JR, so sorry man. Just reading your post makes me want to go jump off a bridge. (Don't worry, I won't, because the duty and love I feel toward my kids is a ton greater than anything I ever felt for myself).
It's trauma, period. Hell, it's a full set of traumas. All the bomb drops and all the mini-bomb drops in between. I feel like a tortured rat, in some cruel Pavlovian lab test, where the light turns on and you know the electric shock is about to come. That's how I feel every time I open my email. I scan the inbox for an email from my W, because I know it's a bomb. A daisy cutter, her words throwing themselves about just shredding my heart to ribbons. I would be luckier to just get a big fncking tomahawk from a UAV death machine circling my life above me.
Just survive, my friend.
You deserve better.
Me: 50, MLC/WW 45 Young kids Nov 2015: BD1 Apr 2016: BD2 Jan 2017: W filed Feb 2017: D final
