Lots of drafts

I read one of my posts where the survivors of a sister's suicide find more meaning in life, find it more precious.  I guess I am one of the unfortunate few who don't.  I have been suffering from a disease for a large protion on my life and the struggle seems to be too much right now.  I read my introduction to my blog and I would laugh if capable.  Right now there is no laughter.  Plenty of hugs from my kids who have experienced this before.  If this is how I fall apart losing a friend, what good am I going to be to them when their father is gone?  Even thought the hate runs deep, he pickes up the pieces when I can't cope.  He is a caretaker and abuser--what a combination.I lay in bed last night and thought over and over how I feel nothing for him.  And I am not storng enough to forgive.  He wants me to love him so badly and I just can't.  i play his confessions over and over in my mind and I want to throw up.  I thought I was in a loving marriage before the abuse started--dysfunctional but at least some kind of respect.  Now I know I was just being fooled.  I have never been a good judge of people.  To think he touched me after gang banging another woman--the rest is to sick to write.  I need my grandmother.  She was the only one that really cared for me and never judged.  Right now I have noone to call, noone to really care except that pathetic excuse for a man who thought it smart to confront J's ex wife for no more reason then to get answers?  For what.  Am I not clear enough?  Aparently not and I blame it on my soft eart and it is  hardening.  Am I going to become even more bitter and resentful?  Am I damaged beyond hope?  Will I ever be able to have a normal relationship?  Will I find someone who will love me with all my mess?  I thought I had but I realize now that I was being judge and compared.  I told him everything "wrong" with me so he would know what he was getting into.  Apparently that, too wasn't enough.  I didn't want to pretent I was something I was not. I wanted to be loved for the real me, as ugly as that can be.  Unfortunately he compares me to his ex and I always come in last.  Funny, had I not let her into my life I would still be sober.  She used my house as her escape from her mom to drink.  Yet again, I am a bad judge of character.  Even though everyone warned me of her true character.  She's stolen from me more than once and coveted what little I had.  She couldn't even be honest if she tried.  But I feel like I am wasting words.  I loved, I lost.  Thirteen years passed before I was able to put my last love in perspective.  I wonder how long this time.

Alas,I will stand on this

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

 for today: