From My Dad
Posted on | September 1, 2010 | No Comments
as sent to me July 2008. And spoken to me, texted to me, emailed to me many times throughout this hell.
Monica:
I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you.
You know, a father can’t say these kinds of things too much.
Dad
P.S. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you. I love you, I’m proud of you.
These are the only words from a parent that I could bear to hear. And this is all my father said to me during these harrowing years. This, was his “advice.” This, was his support. This was his love sent from afar. And because of this, it encouraged me to keep on keeping on; feeling his love devoid of shame, blame, expectation, and disappointment. Thank you, daddy, for continuing to say the words that kept my heart open to you. And eventually, myself.
The Final Death
Posted on | August 30, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 14, 2008
Heavenly Mother,
Brent told me last night that he wants to quit his Home Depot job. He can’t make enough money there, but mostly it’s because he says he wants to get away from all the girls. How they are so forward and it’s really hard for him because he’s a “flirty guy,” and they make no qualms about pursuing him and chasing after him and going after him without giving a fuck that he’s married. I told him that he can shut them down if he wants to…but he said it’s too hard. I guess some of these girls are ones that he’s been with before. I do not know how many he has slept with in the last couple years…I just know he’s been dating…fucking…pretending I don’t exist at all…I understand that he was trying to be honest with me, but it was like someone stabbed another sword in my already broken heart. There are already a thousand swords sticking out of my chest, and he just added another one. I couldn’t fall asleep last night and thrashed around crying and hurting so bad I wanted to cut my heart out and throw it out the window. Maybe it would land in a patch of grass that isn’t dead from my dogs pissing all over the place, and maybe it would take root and maybe some big strong tree would grow from my spilled blood. Maybe it would nourish the soil and bring forth new life. Maybe some good would come from my death. On the other hand, maybe there is nothing nourishing left in my heart; maybe it would just lie there and turn black and stink like diseased flesh rotting in the sun.
Either way, I cannot take this. I cannot hear how he still wants and dreams and acts upon fucking other women other than the love of his life. No matter what he does, I have been the love of his life; I have entered into his heart and mind and soul and spirit and body and dreams and hopes and even if it all ends he will always hear the echo of me in everything he does and in every breath he takes. That’s the price we pay for fucking up happiness. Once we’ve let someone in, really let them in- they never leave. We can never root them out or dig down deep enough to tear them from our flesh. We have been one, and even though he might be able to forget me for a moment through drugs and sex and rock and roll – he’ll always have to face me in his dreams.
I wish this truth would bring me some comfort, but the truth is- I’m at a place where I wish I had never known him at all. I hate even uttering those words, but at this point the pain is so great and so strong that I would take back every moment with him. Nearly five years of being with my eternal companion. If I had a choice today, I would choose to forget it all. I cannot bear this, and I am choosing not to numb it out. I’m choosing not to push it down and swallow it- I tried, and I threw it all back up. My stomach won’t keep it down, and I vomit up more pain and swallow it back and then my jaw is pried open and Brent pours in some more poison for me to die from. I hang from this cross and I cannot say, “Thy will be done…” I have said that every day for years, and now I cannot bring myself to utter it. How is THIS God’s will?!?!? How is this anything but the dredges of the most disgusting sewer….and I am swimming in it. I cannot get the stench off of me no matter how much I scrub at my flesh; red and tearing and he has shared himself with so many others…and still he does not see me. Still I look into his blue eyes that have read my soul and loved me so powerfully I could not breathe; and see nothing but blindness. He looks past me as if I do not exist; he speaks of infidelity in passing like it’s some sort of joke; he admits his lust and sexual addiction and I am used. I feel filthy and disgusting….it reminds me of how I used to feel ten years ago when the boy who said he loved me raped me over, and over, and over again. All in the name of “love.”
I am raped all over again….like the day my abuser looked at me and said, “I took your virginity and you can never get it back,” I feel like Brent has taken that virginity all over again and smeared my purity and loyalty all over some other whores bodies- I have been shared and I have been cut open. He takes my blood and grinds me into the dirt beneath his feet. And walks away like I never even existed.
This is not God’s will! I can never believe that. No God would condone treating a daughter of light in a manner not even befitting the lowliest of sinners and devils…
Every time Brent gives himself to another woman, he is raping me. Every time he indulges in porn and strippers and satanic portryals of my most sacred gender I am raped again: shoved down hard, into the dirt- gagged with a soiled cloth to stop my screaming, clothes ripped from my body in front of a leering audience, muscles tearing as my legs are pried open, stones and branches cut deep into my back from their weight…
I did not know I could remember how it felt…until it happened again. I did not know your beautiful, eternal, powerful, pure spirit could be raped. This…is how it is done.
And she writhes inside me, trying in vain to close her legs. Trying desperately to tear at the gag around her perfect mouth. Trying to cover her ears from the shrill nightmare of the screaming…until she realizes that the sound is coming from herself. This is how your spirit can die; this is how you can damage her beyond repair. This is how you kill. “Thou Shalt Not Kill…” is not reserved for just the unjust taking of a physical life. It is also reserved for those who kill the spirit within.
Such great joy I have known…my Spirit leapt within me the first moment I laid my eyes on Brent…she tried to tear herself from my body just to touch him. I could feel every inch of my body tingle and moan with an eternal recognition. And he, too- could not even utter a “hello…” because his tongue stopped working when he first saw me. No girl has ever caught him in such a way. I saw into his clear blue eyes- eyes so deep and so powerful I could not look away. I saw the Savior staring back at me through him, and knew that I had finally come home.
What kind of death do they call it when you look at those same eyes and see nothing…no recognition, no history, none of the promises he made so sincerely, none of the memories that bound us to each other through thick and thin, sorrow and joy…what kind of death do they call that?
The Final Death.
We all must die, I suppose….and maybe this is my greatest Gethsemane. Maybe this is the hill of my Golgotha. Maybe my Heavenly Mother kneels at the feet of my cross, wailing with her agony but allowing me to hang there…witholding her power to make everything all right because this is my broken heart…my broken life…my crucifiction. And she honors me in that space.
How long must I hang here, my insides tearing from their linings, my blood pooling into drifts and surging down the wood onto the stones and balling up on the parched desert earth? When, oh when, Lord…will you lift me from these nails? I feel your anger and the clouds roil and shower down your vengeance and tears upon mine enemies…
We all must die, I suppose.
I suppose, though…I hope, though…
Thou wilt raise me from the dead. For we cannot live again, if we have not died.
Are you killing me quickly, Lord?
Come fast, today
My breath comes shallow and labored in this pain.
I want to believe, but I do not. But Lord, I do desire to believe…it is all I can offer you now. Please accept all I have left to give.
Save me.
My most sacred Lily, my chosen daughter, my enlightened and burdened child…
This day I use my power to reach past your cold and numb state and speak to your despairing heart. As a woman, your innate and immeasurable power allows such depth of pain that no man can understand or fathom. And I love your heart, my daughter – it never ceases to amaze me with your power and vision, sweetness, strength, prophecy, and endless ability to succeed and thrive amidst all odds.You do not fail, my dove, you fly. There is an untapped power in the uncertainty of the unknown, and though you flounder here, I have not left you alone. I do not and never condone such abominable treatment of my children, so while I rage against the filth and abuse that is happening to you, I know how powerfully I can turn the tides and transform and create whole worlds out of the deepest anguish and atrocities.
I can create new life with any sin, mistake, disease, person, crime, or darkness. I am a God, I am your mother. I bless you to know that you can talk to me or write to me and I will always listen, I will always respond. We will carry you in our arms until, once again, you have the strength to stand. I validate this place, your agony, the darkness that demands entrance – we will keep it at bay. I promise you this. Your desire to believe will grow, and I accept whatever you are and what you have to give – you do not know, nor could you, how significant this seemingly small gift is. You will learn. I am near you, my Dove…I love you and I wail with you and I grieve by your side. This too, shall pass – I love you. Your Mother
Stopped
Posted on | August 29, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 11, 2008
I am in this in-between space; and I do not know how to cross this rocky and desert land to the “next” phase of life or recovery. This space where time has chosen to take a breath, and I feel I cannot move this way or that until my heart gives me the go-ahead. No decisions must be made here, for in this numbness I cannot even feel my higher power.
But my heart has said, “Stop. I must be still for as long as I need to be still. I need you to be still with me, for in grieving we are learning to work together – spirit, body, heart, and mind, instead of all living completely separate lives. To do this, you need to allow yourself to be still in this parched and desolate land, accept the scorching sun for what it is, accept the excruciating thirst and let it be what it is. I, your heart, cannot move forward toward the trees until I have been still long enough in this place to learn to breathe again. This new pain must be felt. Do not run from it, be with it. Whatever comes, allow it to. Have patience in this shocking and numbing time. It is necessary and it is okay that you are here. Do not rush it, be with it. And as I have always done, I, your heart, will not lead you astray. I obey the laws of God and the rules of recovery. We are all becoming one. Let yourself be here, and it is enough.”
My heart has said, “Stop,” and I cannot ignore her any longer. So still, I will become.
The Refiner’s Fire
Posted on | August 27, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 10, 2008
1 Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts.
2 But who may abide the day of his coming? And who shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner’s fire, and like fullers’ soap:
3 And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify [me], and purge [me] as gold and silver, that [ I ] may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness.
“Curious about this scripture in Malachi, a woman called up a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining it. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest, so as to burn away all the impurities.
The woman, thinking of the line “He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver,” asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.
The man answered, “Yes, I not only have to sit here holding the silver, but I have to keep my eyes on it the entire time it is in the fire. For if the silver is left even for a moment too long in the flames, it will be destroyed. So I keep a close and watchful eye on it- for the refining process is delicate and can take a long time. You see, I watch carefully when the silver is in the hottest white flames of the fire, and the impurities will rise to the top. Only in the highest heat, though, will they rise. And I take the silver out of the fire, and use my metal tools to pound it out on an anvil to destroy the hard to remove imperfections. The fire can only bring them to the surface, then only my metal can remove them. This process can be repeated many times in the course of refining just one piece of silver. But each piece, no matter how big or small, deserves and receives the same amount of attentiveness and care. I throw no piece of my silver away, and no matter how unclean they come before me, all are made pure by my hand.“
The woman was silent. Then she asked him, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?”
He smiled at her and answered, “Oh, that’s the easy part–when I see my image reflected in it.”
Unmanageable
Posted on | August 26, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 9, 2008
Powerlessness is an aspect of humility. Fhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
-I am powerless over Brent’s sex drive and his sex addiction
-I am powerless that Brent dates and has sex with other women
-I am powerless over the reality that these women know he is married
-I am powerless over Brent’s love – and whether his love is still there for me, or whether it is not.
-I am powerless over the fact that Brent sees only his hatred and resentment of me, and doesn’t really see me.
-I am powerless over the pain that I feel because of how Brent hates himself and projects his shame onto me because I am “better” than him
-I am powerless to make Brent feel and see his own worth and who he really is (even with all my gifts I can’t make him see) when I have seen it
-I am powerless now over the less of my most prized possession, my Roxy
-I am powerless over my fathomless self-pity
-I am powerless over my overpowering NUMBNESS
-I am powerless over Brent’s pending decision to stay with me or not
-I am powerless over his fellow addicts/roommates and how they didn’t tell me he was cheating
-I am powerless over Brent’s infidelity
-I am powerless over Brent’s recovery
-I am powerless over my own recovery (when I don’t let God run the show)
How’s that for humility, God? Does that suffice? Will you make it go away, now?
I’m counting on it.
Hall Of Fame
Posted on | August 25, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 8, 2008
I, Monica, heretofore (on celebrated encouragement from The Woman) induct myself into the GRIEVING HALL OF FAME. And in commencement of such a momentous occurrence, I will follow the ceremony by throwing myself a BIG. FAT. WHOPPING. PITY. PARTY.
YeeeeEEEEEE HAAAAAAAaaaAAAA, BITCHES!!!!
And off I’ll go, lopping heads like the Queen in Wonderland if I so see fit, swipe my mighty Trident under the seas, cry a million tears so that my heart will need an Arc, scream and rant profanities until even Eminem covers his ears, and huddle in a pathetic little mass of brokenness until I want to lift my head again. I get to do this this time! I GET TO! And fuck me running there ain’t nothing gonna STOP me from fuming and gnashing my teeth against the insensitive unfairness of it all, least alone my UNSURPASSABLE INNER GUILT FOR NOT ALWAYS HAVING A SMILE ON MY FUCKING FACE.
Phew.
And why do I get to do this now? Simple. Because I never learned how to grieve. I always brushed off anything that hurt me, trying to pass myself off as someone much stronger than I am. I always tried to see the bright side of things in order to not even LET THE PAIN REACH MY HEART. The thing is, though? Is that pain STARTS in my heart. And if I don’t let it seep out as my heart pumps (the locomotion of my emotions down to the bottom of my feet and top of my head), then it stays locked inside of me. Boiling under the surface or frozen under glaciers…never finding release or relief. Until, some innocent little resentment or comment from someone steps on one of my LAND MINES and BAM! it’s turned into insta-Nagasaki minus the twelve hour plane ride.
This, this reality simply cannot be buried within me. I am my own imploding volcano that ruptured against the tropically green islands, and my lava flows and insatiable fires are simply there- and I have to let it burn. I have to immerse myself in this pain in order for it to find its way out of me. It’s literally, the only way I can survive. It felt so good to have The Woman explain to me that this is actually the right way to go about grieving…and after she saw the look on my face amended: “But most times grief is a simple thunderstorm, not a massive volcanic eruption.” And….I could breathe again. Because if THIS is what grief feels like every time I need to feel my emotions about a loss of one thing or another? Then cut me off here, Charlie…I’m going to HEAVEN straight after this 7th shot of tequila.
All I know is that I’m a Hall of Famer when it comes to this here grieving. Someone give me a fucking medal, y’all.
And in light of said grieving, I think I’ll pay attention and see what I’m learning tonight:
-We do a lot of emotionalizing: secondary emotion (fear, so be sarcastic). Being NUMB is a feeling.
-“Whether someone can handle it or not, TELL THE TRUTH.” (When people ask how you’re doing). One of you need to be the one to break the cycle of dishonesty. Let it be you.
-Codependency is being emotionally drunk or high. Recovery is being emotionally sober…
-A popular technique used by many of us: “I have to blame you for how bad I feel.” They’re projecting their shame on you. Or mine onto them.
-“It’s prideful to think we know what’s best for someone else” –The Woman. Prideful, huh? Well, if pretending to be God is prideful then…I supppppooosssssse…
-“You have to be in a place of humility when someone is attacking you.” –The Woman
-“Validation handles EVERYTHING that cannot be handled.” On simply listening and acknowledging that something is hard for yourself or anyone else.
Okay. Enough seriousness. Let’s get this party STARTED. Ingredients: 4 tissue boxes. 1 box ho-hos. 1 lighter to burn his smelly ass socks. ZERO photo albums. I wonder if the DI has any Tridents…
My Love Runs Down You
Posted on | August 21, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 7, 2008
Brent painted onto a cup; then put it willingly in the thousand degree kiln. Not to destroy it – but to carve the words permanently into the porcelain. The refiners fire does not destroy or erase God’s love, but to etch it permanently into our soul. I remember these words. I remember…his love.
The Violet’s Fragrance
Posted on | August 19, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 5, 2008
My body heavy as an unforgiving boulder, I hauled myself to Family Group. It was the only place I could break in safety. The only place that could instill hope for living, even for just the next few minutes. How glad I am that I did…to sit beneath the pictures of Christ on the light mustard colored walls, I sank into the well worn couches and disappeared within myself. Except for my ears, those I left working, on the desperate chance I could lessen this load.
Analogy of the week, as spoken by my sister Elaine: You plant a seed, water it, nourish the soil – then you stand over the seed, hovering, making sure it does everything it should and that you think it should do. By doing that, you are blocking God’s light. If you keep standing there, the seed will not and cannot grow. Even you can block the enormoity of the light of God.
- Did you know just how often we mix the deadly cocktail of emotional abuse with spiritual knowledge? (“You need to read the scriptures, your son’s just wayward, just made bad choices, etc.”)
-Most of us aren’t teachable unless we’re hit smack in the face by pain. Ha! In the FAAAAACE!
-Possible acronyms for DENIAL: Don’t Ever Need Intelligent/Inspired/Insightful Answers to Life (sounds like pride) and Don’t Even Notice I Am Lying.Wow…
The Woman stated: “Using willpower against addiction – is like throwing a pebble against a pyramid and expecting it to crumble and fall.”
Are you in enough pain to listen? Oh God, dear God…I am ready to listen. I’m here, I hear, please…no more pain.
I kept repeating this chant like a sad lullaby as The Woman shared a story of one wife who came into her office blustering and blistering about her husband’s tobacco use, and how she’ll continue to make an example of him in front of their children so that he’d learn his lesson. As she prayed fervently not to simply react to this woman, the powerful truth came: “It is far more destructive to your children to shame, ridicule and insult their father than it is for them to see him chew.”
Wow. Wow wow wow. How the truth blazed white hot as she said this, and my chanting stopped while I contemplated it. It is not my JOB to make an example out of anyone. No matter WHAT they’re doing. It’s never my job to shame someone, to belittle them, to make small someone who is most likely fighting so hard with self-loathing already that I might push them further toward that beckoning ledge. No matter what I feel I am owed, no matter what I have been through.
“Even after all this time, the sun never looks down on the earth and says, ‘You owe me.’ Just think what a love like that does. The sun is filled with such love that it lights up the whole sky. That, is love.” –Wayne Dyer (quoting a philosopher)
“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” –Mark Twain
Oh God, dear God…I am ready to listen. I’m here, I hear, please…no more pain. Help me to smell the violets…
A Small Moment
Posted on | August 17, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 4, 2008
1 And then shall that which is written come to pass: Sing, O barren, thou that didst not bear; break forth into singing, and cry aloud, thou that didst not travail with child; for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife, saith the Lord.
4 Fear not, for thou shalt not be ashamed; neither be thou confounded, for thou shalt not be put to shame; for thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth, and shalt not remember the reproach of thy youth, and shalt not remember the reproach of thy widowhood any more.
5 For thy maker, thy husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name; and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel—the God of the whole earth shall he be called.
6 For the Lord hath called thee as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth, when thou wast refused, saith thy God.
7 For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee.
8 In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment, but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.
9 For this, the waters of Noah unto me, for as I have sworn that the waters of Noah should no more go over the earth, so have I sworn that I would not be wroth with thee.
10 For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.
11 O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted! Behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and lay thy foundations with sapphires.
12 And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.
13 And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children.
14 In righteousness shalt thou be established; thou shalt be far from oppression for thou shalt not fear, and from terror for it shall not come near thee.
15 Behold, they shall surely gather together against thee, not by me; whosoever shall gather together against thee shall fall for thy sake.
16 Behold, I have created the smith that bloweth the coals in the fire, and that bringeth forth an instrument for his work; and I have created the waster to destroy.
17 No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall revile against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.
My Withdrawals
Posted on | August 16, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 3, 2008
…When Brent doesn’t have anything to hide, he doesn’t get upset or angry or shut down. Simple as that. Now, though…he knows what real love is and feels like. He knows what real happiness is. He knows what it’s like to see into eternity and see me standing there. He knows what it is to have a spiritual connection and relationship. He knows what it feels like to be sober, and loyal. With me. Whatever he chooses to do, he will never be able to escape that he knew love with me. As I drove home from the Trouts, somehow I had come to a place safe enough where I could feel the truth.
I moved from denial into shock as I felt the wave crash over me –
Brent was still cheating on me.
The denial split wide before me as I crumbled into the truth; without being told, without confession, without doubt.
My body literally died…I woke up the next morning to find that my heart had taken its limit, and had spilled literal acid all through my body. Knives grinding into my bones and joints- passing out, dry heaving, intense nausea, weakness, hot flashes, cold flashes, trembling, shaking – lungs that coughed up nasty bile and rejection and dead pieces of tissue and flesh…I was dying. Dead matter spewed from my body like it had rejected life itself.
The Woman said I was literally withdrawing from opiates. Brent is my drug, and he had been removed, and I was literally going through physical heroin withdrawals (since opiates fill me when I am with him). For the first time in my life, I could not function at all. I became completely incapacitated for the entire week – I didn’t work, I couldn’t eat a thing – my body refused to take in any kind of nourishment and strength.
I asked him to come over Monday night and confronted him. He would not confess much, but I knew. He left after he said he couldn’t touch or kiss me because he felt guilty that he wants other women. That he takes other girls on dates. That they know he is married.
Thursday night I was in such a horrible place that I gave in and called him again. To assuage my uncontrollable despair, Brent told me that he loved me and was going to work on us – but the next day he told me that he lied and only said that because I was in a bad place and didn’t want to live anymore.
My sentences are as disjointed as my heart. Exploded from the whole, wandering around oblivious to the existence of the others. Like I’m a pseudo split-personality; unable to cope all in one piece so we’ve been hewn into parts in order to continue breathing.
I went to dinner with him and he was shocked at how beautiful I was. He said he forgets. He says he’s not ready to talk about the cheating but fuck that! I know and I’m ready to hear! He wouldn’t offer anything but I asked questions and he has hooked up with I don’t know how many girls, dated them and had sex with at least one.
He said, “I tried to do everything I could to forget you, but I just can’t forget you.” He can’t root me out. That is hell – after you let someone in, you can never erase them. Brent will never be able to erase me, no matter how hard he tries. He still doesn’t know what he wants and he left me without even watching the fireworks. With me.
He had called me earlier to say that “I need to talk to my wife. You are the only one who I can tell this to, you are the only one who really knows me.” But he changes in a heartbeat and I cannot feel MY heart beat…he made choices sober…choices he had control over…to fuck other women. How do I live…how do I keep breathing…why does he hate me so…why does he hate himself so…why does this never end.
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