Category Archives: break-up

Mourning

I’ve just spent the last 30 minutes or so telling my cousin about Glenn. It wasn’t a subject I’d planned to address, but there seemed no way to explain a part of my life without explaining him. This makes sense, really. Before I awoke from my nap this evening, I’d dreamed about Glenn, a mutual friend we had named Tanya and, of course, about me. I was in horrible emotional pain because Glenn somehow walked away from me and wouldn’t speak to me again. He was with hagbeast and the setting was the college we attended. I remember the agony and I remember his face. What I didn’t know in the dream, and don’t really know now, is why he hated me because of my sexuality. The irony is that, at this point in my life, I honestly, truly do want a male mate. I’m not kicking any lovely, lovely women out of my bed–or life, if that’s the case–but my sexuality has made a 180 degree turn in the last month that’s confused the daylights out of me.

Be that as it may, when I awoke, what I felt was the profound loss. It mirrors the loss I haven’t allowed myself to feel in real life. I don’t think I can run far enough fast enough. I’m going to have to truly feel the pain.

This is in no way meant to diminish what I feel, but the thing that struck me after actually saying a few words to him and being greeted with hostility is that I was dead on about his character and characteristics when I thought he was ignoring me. I am thankful that, as if someone had pushed a button, my emotional armor went up the moment I realized I had managed to fuck up and reach the person–TWICE. I don’t understand that kind of hatred. I never have. He was the last straight person in the world I’d peg as homophobic. Yet, that was part of the rant he used to cripple me and bang my figurative head into the ground over and over again. A decade later, he doesn’t remember and suddenly decided he doesn’t want to. I wish I could have forgotten as easily.

Somehow, the world seems much lonelier than it did. Tanya left me little to no choice except to say one final goodbye. Glenn turned into the narcissist/sociopath/narcissistic sociopath I was truly afraid he’d become with hagbeast. He could go either way and I knew it. That’s one of the primary reasons I stayed with him. Not to get completely hyperbolic (although I’m going there), hagbeast massaged his darker nature. I massaged his lighter nature. He had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. (Please know that I did try to find a substitute metaphor and failed.) It was much easier to be dark, rapacious, mean and evil. Dark always has an advantage. There are things I understand now that I didn’t then. Unfortunately, it’s too late. Even if he wanted to get out (and there’s no evidence he does) he couldn’t. That leaves me to mourn and to write.

A part of me says that I don’t know how we’re going to get through the hell. Another part says that we simply will. It is what we do. Strength above all.

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Just a thought

I think there should be a special judicial system created to try bad significant others (SO). Divorces in most states are now no-fault, so the dirty spouse doesn’t get punished and the (less) innocent spouse doesn’t have the satisfaction of justice.

The court I envision would not be only for married couples, though. It would be for ANY couple where one party alleges some form of abuse that isn’t covered under criminal or civil law. I had an addendum to an old post that added a discourse on fighting back bullies, but decided to leave it for another time when the post could stand on its own. That’s what emotional abusers are–bullies. There is nowhere to bring a case like that in our current judicial system. One might think of “intentional infliction of emotional distress,” but getting that in by itself won’t usually work. There should be other allegations.

In my mind, I envision a jury of women deciding the fate of an abusive man. As they hear the evidence, they yell, heckle and boo him. The penalties for being guilty should be between 10 days and life. I mean, are you really going to give a guy whose only “crime” is watching sports continually all weekend as if his SO didn’t exist five years? That would be a bit extreme.

There are some things for which no penalty is enough. I am morally against the death penalty because it is not meted out fairly. However, if anyone were to deserve it, it would be SOs who physically and/or sexually abuse their SO and/or the SO’s family members. Someone who does that just needs to die.

I’ve often believed that all males should be isolated once they reach puberty. At that time, they go live with men who teach them how to be human AND male. There really are men who are quite comfortable being both. There is no shame in showing one’s emotions or having empathy with another. Women love men who are like that. Kindness is a virtue across the sex and gender divide.

I am reminded of a couple of documentaries I saw that either had a segment on elephants or was about elephants. Pesky, randy male elephants are thrown out of their herd because they are a nuisance. Some roam around solo and wreak havoc; some roam around with others like themselves and wreak havoc, and; some find themselves in the company of an older male who teaches them not to be a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, there are those few who never learn and become dangerous to other wildlife and have to be moved or put down. Most often the latter.

So, in my fantasy, boys are turned over to someone to be trained in the ways of manhood. They are provisionally released at 18 and permanently released at 21. If they mistreat or misbehave after that, they go in front of a judge while the State brings charges against them.

Mind you, the system is set up for females too, but they are taught at home and during regular schooling. Somehow, I sincerely doubt that women will appear in this Court nearly as often as men.

As I said, this is just a thought.

Moving on

I don’t know how many posts I’ve written about Glenn, but I do know there are a lot of them. Anytime I begin to feel guilty about not moving on from a thing, I get very insecure in my interactions. What runs through my mind goes something like this: “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I know that people are sick and tired of hearing about it. I should probably have moved on by now, but I can’t. Maybe I’ll just avoid people or put on my ‘face’ so no one will know how I feel.” That is not good. What’s worse is that I’m starting to feel that way. That’s very unhealthy for me because no amount of antidepressants will reach that level of depression. Once I get in The Pit, getting out of it is hellishly hard. Therefore, it’s best not to go there in the first place.

In order to feel comfortable in my relationships with the little community we have here, I need to write about Glenn where I won’t feel as though I’m being judged. I should say that, as far as I know, I haven’t been judged at all. You guys have been great! It’s just that I’m beginning to get paranoid and feel guilty. That’s all on me. I also need a space he can’t get to and I know he’s been here and on my other, very public, blog. I found out about the latter Monday because I religiously pay attention to site metrics. Of course, I’m also very sure that he jumped to some damn stupid conclusion he made up in his head. He really has seen Fatal Attraction too many times. Because he won’t pay attention to anything I say due to that fact that he firmly believes everyone is as devious, cynical, toxic and mean as he is, I’m sure that he thinks I’m going to stalk him or something. I don’t have to. He’s made himself quite public and it will come back to bite him in the ass.

Now, if he were to say that I’m obsessed, I’d agree with that assessment, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m obsessed with finding answers. I am always obsessed about finding answers no matter the subject or people involved. That’s just the way I am and I won’t apologize for it. He owes me a hell of a lot of answers, but he won’t give them up. He does what he wants and damn anyone and everyone else except his inner circle. Actually, even the inner circle can go fuck off as far as he’s concerned. What matters is him and, perhaps, one or two other people who are in the innermost circle. In short, although I have said this before and then changed my mind, he is a narcissist. Narcissists are always bad news. Where I am concerned, not only is he narcissistic, but also non-consensually sadistic and quite homophobic. He hit me with a string of homophobic rants among other things the day he destroyed the person I was a decade ago. I’m not going to allow that again at all. He tried to bully me into not writing my book, but he can’t touch me legally until it comes out. Even then, under New Jersey law, he has only about a 25%-40% chance of winning since I’m writing about my own life. As I said the other day, he really thinks I’m an idiot. I’d have to be not to look at the applicable laws involved.

*sigh* I’ve probably already said too much. I didn’t want him to know that I know what he is up to. He’s trying to set me up. Uh uh. I am not falling for it. If it weren’t against the law, I’d say that he needs his ass kicked but good. It’s not against the law for me to say it, just for someone to do it. Ah well. I can fantasize.

Due to my insecurities about writing so much on the topic of Glenn when he really doesn’t deserve my attention except for the fact that it bugs the daylights out of me to have questions hanging over my head, I need a new space to write what I need to write. I’ve set up a private blog where I can say what I want without making my hands hurt by handwriting journal entries. Geez, that’s now three blogs I’m maintaining. There’s a fourth that I don’t really do much to unless I know someone needs to look at prior work. Even so, that’s a lot. Granted, I’m only writing for myself on the new blog, so I really don’t need to write in it all the time. It’s conceivable that I start writing this year and leave it alone until the book is ready and Glenn begins his twisted little rampage that will give the book more sales than if he’d sat there and shut the fuck up.

I have one final major thing to say about him here. He’ll probably check in here a couple of times more and then satisfy himself that he’s won or some such nonsense. So be it. What I’ve come to realize is that he seemed so sophisticated when I was younger because he was from the NYC area and I was raised here. Now, I realize that I am far more sophisticated than he’ll ever be because he doesn’t see that most people don’t think the way he does. He’s been all over the world and he still can’t get that most people are fairly decent even when it seems there are a lot who aren’t worth two cents. I think I may actually have encountered more types of people than he has even though his passport is full. He’s not nearly as accepting of people, which is something that I’ve just realized although the signs were blazing neon all along. Well, at least since I came out. Ever since then, he’s been very angry with me and it seems to have continued. That was over 20 years ago. I mean, I do understand hanging on to feelings for that long, but had we actually had a conversation, those feelings would have dissipated. I’ve been willing to talk ever since that night when he called in search of someone to get him off and I refused. Maybe he’s never been refused. I don’t know anymore and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he didn’t grow into the man I’d hoped. I find that sad and the person he is to be pitied even as I watch out for him to come out of nowhere to stab me wherever he can get me. He’s assuming that I’ll crumble. Not this time. Not this time at all.

It’s War!

Photo of Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess

Lucy Lawless as Xena: Warrior Princess, the ultimate warrior woman. Photo courtesy of LucyLawless.com and CirceSkye

I’ve been scanning my handwritten journals from 2003 for the last week in an attempt to send Glenn the information on which my book will be based. I was trying to do a good deed because he swore up and down that he had no idea what I was talking about when I called him and told him about my last suicide attempt when I could no longer fight the horror of the mindfuck he’d laid on me. I dived back into the Ninth Circle of Hell to retrieve the entries and it became really clear how and why I couldn’t fight. There were a lot of things that I’d forgotten over the years–phrases and words that he’d used. I also now have three suspects who could have been on IM the day he pounded and pounded my psyche into the dust.

As I said, I’d dived back into that Ninth Circle of Hell to get information for him. My next problem was how to get it to him. I set up one method of delivery, but it became clear that if I used it, I’d be running a great risk that someone else’s hands would get the package. If I waited until next week, I’d be stuck waiting with this crap on my mind all weekend and it was bad enough that I’d devoted time I really didn’t want to or have on it. I sent a text to the cell number I’d discovered in my journals telling him that he had a choice of pulling the info out of a cloud storage service or getting the disk(s). What I got back was a declaration of war based on two legal theories. BAD IDEA! He should not have done that. I waited for a bit and then sent a return text saying one or two other things, but essentially acknowledging receipt of his . . . or her message.

That damn fool obviously thought I wouldn’t recognize what was contained in the words and the exact phrasing that was used. I am continually surprised at how stupid he thinks I am. No, let me rephrase. I am continually surprised at how stupid he/she/they think(s) I am. I know Glenn has no choice but to support hagbeast because they are married and have a house and lot that were worth $892+K, not to mention his studio, office, business and god knows what else. That’s not even considering the fact that they have two kids who, at this point, should be in their late teens or early 20s. If he didn’t support her, I’d actually think he had a grasp of right and wrong regardless of who did what! The best I could have reasonably hoped for was that he’d stay the hell out of my way. Let’s just say that I know him well enough to know that probably wouldn’t happen.

I am going to do a couple of things regarding this blog. The first is that the “glenn thornton” tag and category will be changed to “glenn t.,” and; the “dr. robin watt” and “mrs. robin watt thornton” tags and categories will be changed to “dr. w.” and “mrs. r.w.t.” The “glenn” and “hagbeast” categories and tags will remain.

The second is that I will continue to write about ME and MY life as it relates to one or both of the above-referenced individuals when appropriate. As I told him/her/them, “Be careful what you wish for.” Believe me, I know that he has seen this blog, as have a couple of other folks in his circle, probably including someone with a law degree. He’s scared and he’s hoping like hell that I’m going to fall down into a crying heap as I’ve done so many times before. Ain’t happening! Re-visiting the horror I went through was an incredibly painful experience, but it just made me stronger. I’m not the person he mistreated before. And yes, those journals revealed that HE mistreated me, regardless of who was on the last portion of the last IM session. I am strong. I am coldly angry. And every cell in my brain is determined. I am gearing up for war.

I remembered somewhere in these last 36 hours that I am one formidable woman. I did not ask for war. Indeed, Glenn had an opportunity to influence what went into the manuscript so that he wouldn’t look like the puss-blowing jerk my journals show him to be. All bets are now off. I’m thinking the way he has thought since I’ve known him: knowledge is power. Hence, I’m not going to reveal what I got out of his text. Let him continue to think I’m stupid. He’s his own worst enemy and always has been. I think that was his attraction for me. I thought I could “fix” him. No more. I wish I’d understood my motivation sooner. This puts a good ending on the book and the story.

Oh! One more thing. Glenn, or anyone monitoring this blog for him and/or hagbeast, I have two words for you:

Photo of my eyes

These eyes have seen too much. These eyes have cried enough. These eyes are determined that no more tears will be shed over you. Forever.

fuck off text

eXonerated

I’m sitting in my minivan in the Macy’s garage half crying with tears and half with dry sobs. When I’m not crying, all I want to do so scream, “GOD WHY?!!?!?!?!?!” that fucking sceptic cunt of a hag already had him! She didn’t have to destroy my life! I’d respected her space and played according to the rules of the road. Instead, that fuck pretended to be Glenn and he never knew a thing about it . . . until today.

I have a conscience. Because I do, I thought it only fair and right to tell him that I would be writing a book about our relationship. So, I called him expecting to get his answering machine. I got him. Glenn. After ten, horrible, long years. He said he didn’t remember the events leading up to the “it was a joke” comment, nor did he remember ever saying that. My thought at the time was, “So was he always a sociopath and I missed it? Or, did I spend 17 years with someone who didn’t give a damn?” I didn’t know what to think and had to digest 10 fuckhard years into a short narrative. I did it. I don’t know how. I just know that I said goodbye first because I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. It was as if time stopped. The only thing that startled me to action was the girls.

I took them out and tried to remain calm. I was not, am not and will not be “calm” for a very long time. I put them in the x-pen and sat on the bench next to them as I typed something. Oh, I was telling him that I’d send him blog entries since the gist of everything is in the blog. The thing is, I couldn’t breathe. I knew something was very, very wrong. If he’d mindfucked me, he’d gleefully remember.

I can’t write exactly what happened next, but I found the very first journal entries about him after I’d contacted in 2003. There was a lot more information than I expected. It became very clear that Glenn was NOT at the keyboard. In all probability, he never saw the video I made. It was that hagbeast, Dr. Robin Watt. She took my life and she will answer for it. By all that is holy on Earth, in heaven and beyond, Dr. Robin Watt, aka Mrs. Robin Watt Thornton, the original mean, rabid hagbeast monster, will pay.

Damn, Mom said that the sceptic cunt probably did this. I asked her why. Mom said that she was afraid of me. See, I never would have thought of that as a reason and assumed it was just him having been corrupted by proximity to her. She had nothing to fear. I knew that. Glenn wasn’t going to leave her for me. She was his golden girl. But she was scared and tore my life apart. I couldn’t put my personal life together no matter what I did. It’s understandable given how betrayed I thought I’d been. I found even more reason for my feeling of betrayal reading my journal entries. She really did take my life. And I tried and tried, but couldn’t get that one back and had so much scar tissue I’d never be able to love or trust on a very deep level again. So, she took my future too. I don’t have to think. I feel a cold, dead hatred for her and utter shock.

The Story of T & G

I’m feeling angry, hurt and mean this Sunday. Therefore, I revised this post with some visual aids. God(dess) will probably strike me dead for BEING that way.

I’m actually at a loss for words. It’s not that there aren’t enough; there are too many. I’ll start with the title and, perhaps, discuss its inspiration. BTW, for this post, and maybe for others, depending on how I feel, the bâtard is being named. I wish I knew the French words for “septic cunt” and “hagbeast” or even “hagfish” because I’d use them as well.

One, possibly two, people who read this blog know who I am in real life and that I am an aspiring online magazine publisher. I’ve been putting the building blocks in place to turn another blog I have into an online women’s magazine since last fall. My goal is to go live this year. I do have a more specific timetable, but that’s my other life and I don’t really want to talk much about it here.

My heart and soul are dying and my mind can’t hold me up on its own anymore. I can blame it on a week off my antidepressants and that would be partially accurate. However, the antidepressants only allow me to cope with real life and make better decisions (I hope). They don’t change what’s happened. Certainly, they don’t heal me in places I’m not totally sure anyone can, including me. My way of coping has always been sex, music or the written word. I was; I am; I will always be, a musician, even when my only instrument is my voice. I am and have always been, a writer, even without a pencil, paper or laptop. I have written countless stories in my head that never make it to paper because there’s no need. They were written by me for me.

I’ve been playing with an idea for the last few weeks that I’ve decided to follow through. I am going to write a book based on my truth about Glenn and me. It takes as long as it takes. What’s in it is in it. I don’t care who gets hurt as long as I can write the truth. I’ve got a lot of documentation in journals, letters, etc. I only wish I had a screen capture of his wifey-slime pretending to be him saying, “It was a joke” when referring to his supposed interest in becoming involved again after I’d poured my heart out to him. I think the only people who might understand how destroyed I was and still am are the readers here and my shrink. I’m not sure my shrink understands completely. Then again, she did understand that it was cruelty in the extreme, and one of her specialties is abuse, so I guess she must get something.

In the last two or three days I’ve gone from righteous anger to crumbling heap. I’m trying to get angry again so that it becomes a motivator for action. The problem is that when I’ve been angry I’ve also been the most hurt. I’m angry because of the things Glenn did that utterly and completely betrayed me for sport. I’m angry that he let that hagbeast be the one who was in on at least part of it with him, knowing that I detest her and have since I was 16-years-old and didn’t even know she was seeing him. I’m angry that we laid in bed together for 17 years and there was love. . . the love. He never professed love to me, but I most assuredly expressed mine to him. Even though I was sleeping with other people, there was no doubt that he was my heart. He brought me to life in a way no one ever had and no one has since. Sure, we’d get tired of each other at times, but in the end, even when I basically chased him for nearly two years, I believed it would be Glenn and me. I took “themeangirl” seriously, believe me. I watched them together and could read them and knew it would be a tough fight but that she would not be good for him in the end. Therefore, being angry with him also brings up the intense pain. The pain overcomes any benefit I could have received from the anger.

Photo of a toothed hagfish

This photo of a type of hagfish reminds me of stories told in some parts of the world about vaginas with teeth. That’s my image of the “hagbeast.”

The reason I was/am angry with Glenn is because he has yet to take any responsibility for anything. He’s a coward and what he and his hagbeast did was a twisted, sick thing. That’s not anger talking. That’s what I’d say if someone else told me that they’d been through what I have with him and the hagbeast. I have found ways to survive by running, closing myself off, crying myself to sleep and anything and everything else except drugs, although I have gotten drunk once or twice. OK, three times. Over the course of ten years, that’s not so bad. But it all has to end. I can’t do it anymore. I have things that need to be done in real life. The more I try to suppress what I feel about The Hagbeast, featuring GT as her apprentice, the sicker I will become. However, if I can write constructively and know that this is NOT my fault and that what was done was wrong, even though I already know that in my head, I have to believe I can heal.

I know that I’m no angel in this either. Hagbeast has had a ring through his nose for over 20 years. I don’t know if she knows that we were still sleeping together as late as four years after they were married and did so during her entire residency. However, I doubt things would have progressed as horribly as they did if he’d just not ignored me for two years and expected me to be in the same place when he decided to come back. I can understand him wanting to give his marriage a serious shot. I would have hated it, cried a lot, pleaded, bargained and did whatever I could. But in the end, I would have understood. This ain’t my first rodeo. But he just disappeared without a word. By the time he appeared again, he called me for phone sex. Ladies, I think you have some understanding of how . . . I don’t know . . . MIFFED I’d be about that. So I told him, “Sorry, but I am not currently sleeping with men.” He responded, “At all?!” “No. I am not having sex with men at all, nor getting them off online or on the phone.” *CLICK* He hung up on me. I was too pissed off then to regret what happened or realize how hurt he was–and he was definitely hurt–and that he’d loved me. Mom tried to tell me, but I learned to never trust anything unless he says it. He’d burned me too many times on that. Regardless, that’s when the foundations of my personal hell were laid. It took nine years and barely surviving a relative who tried to destroy me for me to come within hell’s reach. I needed Glenn again. He acted interested, but suspicious. I’d sensed someone else listening to us as he talked to me while driving down to Florida for a convention. I thought it was probably some male friend. Men are often jerks when they get together, so I just tried to pretend that I knew nothing.

By the time he arrived back home, he had a very special present waiting for him. First, a prelude.

I have loved Glenn my entire life minus 17 years. I loved him when I hated him and hated him when I’ve loved him. Hell, I love him NOW. However, when I found him and asked about resuming our involvement, I honestly thought the love had passed and that we could be good friends with benefits, meeting a few times a year to catch up on several levels, perhaps share a meal and go back to our own homes. I’d accepted, I thought, that he’d married someone else even if I detested her. Now, since she was such a hagbeast, I didn’t feel any guilt at all about shaking the chandelier with her husband. When Glenn opened up, we were great together. When he shut down, he was frustrating. He wasn’t all that happy about leaving me behind and he was lonely.

Image of a hagfish

Hagfish are real, slimy, disgusting but necessary. I apologize to any hagfish who were hurt by my bastardization of the name of your species.

I’ve loved him nearly as long as she theoretically had and I’d been the one to soothe him when she was being a right cold fish. He didn’t marry me because I’m his “Gregory.” That means that he didn’t love me quite as much as he did hagbeast just as I loved Glenn a little bit more than I loved Gregory. I also wasn’t going to make six figures coming out of training, thereby allowing him to set up his businesses without having to worry about his next meal. In addition, she was able-bodied. There’s nothing I can do about that, so she won. I don’t happen to think that being able-bodied should have been a criteria, but it was. What hurt so much is that anyone who has ever seen us together felt that they were in a room positively crackling with electricity. Given that, why does having an above-knee prosthesis on one leg make any difference? What difference does it make if I developed fibromyalgia? Apparently, a lot of difference. She’s better arm-candy, a better earner and doesn’t limp and spend much time as a patient in a hospital.

Well, as I said, by the time he got back from Florida and after talking to him a few times while he was down there, I decided to make a film of myself talking to him and telling him of this love that came rushing up from its hiding place out of my mind’s eye view. It was corny, I admit. The music in the background was Donny Hathaway singing his masterwork, A Song For You. But it fit.

Here are the lyrics.

A Song For You
Sung by Donny Hathaway

I’ve been so many places in my life and time
I’ve sung a lot of songs I’ve made some bad rhymes
I’ve acted out my life in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we’re alone now and I’m singing this song to you

I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I’ve treated you unkindly but darlin’ can’t you see
There’s no one more important to me
Baby can’t you see through me
Cause we’re alone now and I’m singing this song to you

You taught me precious secrets of a true love witholding nothing
You came out in front when I was hiding
Now I’m so much better and if my words don’t come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time
I love you for my life you’re a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song to you

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time
I love you for in my life you’re a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song to you
We were alone and I was singing this song to you
We were alone and I was singing this song
Singing this song to you

A Song For You lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

You see, by that time, I’d been a journalist for three very busy years and had definitely gotten people’s attention. I was going a few places to conferences and such, talking to people active in black gay circles and in the Welcoming Congregation movement. Indeed, that’s how I made my bones. I covered the 2001 United Methodist Church General Conference. It was one thing after another. My adrenaline was pumping and I was taking pictures and conducting interviews with people I would never have been able to get next to otherwise. I was in heaven! I attended the First Annual National Black Lesbian Conference where I watched an organization being born. Let me tell you, it was a beautiful experience. I got mobbed by the women when they found out who I was.

The lyrics to A Song For You say:

I’ve been so many places in my life and time
I’ve sung a lot of songs I’ve made some bad rhymes
I’ve acted out my life in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we’re alone now and I’m singing this song to you

I really had lived my life on a stage of sorts. Mine was the digital and glossy paper stage. I’d written a lot of stories about a lot of people and organizations and they really were my life. To my great surprise, people knew who I was and appreciated my work. But I chose to sit on my office floor, with a cigarette (to keep me calm because I was scared to death) and told the absolute truth. I didn’t realize how much I still loved him when I contacted him and that these feelings came up almost the moment I began talking to him. I loved him regardless of his situation. We figured things out once and we could do it again.

I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I’ve treated you unkindly but darlin’ can’t you see
There’s no one more important to me
Baby can’t you see through me
Cause we’re alone now and I’m singing this song to you

I apologized for the way I told him I was, for all intents and purposes, a lesbian. I should have been more sensitive to his feelings because we had such a long and storied history. I told him that he had me if he wanted me and that I wanted him. I opened up completely. I was totally vulnerable.

I didn’t hear from him for two days. I finally caught up with someone I thought was him but, as it turned out, it was the hagbeast. I asked if he liked the movie. The reply was “No.” I said something like “Oh.” Some other thing happened that I can’t remember except that it made me go cold inside and my stomach clench. That’s when I first got a clue it wasn’t Glenn. He’d never talked to me that way. I ran to my bedroom to phone him and tell him that his wife was online pretending to be him and saying whatever else she said besides “It was a joke.” There was no answer. It is only recently that I’ve accepted that this is what happened. I didn’t want to believe that the hagbeast had that much evil in her. Certainly, I didn’t want to believe that Glenn was complicit in her games. It led me to wonder if they plotted the entire thing and laughed at me while they did it. I picture them making love while making fun of me. Even now, the humiliation is such that I really and truly want to die. No kidding. No exaggeration. If someone shot me right now, I would thank them. The only reason I don’t do it myself is because of my girls. They need me. Even an empty shell of a person is better than what would await them at the local shelter. So I live.

I don’t know how I’m going to get through writing this, but I will. I doubt it will be ready for submission even next year. So, I’m looking at two years. I’ve got to keep myself alive for at least two years. OK.

As the watchful eye of Mother Earth is my witness, I just want to die and get it over with, but I can’t. My babies need me.

Shit.

Congratulations if you’ve managed to get this far! For your efforts, I want to reveal two photos I sent to Glenn yesterday and last night.

A picture of my arm showing severe self-inflicted burns on my arm

This is a photo I sent Glenn so that he can see that I was in so much agony there were no words. The only way I could express myself was to burn myself almost to the bone and cut. I did this after the “It was a joke” comment.

Photo of a paper plate with 3 bacon strips next to a paper plate with a stack of pancakes with a dinner knife connecting the two. There are assorted food items in the background.

This photo is filled with symbolism. Some of it would only be evident to someone who knows me. I sent this to him with a letter telling him that I’m writing our story.