It has hit, and it has hit with a vengeance. Anger. I knew it was coming. I knew it was inevitable. I knew it was part of the process, part of the grieving process. I knew that without feeling it, without working through it, I could not move forward. I still hate it.
I hate being consumed with such a negative emotion. I hate feeling anger toward a person I loved and still love. I hate that I have to feel this way to heal. I hate knowing that by processing this emotion it will change how I feel about him and us forever. I hate the potential it has to do so much damage.
Yet I am mad. I am mad that he has seemingly just pranced off to his new life without a care in the world, and not the least bit sad at what threw away or left behind. I hate that he gets to go off and be "authentic" while I am left doing all the work of raising the kids and being the responsible person. I hate that he has left me with a lot of sucky options for the future, most of which involved me being alone. I hate the deep and wounding emotional pain I feel. I hate feeling like the pain will never end.
I hate his new life. I hate how he continually has to tell me how wonderful his new life is. I hate that apparently ever good thing that happened with us was either a lie, or so insignificant to the wonderful things that are going on in his life right now.
I hate that he trashed my life, and seemingly gets off scott free with little or no consequences. I hate that every time he does have to suffer any sort of consequence he feels like its sooooo unjust to HIM.
I hate that I hate.