The Safety of Privacy, An Unread Journal, and Mourning the Person I Used to Be

I removed the link to this blog from my website in an effort to make it more difficult to find. I want to feel a sense of privacy which makes me feel more in control. I want the freedom to write what I want to write without worrying what someone I know might think. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, and I do not want to be judged any more than I already am. I also had an issue with a man from a dating app who broke through my boundaries despite my objections. It doesn't matter if my name is attached to this blog. All that matters is that I am a human and we are all in the midst of this human experience. Hopefully someone will read this and feel less alone. That is all I can hope for. My name is not a big name in the writing world. I have been out of publication for a couple of years now. Surely the views of my blog are not attached to my name. If they are, the views are likely out of curiosity.

My father gave me a bundle of papers and a journal, wrapped together with a rubber band, that he had kept in his safe from the time I moved back home during my divorce. It has been seven years since I lived with my parents. During that time, I was under incredible duress from my husband at the time. After several days of ignoring the stack on my nightstand, I decided to open the letters and read them. 

I had printed off conversations from AOL Instant Messaging from back when I was a teenager. At that time, I shared with two friends concerning things my boyfriend at the time (who would be my husband) said to me. I could not bear to read all of them. I threw them away in hopes that I would never have to see them again. 

I had cards mailed to me from my best friend. Words of encouragement and hope. She was there despite my ex-husband's need to control and isolate me. 

There was a journal that started in 2005, my senior year of high school. I read, in real time, the accounts of a highly motivated, disciplined, intuitive, and hopeful individual as she eventually began a steady decline into despair. It was heart wrenching at best. The final entry was about a year-and-a-half into my daughter's life and consisted of my plan to find a lawyer and leave the marriage with my daughter. After that entry began the seven darkest, most forgotten years of my life. Nothing was documented. Not much is remembered. 

There was one day in particular where my husband threatened to take my daughter away (after I called him from the grocery store to ask him if I could buy a bottle of wine) so I could have "my childhood" and he could provide stability for her. This was all extremely manipulative. I had been caring for our daughter alone and working full-time to provide for him while he finished college and looked for a job post-graduation, without any help from him. I was pressed within a steel vice with zero support. He accepted a job that required weekly travel and still would not make our family a priority during his time off. My dad came over to speak with him. They spent time alone outside. After my dad left, I asked him what was said. He told my husband it was manipulative and cruel to put fear inside of me regarding our daughter. He told him to apologize to me, and he never did. Not a word was spoken of it. 

Looking back now, I wonder why my dad left me there. I wonder why he didn't tell me to grab my daughter and my things. I wonder why he left me in that darkness for so long. I think he thought he was doing the right thing. I think that maybe I needed to learn the consequences of my actions. The price I paid left my spirit and soul broken beyond repair. There are parts of me that will never be okay again. Perhaps he was afraid of what the image would do to our family. Perhaps he was afraid he was taking away a learning experience from me. Perhaps he was afraid my other siblings would think they could get away with anything. But I'm telling you, from what I read in my journal, I was a very hard working, appreciative, kind, hopeful person. I was discouraged after having to withdraw from college after having gallbladder disease. I was so afraid of failing and being perceived as worthless that I did all I could to help my parents when I moved home. I typed up my dad's book for him. I wanted to impress him. I didn't want him to be disappointed in me. Part of me feels betrayed. I am so hard on the person I am now. If that young person had not been so fully betrayed by everyone around her, perhaps the person who exists now might be better adjusted. I tell myself that going through the things I did helped me to become a stronger person, but the truth is that these circumstances forced me to endure endless torments that broke me down completely. I cannot help but to mourn the person I was. I wish I could hug that young woman and bring into my home and give her a fresh start.