Rollercoaster ride

Today felt like an emotional rollercoaster, and if my days continue like this, I fear I might lose my sanity. Just yesterday, I reminded myself not to expect too much because the more you expect, the more disappointment follows. So, I decided to take things as they come. This morning, I received great news—I found out that I could have my two wisdom teeth removed for free! Normally, the procedure costs around 3,000 to 5,000 pesos each, but I wouldn’t have to pay anything. I need those teeth extracted so I can finally get braces, something I’ve wanted ever since my permanent teeth came in. Knowing that I was one step closer to achieving that dream made me incredibly happy. I truly thought that nothing could stand in my way anymore. But I was wrong. Just a few minutes ago, I received a phone call telling me that our petition had been denied *again*—for the second and final time. No more appeals. No more chances. We were left with no choice but to accept it. As I tried to process everything, my husband got frustrated with my silence. He called because he needed someone to talk to, but when he didn’t hear me respond right away, he assumed I wasn’t listening. In truth, I *had* replied—he just didn’t hear me. Then he accused me of not wanting him to come home, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He said he didn’t know what to do, that he felt lost, and that he desperately wanted to see our children because he missed them so much. I told him to take one last job and save up, so we’d have something to start with when he returned home. But instead of considering my suggestion, he dismissed it, saying it was *easy* for me to say since I wasn’t the one separated from our kids. Then he suggested that *I* get a visa, work abroad, and let *him* stay with the children—knowing full well that it wasn’t an option since I never got to finish my studies. He always throws that fact in my face, and it hurts every time. I don’t know what he expects me to say. If I say nothing, he assumes I don’t want him to come home. If I tell him to come home, he says it’s easy for me to say. No matter what I do, I can never say the right thing. Every time he’s depressed, I’m the one who has to absorb all his emotions, yet I have no one to confide in myself. When our petition was denied the first time, I refused to get my hopes up during the appeal, knowing how painful the first rejection was. But even though I tried to prepare myself, hearing it for the second time still hurt just as much. I’m grieving too, but he’ll never know that. Because he only sees *his* pain. He never stops to ask how *I* feel. Instead, he judges me—assuming that I don’t feel anything at all. It’s sad. But then again, life has never been fair.