My Abnormalities

My Abnormalities Are Beautiful Dad.

The tears.. they’re not stopping. The feeling in my heart, it’s like a hole. Like something was there, and now, it’s gone. And while I sit with that, the responsibilities of being a mama and doing it all right weigh heavy. Nearly so heavy that … is that doubt? No. I can’t doubt myself. For, if we doubt ourselves, then who do we have then.

My mind is racing. I won’t ever forget it. How will I move past this without an apology? But does an apology even matter if what he said just showed the truth about who he is. An apology doesn’t change what he believes and how he believes communication works. An apology won’t take back what he said. It won’t erase the hurt I feel. Now that I ponder it more, an apology doesn’t serve me at all.

The tears drop. Several at a time. As if I’m five years old again. I’m kneeling on the back of the couch. “Natasha! Natasha come here!”, everyone is shouting. Well. I guess I’m the star here. It is my birthday party, after all. But I can’t move. They can celebrate without me. My eyes are peeled to the window. As if… well.. what did I think? I was going to make him show up. He didn’t. He didn’t show up.

I knew all along that he wasn’t in my corner, but I think a part of me hoped I was wrong. Prayed even. Hoping that if push came to shove… he’d come through.

He hurt me with words. Something he won’t understand, but to me, it’s the fiercest of weapons. Words can not be unspoken. They sit with you as long as you ever remember. The words we say exist forever. Nothing can be unsaid. He hurt me with the thing I hold most dear. I would have preferred he hit me. I deal better with physical ailments.

I think words are so beautiful. We string them together and speak as if it’s no effort at all, but words are conveying everything we want to say. And to think, the last time he phoned me was at the beginning of December 2021. This is why he phoned me? This is what he wanted. To carve out holes in my heart. To take away the last bit of hope I had that one day, things would be different. To hold hostage the idea that I have parents who love and care about me. People sometimes speak as if it’s just second nature. And, of course, it is. But it’s also such an intensely beautiful privilege. The ability to be kind. To learn. To share. To spread awareness. To spew words of love and support. He could have called me to say hey, I’m here. I got you. The words I’ve longed to hear my entire life. But rather, he spoke daggers into my soul. Conveying the profound message I already knew.

I’m not normal.

But here’s where the road ends.

My abnormalities are beautiful in my world. My husband often tells me how he loves my brain, my mind, and the way I think. I’ve created a world of love and support. And his invite is no longer valid. Don’t even bother rsvp-ing. I’ve worked hard to build myself up. Accept my flaws, take medication, and persevere no matter how high the mountain. I’ve done that without him in my corner.

My abnormalities… they’re what make me me. They’re such a part of me that it shocks me to hear someone use them against me. As if I’m not already aware of how fragmented my mind is. As if I don’t know the struggle of living in a black-and-white world.

The door has closed for him. My abnormalities are beautiful. My brain is awesome. And I’m going to be okay.

– s t a y r e a l f r i e n d s


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