I know I had sent that text last week, but I just feel like talking today, so I will. It’s your birthday today. Spending it with strangers. I don’t imagine that feels great, but you like weird things so maybe it’s going to be a good day for you. In my mind I image the most ridiculous scenarios of where you are putting your dick, the noises you are making into someone else’s ear, and the lust you are feeling for someone else. I can’t hide from these things. To heal my heart I sit with them. I feel the pain, the loss, the grief of never sharing those feelings with you again. I don’t want to run away from this pain by ignoring it, by distracting myself, by pretending that this is going to be the last fucking straw. It is me that is choosing this life. It is me that is choosing my integrity, my worthiness. I am choosing me. I just need to sit with this for so long, that I won’t care anymore because with that dick, and with those noises in someone else’s ear, comes a trail of garbage and dirty, ugly stinky luggage. The island of a bed you are fucking on is lovely and sweaty and warm and happy and lustful and everything one would ever want in a lovemaking bed, but it’s hard to get off of because there are snakes hissing about below. Once you step off of the bed, it’s uncomfortable, and painful and unhappy. You might need to warn those who visit the bed that once they step off, you won’t be able to help them wade through the garbage and mess below. You’ll be there looking down from your bed, but you won’t know what to do to make them feel safe or hold their hand as they dodge the bags of garbage and try not to step on a snake. If they get hurt or injured, they’ll feel upset and need comfort. They’ll get back into your bed to feel safe again, and it will help for a little while. It will help until they start to wonder why you don’t help them when they step off the bed. They’ll wonder why they have to keep getting hurt.
At this point a lot of the grief and loss I am feeling is not deep or meaningful (in a way that I would want to share with others). It is superficial really. The grief at this point is for two things really, the first being that I am grieving the way I thought things should be and would like them to be with a Mom Dad and baby. They were never that way, so I am grieving the loss of my expectations. This is the easy part of my pain. I am making a family and a good life with the situation I am in, and it gets easier and easier the more I am away from you. The more I don’t have to listen to your jabs and be a witness to your painful tirades. The things that come out of your mouth are incredibly mean and awful and I breathe a sigh of relief to not have to deal with you on a weekly basis. You stress me out. I know you will come back, but my boundaries will be firm. I am not yours anymore. You cannot talk to me like you once did. You will be respectful, otherwise what you say will fall on deaf ears. I will no longer navigate your emotions for and with you. I will only be in charge of myself and I will stop “playing” so that I keep and always hold my power. Plus, I’m going to be 40 in 4 days, so I am not going to put up with anyone’s shit no more! Hard times ain’t going to rule my mind no more, sugar.
The second, mostly superficial pain I feel is the loss of that intense love that we shared in your bed. That kind of lust that would make me do anything…and I did, including leaving my husband and having a child with you. That’s fucking crazy. The power I gave you. The lack of control, integrity, worthiness, I exhibited throughout the relationship is fucking crazy. That’s the hardest part to grieve. Will I ever feel those things again with someone else? I obviously can’t handle you as a whole package, but I don’t want you to have those feelings with someone else. I am grieving the thought that I was special, that there was something really there. I don’t think I was. I suspect that you often have intense situations going on like that, due to the fact that this is how you connect with women, and on an emotional level, it is very hard for you. I seem to forget that you can’t be whole without an emotional connection with someone, and that deep, honest love is one where all of your needs are met. Otherwise, it’s empty. No beautiful bed fills the (w)hole. I will grieve this pain, by remembering what surrounds you and your bed. As you walk I will imagine the trail of garbage and dirty luggage and snakes that follow you, until eventually I will want to run away when I think of getting into your bed.
Before I sign off I want to say one last thing. You have said to me more than once that you like to flirt and have a good time, talk, etc., with other girls but that’s all that it is, that you don’t like to be with randoms. My heart breaks when I think about being on the loveliest island I have ever seen in my life in Panama with you and K and we decided to have a fire with our new Swedish friend…and how it turned weird when you popped her bikini top off as she was walking in the water. That was crossing a line. But what makes it even worse is that as I was vulnerable the next day and calmly explained to you how that made me feel weird and uncomfortable, looking for some comfort from you, you were incredibly mean to me, telling me how uncool I was that I couldn’t just go with the flow and be this cool bohemian, “out there” girlfriend. I was 10 months post-partum, with a breast feeding baby and a broken vagina. I really need to write a story about this. I dunno…i could go on forever.
I should make a comic book out of all of the ridiculous scenarios that I have been in with you. I think people would be blown away. And I can use the internet to witness my anonymous pain in order that I might heal a little faster.