Erased

Tears are flowing this morning.  My stomach is in knots.  Need someone to hear me.  Get myself up.  Trembling.  My hands are shaking as I try to type.  Afraid he'll get up and catch me.  I know, right?  Like I'm a little kid.  I fear that somehow he will find this blog even.  My safe place to say my words.
I woke up and it occurred to me.  I have been being slowly but surely erased over the years.  Like from a blackboard.  But, at the moment, there is still the residue of who I am left on the board.  The faint outline.  The hope of drawing back in the lines.  Of restoration.  Of being whole again. Not if anymore erasing occurs.  If some big event akin to getting water and a sponge for a chalkboard.....then I'd be gone. 
I've felt like I've been disappearing for years.  And finally I know that that is what broke.  When I told him that finally it would be too much, that finally I wouldn't be able to do more, that I had hit my limit.....that is because I realized that I had reached the point that if I didn't do something then I would disappear.  And, for all of the nutsy, crazy, unpleasant things about me....I like me.  I have been on a quiet search to find out if I I was was worth reviving.  I think that I have to.  I have to find a way.  How eludes me.
I feel so alone sitting here this morning.  Probably because it's a church day and in order to maintain my sanity, I don't go and enjoy anymore.  Yet another part of me given up.  Because I can't answer how I am.  I am rather invisible there......people only see what they want to see.  Don't get me wrong.  They are wonderful.  Good.  Kind.  It's just that he is so involved there.  That's good.  I know that I need to step back.  But I'm so sad this morning.  The tears just keep coming.  So afraid that every sound is his footsteps.  Swallowing.  Listening.  writing fast.  Wanting to jump back in bed.  Wanting to get dressed and get out. 
I may be hurting.  I may not know how, but I do resolve not to live as someone else anymore.  I might cry.  I might be hated by everyone else.  But at least I'll be able to face myself. 
But what about my kids.  What about the friends that will be lost.  What about the many people who see him...he is always the "good" one...I am "trouble".  I waffle.  Don't know what to do.  If I don't do something, I will be obliterated.  Is THAT what it means to lay down your life?  I hope not.  Am I a heathen?  Unredeemed?  How can I have these thoughts and be the woman I desire to be spiritually?  Is being afraid and uncomfortable reason enough to need the space? 
What if I don't do anything?  What if the me I really am just disappears.  I doubt if most people would even notice.  If I just kept playing the game, the world would go on so well for so many.  And I cry harder.  Is that what it means to sacrifice? 
I am strong.  How do people who are not cope?  Strong.  Ha.  That's why I sit here in a trembling mass.  Body pulled in.  Freezing.  Hoping that somehow this morning I will find some way to politely be disengaged. 
There used to be enough of the picture left that I wasn't afraid of the eraser.  But now, as it fades, I know that a decision is going to have to be made.  And that it is goin to be incredibly altering.  And is the nearly erased me strong enough to withstand the blows.  The accusations.  Everyone suddenly getting involved to "fix" this. 
And again, alone.  Afraid to tell anyone.  The very best of my wonderful friends would be completely surprised.  I am blessed.  Yes, I have friends.  People who have taught me about how to grow and love and live.  But in light of seeing me stop this game...I simply don't know.  I kind of think they will end up his friend or neithers.  My kids I don't want them to suffer.  Even though they are so grown.  I want them to have choices.  That's why it is important to me to do this well.  To do it "right".  Be angry yet do not sin.  I am angry.  He had a woman who would do anything to meet his needs and make him happy.  Obviously.  It was never enough.  Ever.   And it never will be.  When dinner is ready when he gets home hours late...."oh, is there any salad to go with it?" 
I have to admit....I don't do his laundry or make his bed or his breakfast.  I don't see him off or doing any of those things I used to do.  I am withdrawn.  If I were accused, I would have to agree.  I do agree.  But, as I told him the last time he came to fight....this is all I have to offer.  and maybe less.  He doesn't know what it costs me to offer this......