erase them out of my mental calendar. For every month out of the year, there’s a date pegged in my brain to remind me of a family member’s death, a holiday I was forced to spend in the hospital for injuries I never should have had, etc. I could go on and on about each and every single one, go through all the months of the year, and the dates in between and their associated tales of woe, but if I did, it wouldn’t be a blog… It’d more than likely be a best-selling novel. I’m too worn out today to throw down on a project like that.

September 5th, 2006. Here we are. 7 years ago today… I said the two words “I do” in front of family, friends, the Lord, and directed it at my then soon to be pronounced “husband”. And every year ever since, did I ever receive any kind of recognition for all I withstood year, after year, from said “husband” on said “anniversary”? No. I never got what I rightly deserved, before, during, or after that day, from that marriage. And ever year on this day I cry. I don’t cry necessarily because things didn’t work out. I definitely don’t cry because I miss him. Not only do I shed tears (which I abhor doing), I mourn.

I mourn the loss of those years I spent putting up with cruelty, indifference, disrespect, struggling, cleaning, cooking, running myself and my body into the ground, working multiple jobs, changing diapers, being a human punching bag, buying in-law birthday and Christmas gifts, throwing his family’s anniversary parties, driving his mother back and forth from the airport for work with my child in the backseat at all hours, working, working, working, crying, trying to tell everyone everything was okay when they knew better, separating myself from family and friends so they wouldn’t feel bad for me, give me a pity tone in their voice, or think I wasn’t the successful person I was meant to be, you name it…

The lack of laughter, the non-existent appreciation, the absence of love, kindness, strongly feeling as though I deserved to be treated like I was nothing, that I was a worthless workhorse and I couldn’t ever do anything right, all while trying to spare my son from any fright or pain or injuries for that matter, while we all lived in the same home. That was me. And I still can’t believe those years were spent like that, day after day, after month, after year. I’ll never get them back, and I mourn the death of my youth, and any pain my son has, or will, endure because of that union. I’m alive, yet I know what hell is like.

Throughout every damn thing I withstood, the single thought I kept thinking over and over and over was “You’ll be righted one day. One day, you’ll get what you’ve deserved all these years, and you’ll have your shining moment once again, there will be closure and justice, and you’ll be able to begin anew”. After a horrific divorce process, and custody battle, I didn’t get my moment, and he (and them) never did get their come-uppance, either. I know they will in the end, but in the meantime, I once again, have been passed over on what I know now that I deserve.

During my drive to work this morning, it began. I thought surely I’d be able to make it through my workday, drive home, keep it together ‘til the point I could sit down, and get the emotions out, but nope. It began to rain outside, just like on my wedding day, then the emotions of that day, and every day since hit me, so I let some tears go. Thankfully I didn’t become the normal sobbing hiccupping mess I generally turn into. I’m saving that later for the 6pm hour.

So while it’s just another rainy Tuesday in the month of September to others, it’s a day I dread all year long. There was never a rainbow at the end of the storm for me, just the aftermath left for me to deal with and clean up. I know when I wake up tomorrow morning, all these memories won’t have been a nightmare, they’re unfortunately real, and there most certainly won’t be flowers at my door, a check for the house and things that were taken from me and all my legal costs, no apologies for all the torture I was put through, no thank you’s from any of those that were so happy to accept all my services, then turn around and berate me, there will be nothing but my sore and sorry self.

An anniversary – a day meant to be celebrated… That never was, and never will be… And I mourn for all the losses that began, and are associated with this day.