Why am I so tired, yet he seems to be thriving on this? I come out of these mediation sessions feeling like I fell off the roof and he seems to feed off of the fighting. He loves the back and forth, the power over the fact that I am desperate for some relief. I spent months carefully weighing what issues I thought were important, deciding whether or not certain stipulations were worth it, talking and researching and discussing all the details that others have found to be problems in their divorces and custody arrangements and worried endlessly that I would not do the right thing. I carefully drafted a lengthy document to my lawyer, knowing there would have to be some compromise but feeling like he and I were coming from the same place so most things were just to keep intact the way we had previously agreed to raise children. He didn't have any money to give me, what little the state deemed it takes to raise kids was already settled. He had moved our possessions back so he kept everything he wanted and anything of worth, I got my clothes and the girls toys, I thought he would be fair in divvying up the rest. But like a bully on the playground he cinched his fists around anything I asked for. He and the girls had given me a tent for Mothers Day, I thought it was too expensive of a gift so I had tried to return it but they wouldn't take it back so we kept it, I had taken the girls camping by myself before so I figured we would use it again. I told the girls we would set it up and have a backyard campout. Braleyn had seen the tent at his house and was excited for our adventure. When I asked to have it returned I was told he had left it in Kentucky. I asked for my recipe books, it was a few binders full of things I liked to make and a recipe box my mother had given me. I guess those didn't make it on the moving truck either. My tool box I had taken to college, filled it with old tools my dad had given me and an adorable little hammer that was a perfect fit for my hands. I guess it will collect dust in someone elses garage. I had fixed our garbage disposal in my first apartment in college with that box. It was the best feeling, thinking if I could fix that I could handle anything. It's a little pathetic to admit but a lot of that confident feeling seems to have been lost along with my hammer that I can't get back. But some people just like the fight. In whatever form they can get it. That carefully drafted paper, that caused me such heartache and agony to actually see on paper was argued and torn apart at every point. He wanted to have the freedom to listen to vulgar music, hit, spank, or lock the kids in the garage, and have male roommates in the same house our little girls would sleep in. Was there an alternative presented? No, the fun is in the fight, not in the solution. Tear it up, spit it out and wait for the next offering. The legal system seems to be a terrible place. There is only fear for me, no one comes out a winner, I am only praying that I come out alive. I am so tired but the fight can't be lost. I can't give in just because he is not willing to give at all. Our entire marriage was just him trying to wear me down. Most of the time it worked, because I am not a natural fighter. It wears me out, it shreds at my soul and it makes me think that this can't be what it is all about. But I am the lucky one because I do know better. I only have to carry this as far as I can, when that is not enough He will carry it the rest of the way. Now is where I find my faith to take the last step, to reach into the darkness because I know He has promised to be there. I will not be left alone, He will never be too tired. His fight will be there when I need it but I must show that I will follow Him. I hope I have some fight left.