Obviously, it's time to give in.
I can't work; I can't think; I can't feel. I can't untangle something inside and I'm not even sure where that knot is, but I do know the lump it creates makes everything uncomfortable. My efforts to be a partner may be questionable now, but they went unnoticed or un(der?)appreciated for so long I can't tell if I've given up or I'm just being too guarded. My perspective is so mangled all I want to do is escape, but every effort I make to that end only brings guilt about what I'm avoiding, even though every moment away is ultimately spent in search of the Truth.
Truth--here's what it looks like at the tip: I want out, because there is no satisfaction. I've read so much bullshit about commitment and giving and providing it makes me want to puke, but not before flaming the idiotic Facebooker who posted it. It is NOT wrong for me to want to be satisfied in a relationship, or (God forbid) happy. And while I'm still working out exactly what happiness is, I know for goddamn sure what it isn't.
The arrangement isn't without its benefits. I don't deny that. I don't even deny that, at times, those benefits may be worth the trouble, except for the fact that every day we stay married, our children learn what they will think is normal: what they will seek out later when they are adults. That is a dangerous, deep-dark-thought provoking realization. So I fear I am only left with two choices, and both seem awful and destructive.
I just want to cry. I just want to beat something with my fists until they bleed. I just want to throw myself away and start over.
But there is no starting over, because Truth is an iceberg. Beneath the deranged pain and anger that sometimes consumes and debilitates me, below the surface of public and professional perception that keeps me getting out of bed every morning, is the rest of it all. I am broken. I am beautiful. I am rotten. I am growing. I evolve: spiritually, mentally. But I keep my body and feelings in chains because I am afraid of the work necessary to remove them, and ashamed of the scars that will become apparent when they are gone. I am deformed on the inside and contort myself on the outside to hide it, and it hurts a little more every single fucking day. The ice is ancient and colossal, beyond comprehension, and under its weight and influence I have suffered long and terribly.
The one thing that saves me is my routine. Work, school: it's a familiar track and I know where it goes. It provides a necessary distraction and they pay me well enough to show up. For these same reasons, the routine is also a terrible constrictor: once the work is done, my available resources for dealing with real issues are so limited as to restrict or eliminate my ability to solve anything. It's important for me to remember that my life will actually improve with formal education, and I suppose it could be worse: I could very easily be stuck in my situation without a means to support myself or those who have come to depend on me. With all the emotional stress I currently have, I must remember to be thankful of at least that much. Except on days like today, when the confusion and worry become so overwhelming I can't even get through a to-do list of 4 items.
This post is unfinished, and I submit it under duress, because I dare not allow what little clarity has come with its writing to fade away.