Saturday, 8 September 2012

Weapon

I have a weapon in my stash that I have not used. Yet.

But if he keeps pushing me, acting as though he still has the right to judge me, insult me, attempt to exert power of me, then I will use it. And when I do it will destroy every last pointless hope he has of a reunion. His coservative upbringing will force him to cut those last ties. But I don't throw it, because I am afraid that without those ties that bind him to me, I will fight a losing access battle to my children. Because they are boys, and he is a man who knows how to deploy an army of guilt to get his way. If I struggled for years to stand up to him, I can't expect my boys to do that at their age, for me.

I have some stories about cooking and totems and meditations and a chef that will blow him right out of my life. I must be teetering on the edge of pulling my gun from its holster if I'm writing this here. Testing out the feeling of letting go fire.

I can just hear the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears.

Shhh now. I haven't given this entry a number. Because in time, I think I will make it disappear.

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