On Freedom, or the Lack Therof

My daughters father refused to sign the legal papers Friday. I have been working on these specific papers since September. He may as well have thrown them in the mud, thrown me in the mud. I told him he could "Go the **** home" and then I took Baby Nod home and tried to be hopeful. One day I will no longer be his hostage, one day my child will be safe from him, one daythe hurt and the pain will be no more than bruises and scars. I got a preisthood blessing that reminded me to align my will with the Lords, and to feel in my heart what my head already knows. I know we will be safe, but I do not feel safe. I kow this will end, but I do not feel it will end. 13 months is a long time to wait to... well... to be free of him. I may never be totally free of him, but on Friday I felt taht I would rather die than be (I cringe to say the word) married to him for one more day. Evetually that dramatic feeling subsided, and life resumed in all of its chaotic normalcy. Yes, for those few who do not know, I am indeed still married. I pretend I am not, in some circles, because I really hate the fact. Married. A word I gloried in only years ago is bringing me the greates misery now. Let this be a warning to all of you young people, choose right the first time. Do not marry someone whose family is broken, likely they will turn out to be so also. By broken I do not mean from a split home, I mean, broken. They can have both their parents and still be broken. The man who holds my freedom by the chains of a ring in the bottom of his drawer, that man is broken. Two whole people come together and make a good marriage, two broken people come together and make misery. And that dear readers (or reader, as it may be for a while), is the end of this short post. There is too much weighing on my soul, I cannot share it all, and I need to return to my place IRL. :D