I want to go running. Not jogging. Running. Heart pounding, arms pumping, heavy breathing running. That’s the energy I seem to have tonight at 9:11pm and that’s my substance of choice. Or it’s the cure for a little hypomanic episode. It’s also impossible for me now with my bad ankle that needs another surgery. I find it sad that I’ve driven almost 1,000 miles to get away from my husband and one fight can make me want to run even further away.
It’s not a distance I want to run from him, though. I’m running from the condescending, mean, hurtful words. From the power games. From the manipulation. And tonight, typing at a feverish pace on my laptop with my ankle up (since I can’t go running), I refuse to give into his games. I will no longer tolerate the verbal abuse.
And I WILL NOT HURT MYSELF. That’s what everyone expects me to do, most especially him. I want to hurt myself and I don’t. The impulse was there initially and creeps in when I get tired. But it goes away. And I KNOW that I DON’T WANT to hurt myself. I want to stay strong, get through this divorce, this surgery, get a job, get out of debt, get my own place. I can do it. But for tonight, I choose SAFETY.