x – y = fuck you

Too bad some techno-savvy guy like Steve Jobs (God rest his soul) or Bill Gates couldn’t have devised a return-to-sender button for e-mail that would be the snail mail equivalent, to when you want to send a clear message, to a sender of a piece of cyber mail that you don’t want their fucking mail AND you never read it.

The best we have today in cyberspace is  filter to trash, or a filter to spam.  All that does is just chuck it.  But that still lets the sender have the fantasy that you might have read it and then chucked it.  Doesn’t send the clear message “Piss off, I didn’t read your shit”

Yeah, you guessed right.  Even though I changed my phone numbers because of the filthy message he left on my answering machine.   He sent me an email.    I’m guessing he must have called, got the message that goes “doo doo doo, we’re sorry, the number you’ve reached is no longer in service.”  All he has left is my email as a means of contact.  But because of all his hate and venom who’d a thunk he’d want to contact me? HE DUMPED ME FOR FUCKS SAKE.

And you know what’s fucked up?

In contrast to the nasty venomous voice message, of the couple he had just fucked in some seedy motel, he also told me that he wouldn’t talk to me even if it I was dying on my deathbed;  THIS email titled,

“I’m sorry”

it went on….

Dear Lexi,

I’m sorry that things have been so harsh over the past few days my best friend.

 (his first name)
*
Talk about a MIND FUCK.
*
One minute he is an absolute asshole.   Then the next minute he is reminding me I am his best friend.  So I dial up a recovery partner, the person I feel most comfortable talking with b/c her background closely resembles my own and she says, “A best friend wouldn’t treat you like that would they.”   She intuitively knew that my brain started thinking things like ‘what if…….what if he really does miss me……or what if he really has feelings of caring.”   So I know to get my ass Straight  so I don’t lose the one day of no-contact  I have pieced together one painstaking hour at time.
*
It feels fucked up.  It’s this push-pull.   I hate you, don’t leave!  Or get the fuck out! where do you think you’re going?  I don’t want you anymore you disgust me, you’re my best friend.
*
It makes me question my sanity.  Which do I believe? Gaslighting bullshit!!!
*
This kind of dynamic I have lived for three and a half years.  At first it was much more subtle and infrequent.  Not nearly as flagrant.  Not so obvious.  Smaller insults that could barely be perceived as insults.  Then it became more and more pronounced but by that time, I was hooked in.  Desperate because of my need for love and my lack of self-esteem to seek out his validation, I clung to him harder.  Then he instinctively upped the ante.  He became more brazen, took more liberties.   Gave less and less affection, treating me worse and worse and til finally he knew the exact formula.   The exact amount of sadism I could tolerate without “breaking” (suiciding) and keep me bound to him.
*
But there’s one thing he never anticipated in his neat little fucking equation.   The unknown variable.
*
x= I wanted to get well.
*
Fuck you mother fucker.  Sit and spin,  I never responded to his email.  Best friends DON’T treat each other than way.   I didn’t respond to his email.

Gratitude

“We curse those

who broke our hearts

 till we are older

 and realise

 they had taught us

we had one.”

~Donna Williams

I am grateful that I have this horrible ache, because it reminds me I still have a heart.

Confiteor

Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,

et vobis fratres,

quia peccavi nimis

cogitatione, verboo

pere et omissione:

mea culpa, mea culpa,

mea maxima culpa.

Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem,

omnes angelos et Sanctos,

et vobis fratres,

orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.

Amen.

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

I confess to almighty God,

 and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned, through my own fault,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,

and I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin,

all the Angels and Saints,

and you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me to the Lord our God.

Amen.

I don’t like change.

I’ve said this for the last 30 years.  So long now I can say this in my sleep.  Next week the Church is going to fuck with this prayer and change the words to make it “new” version of the Roman Missal.  Where was the voting process? Pfffft.  Yeah right.  There wasn’t one.  I think this is bullshit.  I’m not sure what I”m going to do.  I think I’m going to still utter the old prayers and responses while everyone else babbles on with the other shit.

This particular prayer has special meaning for me right now.

I am feeling particularly large amounts of shame and failure in my life.

So this prayer just can’t be fucked with.  It needs to remain intact.

I’ve been sleeping with my Rosary Beads at night.  They were my grandmother’s.  She prayed on them every morning.   They are almost 80 years old.  She even has a relic on there of Saint Padre Pio of Pietrelcina .  He is a canonized Saint who had suffered stigmata.  They bring me comfort.  Knowing that her hands touched them, she was the most holy person I ever knew.  Never said a swear her whole life.  Went to Mass every day.  She was a good, good person.  Always had a smile for everyone.

My soul is in great turmoil.

At a friend’s suggestion, I am going to try take a trip for a 90 days.  I need a hiatus.  A sabbatical.

I’m nervous about this trip.   I’m going to travel light.  I will bring my Bible, I need to start reading that again.  It has been years since I have read it.  My heart has become hardened.   Stubbornly refusing to go God’s way and instead going my own willful way.  Repentance is on the forefront of my mind.  To turn away from sin, change my mind, change my direction, turn towards God…..

Gone Dark

“…the devil is real

and he’s not a little red man with horns and a tail

he can be beautiful,

cause he’s a fallen angel

and he used to be God’s favorite…”

–  American Horror Story

I called him.

It used to be when he dumped me, he would always string me along with the illusion of a future reconciliation.   “Maybe” he’d tell me, “you never know in time, but not right now” which meant in his speak “I need to go out and fuck around“.   I’d be his plan B and it always seemed to coincide around the Holiday season.  When his either his bankroll wore thin for the paid escorts or the craigslist fuckwhore hookups ran dry and the swingers were busy with their families.   On craigslist there’s always the same cast of characters, there’s not an unending supply of new people.  It’s the same people with ten different handles looking for ass save for the out of towners.

But something has changed alright.  This breakup is different.

He told me never to call him again EVER.  That’s been said before but this time he told me to call his grandmother whom I’m very close to and tell her we broke up.  He always wanted her kept out of the know.  He protected grandma from things.  She lives on the West Coast.  She is in her 90’s.

I knew once I told her it was over.  That it would truly be over.  A finality he would never undo.  He said “do it I don’t give a shit, I’m done with you forever Lexi.”

I made the call, tactfully, carefully, but I made it.

She had already figured it out, since we normally phoned her together.  No dementia in this lovely woman.  She told me she loved me.  I cried.  She’s not doing well.  She recently had taken a bad fall and required a blood transfusion.  I’ve been calling her to check and see how she is doing.  I told her this was not my decision to leave the relationship…….and left it there.  She knows that his illness is getting worse (a chronic neurodegenerative auto-immune illness) and that he is hard to along with.   I left it there.  I told her I loved still loved him.  She advised me to try to let it go.

But it’s really hitting me that he disposed of me.

And the lack of closure……the “why” that eats at me.

I awaken in the middle of the night abruptly at odd hours:   1: 47 am……then again at  3:23 am.  Then again at 5:12 am……. for no apparent fucking reason.

He intrudes into my dreams.

He intrudes into my daytime stream of consciousness.

and yet there is nothing but a heavy silence;  there is no trace of him……anywhere to be heard or seen.

~~~~~~~~

I haven’t been our of the house.

I haven’t made a single phone call.

I’ve gone into shutdown mode…..just gone Dark.

My eyes are so bloodshot from tears that won’t stop.  My temples hurt from crying and just when I think there’s no tears, they start again.

After I go to work. I sleep.    I go through motions of life.

If it wasn’t for my job.  I don’t know that I would be here now.

****

At night, my house gets quiet again and my eyes well up knowing he’s sticking his cock in some young girl not thinking about me.  Not one teardrop forming in his heart.

I just simply don’t exist.  It’s as if I never existed.  What could be worse than annihilation.  To have never existed.  Is there any worse such fate.

Than to forsake a loved one and act as if they are a stranger or less so, as if they never existed.   Or to know you were never loved that it was chicanery, fraud. you were conned.

I don’t think he has a heart.

Maybe he really is a sociopath like my shrink said, without a conscience, playing the part of a sex-addict this whole time.

A highly sophisicated con, and I was his emotional punching bag-toy that now lacks luster.

Now he’s set sail, off to find something shiny.

***

What have I done…..

What have I done to myself

What pain have I brought upon myself……

My God my God.

The Same Situation

Again and again the same situation
For so many years
Tethered to a ringing telephone
In a room full ot mirrors
A pretty girl in your bathroom
Checking out her sex appeal
I asked myself when you said you loved me
Do you think this can be real?”

Still I sent up my prayer
Wondering where it had to go
With heaven full of astronauts
And the Lord on death row
While the millions of his lost and lonely ones
CalI out and clamour to be found
Caught in their struggle for higher positions
And their search for love that sticks around

You’ve had lots of lovely women
Now you turn your gaze to me
Weighing the beauty and the imperfection
To see if I’m worthy
Like the church
Like a cop
Like a mother
You want me to be truthful
Sometimes you turn it on me like a weapon though
And I need your approval

Still I sent up my prayer
Wondering who was there to hear
I said “Send me somebody
Who’s strong, and somewhat sincere
With the millions of the lost and lonely ones
I called out to be released
Caught in my struggle for higher achievements
And my search for love
That don’t seem to cease

-The Same Situation-

Joni Mitchell (1974)   Album:  Court and Spark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel possessed by him.

Today, I do not see a way out.

I feel like Persephone, abducted into the underworld,

sentenced there forever; only allowed return to the living part of the time.

Mc Nasty

Driving to the laundromat to do two weeks of laundry.  Yeah, that’s what major depression looks like when you don’t swallow the pharmaceuticals offered to you by your well intended shrink.  I think there was like 6 loads.  I only went there out of necessity because they have this jumbo-do-a-shit-load-o-wash-at-one-time commercial grade washer there.  I had no more clean socks or underwear left. I’m depressed but the OCD just won’t let me smell I reckon, but I digress.

So I hear this McDonald’s commercial on the radio advertising for the new Mc Riblet sandwich.

and I started thinkin Mc What?

what’s a riblet made of?

Mc chanical chicken parts?

Mc gag me.

Eating at that drive through will give you a nice case of:

Mc farts

Mc heartburn

and much much later

a bad case of the Mc shits

who the fuck would want to eat it?

now I want to fucking Mc puke.

but just maybe I’d fuck the hamburglar though,

he’s just enough of a badass that I always seem to go for~

Stockholm Syndrome

In 1979, I was eight years old and this song was climbing the Billboard charts by a band called Poco.  Strange how I felt an uncanny attachment to the song, long before I was to ever grasp or comprehend the notion of “romantic love”.

Years later, today in fact, the words still reverberate in my head.  I wonder it the song wasn’t some sort of ominous  foreshadowing of things to come.  Just change the gender and it all fits.

Tonight I’m gonna break away
Just you wait and see
I’ll never be imprisoned by
A faded memory

Just when I think I’m over her
This broken heart will mend
I hear her name and I have to cry
The tears come down again

It happens all the time
This crazy love of mine
Wraps around my heart
refusing’ to unwind
Ooh-hoo, crazy love…Ah ha

Count the stars in a summer sky
That fall without a sound
And then pretend that you can’t hear
These teardrops coming’ down

It happens all the time
This crazy love of mine
Wraps around my heart
refusing’ to unwind
Ooh-hoo, crazy love

Tonight I’m gonna break away
Just you wait and see
I’ll never be imprisoned by
A faded memory

It happens all the time
This crazy love of mine
Wraps around my heart
refusing’ to unwind
Ooh-hoo, crazy love…Ah ha

Tonight I’m gonna break away

Oh if breaking away were only so easy.  It’s not that simple.  For folks who are ignorant and lack the knowledge of the processes;  the very underpinnings for the love-addicted and/or the dynamics of traumatic bonding that happens in an abusive relationship, I suppose it seems as simple as “just leave.”  Pfffft.   Well someone just slap me silly if I could have just left.

I feel raped of what I had, the part of who I was before I met him.  He did not kill me with his violence:  repeated infidelity, lies, verbal abuse, manipulation, physical brutality or emotional neglect. But I now have come to realise he did kill a part of me and I don’t know what to do about it.  There is also the culpability of my part in the dance; what I played in the relationship’s course, which is even more painful and difficult to look at.

There is a lot to grieve.  When someone suffers violence or another extremely traumatic event, they are no longer that person they were before.  Often, they must grieve the person they used to be.  The wounds left over capable of healing; sometimes are so deep and painful that only God can reach.   I believe that’s where I am now.   I am no longer the person I was before I met him.   I have to grieve that version of Lexi, she is gone and I will never be her again.   I became broken.  The good news is that when you become shattered, you can pick up the pieces and put yourself back together in a more whole way than you were before.   I have to rebuild my life.

Grief is not just limited to death, nor divorce.  We grieve for lost love, for what could or should have been.  We grieve for the loss of a family dynamic, a familiar family unit.  The parting that takes place  can often times be as final as death.  What compounds things is knowing that our loved one is out there living and breathing, somewhere.  No sense of closure.

Sometimes, we must press forward, despite that much desired need for closure.  With empty pockets, but a bit of hope as our compass rose.