Not That it Matters

I was attacked three times tonight. Not physically, but it didn't hurt any less.

First by someone nameless, faceless, who sent my ex-husband an e-mail meant to anger him, meant to cause him to call and make accusations, to infer that I don't care about my son, that I don't care about my word, that I am selfish and a liar.

Second by my ex-husband, who called and was accusatory. It doesn't matter that I spoke the truth, that I own my life and my choices, that I always have, that I never lied to him. He believed the words and intimations of someone else over me and made me a villain where there was no villainy.

Third by Someone, who was part of the accusations - unjustly so, might I add. He was hurt and angered and lashed out...not by striking me, but by withdrawing, pulling away, leaving me alone to struggle with my hurt. Just when I could most have used a loving touch, a kind or gentle word, a supporting presence...I was given hard bitterness and cold loneliness.

In all three cases my words...these words I'm supposed to be so good with...these words which are supposed to have such power...were meaningless.

It didn't matter that the person who started this knew better and could simply have spoken to me about their assumptions. They chose to go another route, to cause as much pain and strife as they could. It didn't matter that T should have known better, that he should have known I would not let my son come to harm. Despite all he knows of me, he chose to believe the worst and force me to defend myself against an accuser whom I could not see. How can I defend myself against an invisible attacker?

As for Someone...whether he meant to or not, he made it clear that he didn't want any of me or my words, not in the slightest.

So I went downstairs and began working on the baby's quilt, seeking solace in the familiar, in something hopeful.

I cried and could not see the ruler or the rotary cutter. That blade is sharp, wicked, and I had to cut carefully or ruin the fabric I can't afford to replace or cut myself. I nicked my finger, wiped my eyes, kept working on it.

Bird came down several times, once to say goodnight and once to bring his inhaler down because (he didn't know this) I was crying so hard I was choking on my breath and started coughing. He thought maybe I should have his inhaler to use if I needed it. Bless his sweetness...

I have not eaten dinner - frankly the idea nauseates me. I have not taken my evening medication - I have to eat dinner to do that. I don't honestly think anyone gives a damn right now...and I'm having a difficult time mustering any give a damn, myself.

I'm thinking maybe I'll just stop speaking, stop singing, stop making noise and sounding my yawp...because no matter how hard I try, no matter what I say or do...people will persist in twisting my words, twisting my integrity, making them into barbs and spikes with which to pierce me, and I'm sick to death of all of it. Why should I say anything when it'll just be called into doubt over and over again?

I'm hurting, and angry, and tired of all the stupidity, tired of people assuming the worst because they can't fathom simple honesty, because if they are liars and manipulators, I must be, too (despite continued evidence to the contrary). My gut hurts, my head hurts, and my heart hurts, and I feel alone and empty...and clearly, clearly, it doesn't matter.