In the interest of keeping things real

For quite a while, we were doing well.  Moe was stable on meds, working a good job, I had a good job, the kids were happy and healthy ...

So Moe went off his medications.

And quit his job.

And started school.

And we're back to where we have been so many times before:  On the verge of divorce.

This time is different.

This time?

My heart, my love, my passion for him are broken.  There's no way to fix that at this point.  I'm done.

I'm worried about my kids and how they'll handle all of this.

But while he lived here, I worried more, every single day, about how they would handle being the ones to find his body.  Or witnessing his suicide.  Or if he would take them from me in the night.

So today, I'm grieving.  I have a protective order against a man I loved more than anyone else on this earth, but who I couldn't make happy or fix or even help.  Because nothing I ever did was enough for him.  Done with the threats of suicide and divorce, done with the screaming fights in front of the children, done with him cutting himself in the kitchen while they're next to him.

Done.

This is not how I imagined my life.  But I'm enjoying the time I have with my babies, who are home with me today, during spring break, while I make house repairs and try to make things stable, secure, and safe at home.  While I try to navigate the heartbreak, both mine and theirs, and maintain some sense of who I am.  Because I know deep down I'm a good person, but that gets buried under all the years of being told I was never enough.