The truth is

I am an angry person. I have been, for quite some time now. This might sound a little bit too personal, heck, I expect more judgment from my peers after they read this, but I don't care anymore. Sleep has continued to elude me, for many reasons, that I cannot write down at the moment; but know this: I've been crying for hours because I did not know, rather, I do not know how else to let go of this anger I've been feeling.

Sure, climbing mountains is therapeutic. It gave me a new sense of fulfillment, and my adventurous side has been awakened. Spending more time with my daughter, no matter how sleepless I get, gives me a sense of happiness that no amount of money, haircuts, or manicures can give me.

But I have been angry. Ever since I left that townhouse, ever since I called up my mom to pick us up, ever since I hastily packed up whatever clothes I could get out of my cabinet, I have been angry. I have come to realize that these things, these unpleasant memories, will always be with me no matter what I do; and no amount of comfort, alcohol, or amazingly great sushi can flush those memories out of my head.

This morning, it happened again. He blamed me again for why I suffered all those years. He blamed me for whatever it is I experienced. In short, he made me feel once more, that I deserved every beating, every bruise, every curse. I. deserved. everything. And that this failed marriage was not his fault entirely, and that I too, was to blame.

Just like that, all of the unpleasantries came rushing back into my brain. My head is once again, filled with beating myself up for everything, for not being able to give my daughter what she deserves - a normal family, one that I never had growing up. I didn't want to make the same mistakes my parents did, but I ended up doing so. His usual line is, "I provoke him", and had I not looked the way I looked, or answered back the way I used to answer his questions, I would not have suffered a beating.

All this, has turned me into an angry person. I'd lash out on people who don't fulfill my expectations; I turn away from those whom I start to get attached to. I bitch out to see who would actually stay, and who would actually get provoked enough to hit me again. It sounds all too sick, dramatic, and overly pessimistic yes, but this is exactly how I feel, and it feels f*cking good to write about it. To let it out. To let my friends know this goes through my head a lot.

And I know that no one will be able to understand me; only those women who have suffered the same ordeal as I have would probably be empathetic, but it's a sad reality -- my friends & family, no matter how much they love me, will never be able to feel how I feel, because they are lucky enough not to suffer what I had to go through.

I am angry; not just with him, but with myself mostly. I allowed a person to treat me in such an animalistic way, thinking he would change; thinking God would change him, or have changed him, every time he had an ounce of goodness to show me. But who hits someone when she's pregnant? Who hits someone and tells her afterwards it's her fault?

I know that somehow, some day, I would have to let go of this anger. Those times when I'd plug my earphones, and walk around Eastwood by myself during my break, are times that I use to try and flush the bad memories out. I pass by the restaurant where we had our wedding reception, and yes, it does hurt. It hurts to know that you failed, that you failed to keep it together, that you failed to keep that life long commitment --- because a part of says, I had to fail. I had to let it go. I needed to, for my sake, and for my daughter's.

I honestly, do not know what to do. Yes, it's easy to say, pray. Go to church. Talk to someone. Go out. Have a rest day. Have some me time. Drink. Eat your sorrows away. Pray.

The truth is, I am lost, and I'm just well on my way to picking up the pieces again. Not just for my sake this time, but for Laela's. And I have to. I have to be strong.