Tag Archives: colorism

A Secret Uncovered

I’ve actually been too depressed to post. My plan had been to come back and tell the tale of how convoluted my feelings are because I turned Glenn loose and told him that, if he wanted me, he knew where to find me, but that I couldn’t carry this weight alone anymore. I am going to be in his neck of the woods the first weekend in October for a series of dog shows. That’s how we were able to continue after he married his presumptive current wife. Between visiting friends and dog shows, I was up and down the Boston to D.C. corridor. We’d arrange to meet whenever I was within a couple hundred miles.

Then tonight, out of the blue, something hit me square in the face. Although I thought I’d figured out most of what happened between us, there was still the lingering question of why. I had the basics right, but it goes even further. Glenn and his wife are evading taxes by claiming his business, which I’m very sure she funded, as a money-losing endeavor. She’s a doctor in a specialty that carries very high malpractice premiums. What better way to get at least some of that money back? I’m just pissed I didn’t see it sooner.

I am presenting a redacted version of the letter I wrote and e-mailed to Glenn. I am only redacting those parts that could reveal my identity, including some information about my father. In Daddy’s case, I’m not sure all of the people who could conceivably go to prison are dead yet. Actually, I’m hoping they aren’t. Whatever the case, I have to redact some of his information too. In addition, I’m taking a page from Daddy’s book. Namely, always have some leverage because it can keep you alive. I’m in no way spouting hyperbole. After Glenn gets my letter, I have no doubt that he will attempt, yet again, to threaten me. The first time was simply his imagination working overtime. This time, he’s got a reason.

My father would be very disappointed in me for taking this long to see what was right there in front of my face. You’re laundering that HUMAN bitch’s salary. Yep, that’s right. I have more respect for my four-legged bitches that I do for your necessary wife. In fact, the two of you need each other. You need her to fund [name of Glenn’s indy label] and she needs you to provide a faux tax shelter. I’ve always known that she was funding you, that’s not news. But being my father’s daughter, although I look like Mommy, I should have seen this in glaring neon yellow. Let me school you, HUMAN bitches, about who my father was.

Both had your minds on other things when the [metro area in which I live] mob wars broke out. You were on the east coast probably taking your PSATs and may not have even thought about [college where I did my freshman year and from which Glenn and his *spit* wife graduated] then. Suffice it to say, the government was deeply interested. Daddy was, by profession, an accountant. He graduated from a college that’s now part of [local university that is very highly ranked among universities and colleges] with a degree in Accounting. Mom never told me who paid for Daddy’s education, but I have my own ideas about that. None of us ever discussed what Daddy did once he became legit. He even had a way to do that, bless his heart. Yep, I am Daddy’s little love all the way. That’s why I’m bordering on being both pleased with my discovery AND pissed off that I missed it for so long.

When we were in kindergarten and 1st grade, this nation’s ghettos burned. But before that, in the early to just-barely-late 60s, segregation wasn’t a bad thing in many ways. Daddy started working for the Jewish mob as a teenager in the very early 40s. He was an only son, but I think he may not have contested the draft. There was a lot of money to be made if you had the right connections and he did. His first job was running numbers. The Jewish mob here had the numbers racket more or less sewn up. I won’t say what Daddy had to do to move through the ranks after he came back because there aren’t statutes of limitation on what are probably technically still open crimes. I don’t want Feds knocking on my door expecting the full run down. For one thing, I’m not certain I know the entire thing. In fact, I doubt that I do. Second, even though Daddy’s dead, there are others who aren’t. I told you that I see most things as grey. Now you may understand why.

I’m skipping a decade or so to get to the good part. So, as I said, Daddy worked for the Jewish mob run by [name of now-dead racketeer who ran the Jewish mob here]. I’m not sure the spelling is right, but it will do. You know how any fool over 30 who’s managed to sling drugs to little kids calls himself an “OG”? Ha! They don’t even know what an OG is! Daddy was what one would call an OG and, buried in some very dusty file that hasn’t been seen in 30 years, there’s probably the documentation to prove it. He had to do a stint in federal prison at some point, however, that mysteriously went away. I do know how, but, my lips are so glued shut. *gringiggle* (I’m sorry. I’m just way too tickled to FINALLY have everything make sense.) It’s only natural that, given his vocation at that time, that he’d spend a stint inside. In truth, I’m just glad that he made it out alive. He, on the other hand, was quite ashamed of the things he’d done. He would hate that I know about some of them. And since I could usually tell what was going to get Daddy maudlin, I kept my mouth shut for the ten years or so I had him after throwing off [my] mother’s deep and abiding pain from being married to him for almost twenty years. Actually, I think they may have been married almost exactly 20 years, but were separated when I was conceived. At any rate, she made sure that I was terrified of him. He didn’t help matters either, but he made all of that up to me and more. I have never had a better friend than my father. And, to be honest, I’m very proud of him. He was brilliant. Back to [now dead Jewish mob boss].

The club scene in [my metro area] was red hot. Daddy, as I said, had received the best education possible by graduating from what is now [local university mentioned above]. He had two specialties, only one of which is germane to this letter. He moved money around so that NO ONE except him knew where it was exactly, including and especially, the Feds. Aside from being an accountant, Daddy managed a club called [name of famed jazz/soul club]. [Geographically identifying information redacted along with some names]. Daddy did occasionally come around IF my mother allowed it. There was a barmaid I so wanted Daddy to marry even as a little girl, but she died of breast or ovarian cancer many years before Daddy and I got back in touch. I cried about Janice when I heard of her death. She was a sweetheart and smart. His common law wife was as dumb as a doorknob, but she [redacted a common statement in black communities concerning fair-skinned blacks] as the saying goes. In his mind, that made up for it. If you remember, Mommy was about [HUMAN bitch’s first name] color when it was said and done, but started out about a shade or two lighter-skinned and, without a doubt, no one’s dummy. Daddy was a “little” colorist because he hated being what is to me a dark milk chocolate. Since he grew up in a very segregated Alabama and was illegitimate to boot, I understand.

Aaah, this is something you’d like, Glenn, but you might just kick yourself for being short-sighted and, I don’t know, thinking that I wasn’t good enough to be on your arm because of my pronounced limp even though I could do things in bed because of that shorter leg that it’s more difficult for someone with two full-length legs to do. But, there were things that I can’t, and couldn’t, do too. It was and remains a trade-off. Whatever. Back to the story.

You see, because Daddy managed [name of club], he knew EVERYBODY in the world of black music. If they have not been damaged by a leaking roof, I have autographed pictures of The Temptations, The Four Tops (I think), Dionne Warwick and Nancy Wilson. I’ve already shared the story on one of my blogs about Daddy sending Carmen McRae, the jazz vocalist, to me as a present because I loved her music as a wee one. He did, though. Unfortunately, I wasn’t at home. However, it’s the only time Mommy has ever praised his parenting skills. She knew about Ms. McRae because she’s the one who answered the door. When I think of all the trim Daddy probably got, it puts you to shame, dear heart. I don’t mean that in a nasty way, honestly. I am simply using you as a point of reference. Daddy was smooooth in ways that only nature provides. Women just instinctively loved him. My mother had loved him since she was 13 years old. She married him when she was 21. Hmm, now you see where I get my penchant for long-term relationships. Had you stayed with me, Daddy would have helped you get started and taught you what you needed to know. I’d already told him about you. He was suspicious that you were going to break my heart. How right he was! You’d better be glad that Daddy died when I was 25, or that other specialty that I purposely didn’t mention is one with which you would have come up close and personal. The best thing is that neither of us would have seen it coming and Daddy would have been in the clear. Actually, he probably wouldn’t have done anything too lasting because that would have risked his relationship with me. However, if he’d been alive when you pretended to want to get back together until you or your surrogate told me online (which is why I know it wasn’t something you necessarily wanted) that it was all a joke, leading to my suicide attempt that came within a hair’s breadth of working, solving the murder of Jimmy Hoffa would have been easier than finding all of your body.

Right now, I don’t know who I’m more pissed off with: you, that HUMAN bitch you married or myself. This is so fucking obvious! You two are wedded forever because of mutual need. [Glenn’s indy label] needs to lose money, at least on paper, so that Dr. H. Bitch can offset her insurance premiums which are through the roof due to her specialty. I was the sacrificial lamb in all of this. I may be thoroughly and completely pissed off with both of you, but I’m not making any rash decisions except one which is literally a matter of survival. Within 24 hours, there will be too many people who know about what you’re doing to harm a hair on my head unless you REALLY want to go to prison, and I don’t mean for simply evading taxes. If anything at all happens to me from now until I am placed naturally in the grave, YOU will *BOTH* be under scrutiny that you can’t withstand. I’m so blessed to have a very prominent family on my mother’s side and a certain respect for the real OGs left in the world, of which there are few, on my father’s side. From what I’ve been told in the last two years, I’ve got protection I don’t even know about. Nevertheless, I do know where to start looking if need be.

Just to make it plain:

1) There will be no physical or emotional harm to me
2) There will be no physical or emotional harm to anyone close to me, including and *especially* my girls
3) I will tip the Internal Revenue Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation off if ANYTHING looks just a wee bit off
4) In case I should die or “disappear” before I get to the IRS and/or FBI, even if it looks like a suicide, God. Help. You.
5) Thank goodness for people on both sides of the legal fence

Can I get an amen?

What you have both done to me is beyond cruel, as my shrink put it today. And you, Mr. High-and-Mighty, telling me when I offered a kind gesture that you couldn’t be bought. Honey, everyone has their price and your wife seems to have known what yours was. Ya shoulda stayed with me, kiddo! For damn sure, you should have never, ever been cruel, or beyond cruel, to me. I’d done nothing to deserve it. And, I was *sick* you bastard! It just never crossed your mind that something else was going on because your view of humanity is so goddamned warped that I *had* to have another agenda. I pity you.

Letter to Mom 4/8/2012

Dear Mommy,

I’ve thought and thought about this letter while taking the girls out for their pre-dinner potty break, during their dinner and while taking them out for their post-dinner potty break. There’s so much to say. In fact, if you were alive, I don’t think I’d say any of it for fear of an argument, but I sense you’re at peace now and can listen to me when you couldn’t before. I envy you that. I am anything but peaceful. I ache inside.

I haven’t quite learned how to manage the house yet. That’s mostly because I stay so depressed that I don’t move. I lost an entire day last week. I have no idea where it went or what happened. I just know that I woke up one morning and couldn’t remember what happened the day before or the day before that. I guess it’s fair to say, then, that I lost two days. It was distressing at the time. Now, it’s more like, “Oh. OK.” It’s as though I’ve shut down because I’m in so much pain I’ll overload if I don’t. I guess you know now that I don’t overload because some of the pain goes elsewhere to crop up at some unexpected time, usually very inconveniently. That’s what happened this go ’round with Glenn. He was the last person I wanted to think about, but I also needed the Glenn who was supportive and who cared for me once upon a time.

Mom, I know that even though you never liked him, you knew how much I loved him. I know that you wanted me to marry someone older who would let me be all of who I am. I thought that Glenn, even though he’s only a couple of years older, would be that person. He’s the only man I’ve ever seriously thought about marrying. Otherwise, I’d be perfectly happy to live a nice, quiet, woman-focused life with dogs, adopted grandkids and a lovely wildflower garden where my partner/wife and I could sit and just enjoy the life we’ve made for ourselves. Well, at least after I get the magazine off the ground. I really feel good about that possibility. No, that opportunity. I think I’ve found just the right investigative piece I was looking for. It will help me make a name for the magazine and, at the same time, establish the demo I’m looking for. Sometimes God fools ya and drops things in your lap when you least expect it. But I’ve got to get out of this funk if I ever plan to get started. Is it right to dump the other piece I was working on periodically for this? My gut doesn’t feel right about it, but I can’t see doing them both right now. There’s still too much going on in my head and in my heart.

Right. Glenn. Mommy, what happened to him? What turned that sweet, yet sometimes insensitive, sometimes volatile, man into whatever it is he is now? I want to understand so badly that I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there is anything I can do anymore. I had to start protecting myself. In the shape I’m in, he could finish what was started years ago, only this time, you and I would be reunited in heaven. No more failures. You’re not here to inadvertently save me. If I ended up in ICU again, it would be because I’m about to die and I’m an organ donor. It’s the girls who’ve kept me going. Add in Glenn’s penchant for inflicting non-consensual pain and I wouldn’t survive even with them. My God, Mom, I can’t even begin to fathom the things he’s done. If he didn’t live 500+ miles away, I think I’d be seriously concerned for my safety. As it is, I had to draw the Daddy card on him and may well have to use it. If I think I’m in a nightmare now, that could easily turn into something worse. I called Glenn on all his shit. I should have done so years ago, but didn’t. Maybe I didn’t because then, I didn’t have confirmation of things I knew–those things I can’t even write or else I’d get a knock on the door asking me about cold cases. Even with the family’s help, I don’t think the non-related cops would understand how I just knew some things that were only confirmed last year. You remember, I’m sure, the barber shop I took you to. The barber, whose name shall remain with us, started asking around. He told me what he discovered. He confirmed what I knew and added something I didn’t. It’s what he added that’s my ace should I need it. I only hope the barber has the sense God gave him and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t know how close he is to more truth that would most assuredly get someone knocking on his door and it may not be the cops.

Mommy, I keep hearing you in my head telling me to be patient with Glenn and that he will come back. Yet, you never say why you know this to be true. I long ago stopped asking how you knew some things. Again, I just learned to accept. You were right too many times like a few other women in our bloodline. There is usually a basis in the old ways and now I get it. Since you’ve been gone, it’s as though your gift has passed itself along to me. I always had it in relatively small quantities, but I feel it getting stronger. Again, it’s just one of those things I accept. “Oh. OK.” What I always found utterly amusing about you is that you accept that you’ve got the sight, but can’t accept that this house has at least one spirit. The girls see it all the time and have for generations. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t bother it. It’s the same way Micki knows there’s a critter out in the back even though I can’t see it. She’s right too many times for me to disregard her. I just have to brace myself in case she decides to go after it. Unfortunately, I don’t know if Glenn fits into the category of “I just know.” It isn’t that way for me, probably because this is the one thing I’m fighting like Muhammad Ali. I can’t be wrong. I can’t hope. Yet, I also can’t deny that I love the man he was before whatever happened to him happened. I know that he was seduced by the Benjamins. I don’t know that he’s happy at home, even though I’m sure he’s fucking that Tilman chick. She’s a yella gal like you and he and Daddy have that in common. In having to re-write this post, I am seeing that they have more than that in common. I hope his daughter was a Daddy’s girl like I was once we finally got together. Anyway, where women were concerned, the lighter the better. It’s sad, really. Very sad. It’s not like he’s all that dark. We were virtually the same shade, although I had more red thanks to Grandmother Clara.

You said that I never considered that Glenn treated me so badly because I was the one who really could threaten his marriage. Maybe. Again, I can’t hope. I hate that he’s crushed that part of me. If he were to come back to me and explain everything, tell me he loved me, he was sorry for hurting me, yada, yada, yada, the only thing I might believe is his explanation for doing what he did. I might believe that he loved me, but he’d have to be extremely convincing. I’m not sure I’d buy it then because we both know abusive men go through a honeymoon period where they apologize, say they won’t abuse you and things are fine until it happens again. It is so hard for me to write or say or think: he is an emotionally abusive man. He wasn’t that way before, but he is now. I wish that I could scream into the night and ask, “Why?!?!?!” Of course, I’ll never know. That hurts a great deal. It’s in my nature to ask questions and not be satisfied until I get an answer that makes sense. I don’t think I ever will with this one.

I think the thing that hurts me most is that he never accepted my disability. I thought he had, but he didn’t. I think I even confronted him about it when we were together. I seem to remember him saying something about being younger then. While that’s true, he obviously took it into consideration when he asked Robin to marry him. What would he have said if I’d asked him to marry me? I wasn’t even thinking about marriage then, but what if I did? He’d probably tell me no and then marry Robin. I don’t like this part of myself, but I wish she would find someone else, decide she didn’t want to be married or just die. It’s the last one I hate. I don’t want her to die. I just want her to go away. I want him to have a chance to be who he wants to be within reason, and find his way back to me. He always felt like home to me. Am I totally pathetic for thinking of him that way? Yes, I am. After everything he’s done to me, it IS pathetic and I’m not sure I care. That’s what this has been about from the start. He’s my home and I can’t break the link. I want to. Mom, you know I’ve tried. This is the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, to you, to anyone. Damn it, I now have to send this to him. I love him and I dislike him all at the same time. He damn near destroyed me thanks in part to Dr. Trouble’s magic pills; I let go for years, only to find him in my mind and heart again, up from the basement where all the deep, dark, bad is kept; I’m pestering him for an explanation that I do richly deserve and have every right to require; he lets me swing in the breeze with nothing, laughing all the while. I deserve better and I know you agree. He’s an incredible disappointment as a human being, much less a potential lover/partner as things are now.

I sent him the lyrics for Lady A’s “Dancin’ Away With My Heart.” It fits so perfectly with the exception of the age. Mom, I have never loved anyone like I loved him and still love some deep, nearly-inaccessible portion of him. He is a part of me and always will be. I can’t lose him even though I  have already. Why did he do this to me? Why did he treat me like garbage? More accurately, why did he do the equivalent of throw garbage at me? I hadn’t done anything to him at all except tell him how I felt. I didn’t know I felt as I did, but it all came flooding back and I made that horrendous tape. He mocked me, embarrassed me, tormented me, shamed me. Tell me, please, why do I still love him? I keep thinking that was an anomaly, but he hasn’t had the guts to face me since. What does that say about him? What does that say about me? I deserve better. I know I do. But I also know that there’s something I’m missing. He’s behaving like a sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Granted, they don’t have to go together, but they often do. I wish I had a DSM. I think it would help me understand what’s up with him and what is going on with me.  Am I experiencing something like battered wife syndrome even without the paper between us? Am I experiencing some sort of PTSD?

It’s nearly two and a half hours into Easter. I tried to save as many flowers from the sprays as I could. I don’t know if any of them will bloom again. I should be grateful for having them as long as I did. I think that’s what Mandy was trying to say to me: At least I had a mother for nearly 50 years; she didn’t and that’s affected her. Anyway, many lasted nearly a month. As I watch them die, no matter what steps I take to make them last, they eventually give way to what is termed the “natural order of things.” I miss you, Mom. The natural order took place, but gives me no comfort. This is a rite of passage. I remember how cold your beautiful hands were the last time I touched them. I still can’t believe you’re gone. You looked like you were asleep. Now, I think I’m glad that you wanted to be cremated. I don’t think I could bear thinking of you in the cold ground. I do feel your spirit around me. It’s why I can write to you now when I couldn’t talk to you before. I just wish you were here to hold me while still being at peace. I don’t think you had much peace in your life. I am sorry for anything I did that caused you to have more aggravation than you deserved. I love you. I forgive you. I want you to rest in peace now, but feel free to come back when you feel the urge. Like I said, I miss you.

Love always,

OnX

Metamorphosis

Dear Glenn,

I’m writing this letter publicly, but you’ll more than likely receive a version privately as well. The readership here is much lower than my other blog, so the danger of someone either of us knows finding this blog is nearly non-existent unless they’re searching for you. If so, frankly, I just don’t care anymore. I’m sorry, but I just don’t. I’m tired of caring about someone who couldn’t give a damn about me.

These last few weeks have been filled with sadness, then action brought about by practicality, then sadness again. In other words, it’s been a rollercoaster between Mom’s death; my realization that we really are over; the pain I feel because I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to her; and the pain and anger that I feel toward you, often at the same time. I’m all over the place and I want it to stop. Now I understand why those who deal with grief regularly tell people not to make any major decisions for at least a year. If only I had that luxury! I don’t. I’ve got to deal with all of this myself, even though I do have a brother, as I believe I pointed out to you in a letter. John is Daddy’s son and Mom made sure that I didn’t know him that well. I think of all the crap she had floating around in her head about my father and realize it’s a minor miracle that I basically said, “Screw you! I’m going to call my father and learn who he is for myself.” After that, she was helpless and jealous. Indeed, I’d say very jealous because Daddy was my best friend and she wasn’t. He was so ashamed of John that I only met him when our father lay dying in a hospital bed. We’d talk about him if I asked, but Daddy never brought him up. The reason he was ashamed was because he got another woman pregnant while he was engaged to my mother. Knowing her, she made his life hell because of it.

I didn’t write to talk about John. I wrote to talk about you and about me.

There is a part of me that is in so much pain I can barely breathe because of what you did to me and what you continue doing by not explaining yourself and sadistically keeping me twisting in the wind. I know you’re a narcissist and that you’re getting off on all of this the same way you got off on sharing my honest, loving feelings toward you with someone else and laughing about them later. I have braved major depressive episodes, suicide too many times for me to count and bouts of mania. A lot of it somewhere between helped and caused by you, with an emphasis on the “caused” sided. However, at no time did I purposely set out to cause damage or even hurt to anyone other than myself. You have. Not only have you set out to cause damage and pain, but you also set out to humiliate, trample, emotionally abuse and generally bully me all because you could. And you could do so only because I loved the person I once knew, assumed he was still there and, therefore, let him in. I already know what that makes me. What does that make you? I wrote a letter to you with the Subject “blame it on lady antebellum.” I briefly told you about the song, but that’s it. Here are the words.

Dancin’ Away With My Heart

I finally asked you to dance on the last slow song
Beneath that moon that was really a disco ball
I can still feel my head on your shoulder
And hoping that song would never be over

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are
For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

I brushed your curls back so I could see your eyes
And the way you moved me was like you were reading my mind
I can still feel you lean in to kiss me
I can’t help but wonder if you ever miss me

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are

For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

You headed off to college at the end of that summer
And we lost touch
I guess I didn’t realize even at the moment we lost so much

I haven’t seen you in ages
Sometimes I find myself wondering where you are
For me you’ll always be eighteen and beautiful
And dancing away with my heart

Nah nah nah nah (x3)

Away with my heart

Nah nah nah nah (x3)

Here’s the video if you’ve never seen/heard it.

For me, you’ll always be the adult man who hadn’t turned into a narcissist yet. You didn’t feel a need to get off by non-consensually hurting people, me especially. Still, I should have seen this coming. I didn’t because I was blinded by love, to use an old cliche. The fact that we couldn’t stay away from each other even after your marriage should have told me that you thought you were above the rules instead of telling me that you still cared very much for me.

Look, you married Robin because you loved her. I understand that. However, there was more. You needed an image, which meant that you had to have someone worthy of fucking on your arm. While you may have been attracted to me, and you knew that other men would be attracted to me, there would always be that segment who’d say that I was too fat or why be with a cripple when you could be with that chick over yonder who has everything you want or at least should want? Pretty soon, I would make you look weak because you’d bow to the shallowness of the industry you wanted into in a bad, bad way. So, just as you cheated on Robin, you’d cheat on me. The difference would be that as long as I could do what I wanted with whom, I wouldn’t have stopped you from hanging out with whoever you wanted as long as you didn’t bring anything unwanted into our home. You see, there were certain rules of the game you never understood. Seeing more than one person and loving them both was very possible. I loved you for life, but I also loved another man nearly as deeply. In the end, we exhausted each other and we each went our own way. That happened in part while you were still part of my life, but mostly when you saw fit to leave me alone for two years and then called because you wanted phone sex. That, in and of itself, was crass and insensitive as hell. I wasn’t your personal phone whore.

So, we have Robin as an able-bodied, fuckable woman who made other men envious of you and other women envious of her. Personally, she’s not my type, but that’s just me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, her body was fine. She was just a snooty little bitch who was into playing games. Both of you were into the great mindfuck and I wasn’t and never will be unless I absolutely can’t stand a person and then the gloves come off. There was no reason for me to feel that way toward her. She was simply a fact of life.

The thing that really sealed the deal was cold, hard, cash, baby. I realize that when she began practicing as an attending, salaries were lower to reflect the economy. However, today, she’d make about $250,000 to a little over $300,000 a year. She could afford to buy you any toy you desired to get you started. I don’t doubt that you added to the pot and that you raised the one daughter that I know about. That, alone, saved a ton of money. I just wonder what you’d say and do if someone treated the little girl you’d raised to adulthood the way you’d treated me. In all probability, you’d tell her to dump that bastard because she doesn’t need him. And you’d be right. I don’t need you. In fact, I don’t even want you–finally. But back to the Lincolns.

There’s no way in hell a lawyer, no matter the firm, would ever make that much money. Sure, it was very possible if I made partner in eight years or so. But that’s five years AFTER Robin would have become an attending. Remember, when you decided to marry Robin, I hadn’t come down with fibromyalgia yet. The fibro only made your gut instinct about me having continued physical problems right on the money. No pun intended, but fits nonetheless. Robin was healthy and showed no signs of being otherwise. I was, as you said, “cute,” but depending on one’s taste, a yella gal will always beat a latté with people into intraracial colorism as so many of us are. In other words, Robin would pass the paper bag test while I might pass, depending on the bag’s manufacturer. Since Mom was a yella gal herself, it didn’t make any damn difference to me. I thought all of you were laughable for even thinking about something so petty and felt awful for dark-skinned women for the slings and arrows thrown at them because they were very beautifully dark chocolate.

When all is said and done, based on your perception of appearance; your discomfort with my disability that might put me in a wheelchair one day and, therefore, unable to in any way help your image, and; Robin’s money tree to help get you set up with the right equipment and other perks that go with being the husband of an anesthesiologist meant I was never really in the running to be your wife. It didn’t matter how much I loved you; what I’d do for you; that I was really opening up to you in ways I never had before because I was feeling a whole lot more secure than I’d ever felt, and; that we’d had a long history that began only six months after you and Robin got together. No matter what I did, I was never truly in the running. It is only now, in writing this letter, that I am beginning to see how used I was and how shallow, cruel and narcissistic you are. It has taken me all these many years to work everything out. I kept thinking that there was something inherently wrong with me and there wasn’t. The only thing “wrong” with me is that I had blinders on where you were concerned. Oh, yeah, I could see a lot of your faults, it’s true. I just didn’t see one of them as being a bigot more concerned with the way his armpiece looked than who she was and how much money she would bring home. Actually, I’d already suspected the difficulty you had with my disability because of the first time we had wild, monkey sex. You may not remember, but I do. You asked me to keep my prosthesis on even though it was very uncomfortable for me. I forgave and overlooked. That’s more than you’ve done for me in all these years. I can do so no more.

In the extremely unlikely chance you don’t get the reference below, (you are, afterall, the only living male I know who’s at least as intelligent as I am), 17 years. Think of the old ways.

Glenn , I renounce thee.
Glenn , I renounce thee.
Glenn , I renounce thee as the selfish, shallow, cruel, materialistic, narcissist you are.

May God forgive you. I doubt that I can. Oh, I’ll still love the person I knew, or thought I knew, but that person isn’t you. Perhaps it never was. And, as I previously wrote privately, in case you get any goofy ideas about harming a hair on my head or anywhere else on my body, or harming those I love, you won’t make it back to New Jersey one way or another. And if you do, you’ve committed a federal crime. I told you about who Daddy was and that some young gang banger looking to earn his stripes wouldn’t mind bragging about protecting his daughter even though Daddy is actually sitting on my dresser. I’ve told you about the family’s heavy background in law enforcement as judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys, not to mention a boatload of cops both retired and active duty. Hence, think at least ten times and if you still can’t see how dumb it would be to come after me if only for your family’s sake, I’ve got enough to make the cops look your way first. I hate this entire mess, but it’s one we both caused. But, as I said, I never set out to hurt, harm, damage, humiliate or cruelly play with anyone. You did and you will deserve anything fate dishes out.

OnX

Edited to change: added the redactions because there is at least one innocent; explained the renunciation in the off chance you didn’t get it, and; to say that this way is better for all concerned. You stupid, stupid, man. However, I stand by what I wrote 100%. The whole sorry business didn’t have to be, but I’m done feeling love or sympathy for you. You’ve made your bed.