A Requiem for a Dream

One of my hopeless dreams had always been having a family of my own: a few children and someone to call my own. Someone to hold when I sleep and someone to smile at when I wake up. Someone to love through hard and happy days. Someone to share my joys and pains with. Someone who could share their world with me.

I never thought that would be possible. One lonely year passed after another on my own. I was happy. I rode the forests with wind in my hair, trained wild horses and learned magic. I remember a big wedding-party we held for my dear friends. I remember dividing the women to go and paint the bride and men to paint the groom and told them to share with the to-be-wedded the secrets of joyous shared life. I stood preparing for the ritual and realized I do not belong to either world of group - I would be alone for the rest of my life. To be the one who holds the broom is to be alone, I concluded.

What a joy, when I found not-yet-bearded-not-yet-daddy who seemed to want to be with me. I was already quite old and not used to people paying court to me. I missed the little red warning signs and fell right in-love. It is easy, when someone so openly and greedily confesses his love and devotion on every chance they get.

But as the years passed, I grew disillusioned. I was desperately alone for most of the time. The more I needed his companionship the less he would be there for me. Finally I gave him back the ring I had proposed to him with and told him that I felt I was living in a front. We seemed like the perfect couple, we looked happy outside but in the in-side there was nothing at all. I told him that this needed to change for us to continue together. He got scared and soon after that began talking me over to having another child.

These past two years of being pregnant and caring for both princesses have been the most difficult time I've ever had to face. It seemed like if he had ever felt any empathy for me - the last of these feelings died. He was full of commands and demands. No more "I love you"'s but "do you really need that", "do I always have to do everything." The simplest of things turned into fights because he would not see my point or even try. His speech was full of "you have to"s. To live like we did, I would have to take more responsibility. I would have to give up on my own wants and needs - we only had money for his.

No matter how hard it got, I tried not to complain. I felt it was unfair to share his wrongs with my friends. It felt completely wrong. I knew things were going the wrong way but I kept hoping that maybe, if I changed my attitude, maybe if I gave him one more chance, if I could start a day without grudge and talk to him, he could see it. He could see me - how desperately tired I was, how in need of someone holding my hand for a little while, someone holding my side and telling others to do their part in our household.

Meanwhile he was preparing to kick me out of my home.

Eventually it was me, who told him to leave. I thought he needed to clear his head and get his priorities straight. He told me we would only be separated for "six months - maybe a year, but I see my-self coming back home" - and behind my back he was dating another woman and telling everyone else how we've been through for months already. It was not that he found someone else that made me angry. It was the fact that he continually lied about it to me. Came home to have sex with me. Grabbed me every time we saw. Had he told me right there and then that he was leaving me for someone else, I would have cried and would have been desperately sad, yes. Now I feel devastated and used.

His lies pile up on each other and his story of what has happened, how and why changes every time he talks about it. I fear that he's loosing his touch with reality. Yet even more I fear that he has always done that - always lied, always tried to come through flawless and clean. That he has never actually been present in the moments we've shared. That for him it was only a role-game that went sour when he realized he can no longer control me.

I feel like my soul has shattered to a million pieces. I do not know what to trust anymore. His world seems like a tangled web of lies. I'm left with questions that will never get answers. I'm left with a hurt so deep it will take me years to heal. I'm left with the realization that truly I will be alone for the rest of my remaining days. And that he will never see what he did wrong and that he will never even apologize. And the worst part of the nightmare is that he will be a part of my life for as long as I live. I will have to see him every second day as he picks up the girls or I take them to him. This will never be over.

This truly is a requiem for a dream - for my dream of someone I could hold when I go to sleep, someone I could smile at when I wake up, someone who would love me for who I am and someone I could love through hard and happy days. It was too good to be true - so it never was true.

Surviving the Storm

I wanted to write "when shit hits the fan" on the headline. I suppose we're not there yet.

On Imbocl Bearded Daddy had an announcement to make. He was leaving. Well, technically he wanted me out of the house and out of his life. Me and the girls decided to stay and Daddy was the one who went away.

For weeks this has been too painful to write about. I have been keeping my-self busy with everything else - cleaning the house, doing the chores. Anything but thinking or writing. The analytic part in me recognizes the stages of grief: denial, break down, anger... I've been fuming with anger, crying my eyes out, rolling in despair and guilt, pleading, begging and trying to figure it out.

What has kept me up and running instead of crying and panicking is Will. I suppose this is one of those days when my true will hits the scales and is measured. Daily I keep asking my-self "what do I want?"
There are things I know I do want. I want my children happy and safe - untouched by the process of Daddy leaving and Mommy crying. I know they will me touched by it no matter what I do, but there is plenty I can and want to do right to keep them out of harms way. I want my own head and heart to come through this - if not in one piece, then in several, but I can't make grieving and bitterness my new home. They have their time, yes. But I don't intend to dwell in them.

It would be all too easy to make anger my new driving force - and some days it is. It has the absolutely great ability to get me through tough days and heartrendingly lonely nights.  But hate is like Sauron's Ring - it will turn on everything you love and make everything go sour. It is the panic-force when there is nothing else to sustain you.

Pain is a lot like fire. And right now I sit on Mother Kali's funeral pyre, watching the Goddess dance and laugh, allowing the cleansing heart-breaking fire burn away everything unnecessary, old and rotten inside me. Let the hurt come. Let the pain come. I keep pace with my breath and measure time with the dancing of the flames. This is not the first big hurt in my life nor is it the last. Living, loving and creating are all games of dare - eventually you're going to pay with the loss of what you love for all the happy moments. When you dare to love, deep down you know it will not last for everything lasts but a little while on this plain.

So I let the pain be and like the flames of the forge it burns through everything redundant and reveal my true nature and my true will. If I burn to ashes, if only charred remains are left, I let my children breathe new life in my old heart. Yet I know that the one who steps out of the flames is me, only better, more pure, more me and less a creature of habit and consequence.

I bear this in mind to keep my head straight. And when there is too much of pain, so much I want to react, I look ahead. In two years, how do I want my relationship to be with Bearded Daddy - he might not be my beloved but he will always be a father to the girls. How do I want my Princesses to grow up - tangled in a web of mixed emotions between me and Daddy or strong and beautiful. These are questions I need to answer now. These are things that will be shaped and defined right this very moment - weather or not I'm ready.

What steps out of Mother Kali's funeral pyre will either be solid gold or ashes to be cast in the wind. What the pain will make of me is a question of my Will. This is where my being will be weighed.