Naughty butterflies...

There are only a handful of days left now before we're on a plane. In preparation, I have to do a lot of sneaking around, pre-packing things that he won't notice, or that I hope he won't notice; copying documents that I will need later, documents that it would otherwise seem strange for me to be copying; rehearsing the day in my mind, exactly how it will go and the order of things; it's all making me so nervous. I can see that he suspects absolutely nothing, which is extremely good, but it also underscores just how absolutely shocked and utterly devastated he will be. Because I know that he doesn't know himself, and he won't understand, I know what this will do to him, and I hate doing that to anyone, least of all the father of my children. I do keep ever foremost in my mind, however, the venomous, degrading and hateful things he's said to me and my son, the horrible treatment and the spirit-crushing rules under which we are forced to live and I always conclude that I'm doing the right thing, believe me. That won't change. I'm moving forward every day. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting really f---ing nervous, about the day itself, and about what he will want to do to me afterwards. Yes, I know I have to just push through the pain, push through the nerves and get on with it, and I am. But it's here talking to you that I bare my weakness for a moment. I hope when I get out of this that it will have inspired someone else to do the same. Until next time, dear friend...