Day Eighty Five

Sunday.  Church.  I love going, but there is something about it that makes me really emotional lately.  I wish he was one of these good faithful christian men that sit with their arms around their wives and stay true to their vows.  I wish he felt a connection with God that would have stopped this all from happening.  I wind up spending most of the service with tears slowly running down my cheeks as I try not to break down into convulsing sobs.

After the service, I performed my usual routine...  quickly excused myself to the restroom to dry my eyes and pretend as though I didnt cry during the closing songs.  I know he knows I am doing it, but I appreciate that he doesnt acknowledge it.  It doesnt always need to be acknowledge.  Sometimes I just need to suffer in silence and I am pleased that he is starting to realize how to deal with me. 

Why I am the one that has to be "dealt with?" I hate being the victim.  I didnt do anything wrong and I am suffering every day for this.  Its bullshit.