It’s Sunday again, my court appointed time to talk to my daughter.
[I’m dead inside. I have to be.]
In order to deal with the childish ways of my ex, puts me into a depressive state. I’ve spent countless days laying in bed, covering 97% of my body with the sheets as I stare off into nothing. I practice my “1,000” yard stare, a move which the Marine Corps taught us to use to escape reality.
Now the splitting ensues. I can feel my personality begin to split into multiple. Like a latent beast within, scratching at the surface.
Ever seen the movie, Constantine? That part where the Daemon is pushing through the skin trying to claw its way out? Yeah, that’s me.
I give my ex an hour heads up every Sunday, letting her know I’m calling to speak to my baby-girl so that she can get ready too. I thought it was a respectable gesture, one of which would benefit my daughter the most.
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:) / :(
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