Tonight I have tried writing something thought-provoking and polite. Something that digs deep into my emotions but flattens it in a healthy and therapeutic way. Something that explores this life I am trying to build post-abandonment by my husband. Something that makes me feel stronger, like a beautiful decree against his emotional abuse that makes me feel like a phoenix rising from the ashes. But tonight I have nothing polite or therapeutic to offer. No phoenix rising. Anything I attempt to write from my heart ends with one word. Mad.

I am simply mad.

I am mad that I met him. Mad that I married him. Mad that he spent years beating me down with vulgar, horrible words and empty actions. Mad that he speaks to his own mother and his young son in the same way, angry words and empty actions. Mad that I have to fight this political battle with him now that he has decided to leave us. Mad that I am the only one that worries about my son’s future, mad that I am still dealing with him, and mad that I have to be the one that worries about the courts, the lawyers, the pain that he will continue to cause me and my family.

I am simply mad.

Mad that I can’t do some of the things to my defunct husband that Eminem suggests doing to Kim in his angry rap songs. I’d like to think that I’m saying that in jest, but tonight, I am not so sure.

I am mad that my son feels so shy and uncomfortable around his father. Mad that even when my son doesn’t want to speak with his dad, I have to be the one that forces it, for politics’ sake at this point. I am mad that my mother-in-law knows nothing, and continues to call me and defend her son, telling me to put on my big girl panties. Mad that I can’t reach through the phone and slap her.

I am simply mad.

Mad that it feels like he is getting away with everything. I am mad that I am still too scared to stand up to him most of the time. Mad that he still controls me. Mad that even though he left us, even though he has a new woman in his life, he still feels the need to beat me down with angry words and criticisms whenever he wants. Mad that I can’t let this anger go.

Mad that I don’t know someone like the Godfather. Mad that I can’t leave a slaughtered horsehead in his bed, next to his greedy, cheating, beer-bellied body. Mad that I can’t tie some cinder blocks to his feet and see where the evening takes us.

Too dark? I will try something healthier and lighter tomorrow. Until then, for his sake, I hope my (ex)husband stays in tonight.