I'm tired of getting knocked off my pins.
Hmmm. "tired" seems to creep into a lot of my posts lately. Perhaps I should find another word. Exhausted? Wiped out? Physically and emotionally spent?
After getting an unexpected phone call at the end of the day yesterday, I find myself exhausted and emotionally spent.
There! Someday I might even be able to get an A in Introductory College Writing!
(Although my persistent use of exclamation points will not doubt get me in trouble!)
It comes down to the fact that I parcel out my energy for each and every encounter that I have to have with legal folks, social workers, therapists, and anyone else connected to life these past few months. I am admitting to myself that I have a finite amount of energy and I'm kind of at a place right now when anything extra sends me right over the edge.
At the end of the day yesterday, I received a phone call from STBX's either current or future probation officer. He is working on his recommendation to the judge for sentencing. He wants my daughter and I to come in for a face to face, to submit our impact statements to him and to talk about our life, this case, and how STBX has done his level best to destroy us. He emphasized, as did our victim advocate through the county, how important this was.
So I checked in with my daughter and called him back and left a message that we needed to meet next week. Then I realized that I had Monday off for the name change hearing so I called him back and left another message that Monday afternoon would be a great time to meet since I already had the day off. Unfortunately, I then became a little rambling on his message machine. I sort of went into some detail that I would have went into when we met but I just sort of started letting it out right then and there. And I might have gotten a little weepy. And a little sad.
And then his answering machine cut me off.
Either he got that last message and he knows he's meeting with a decidedly unstable individual or it cut me off without saving the message and I can go in feeling confident in the fact that the bowl of m&m's on his desk haven't been spiked with prozac.
As I stated before regarding the simple act of reading our names on the court docket with the kids listed, it's just another step in the process that makes me ruminate for hours. It's like watching a muddy pool of water settle down and become clear for a moment, only to be stirred up again and again and again.
It's a good thing that our voice gets heard. It's a good thing that someone cared enough to call us and ask for a meeting.
But the act of sitting down with my daughter at my side and speaking the unspeakable cuts my heart out everytime.