Tag Archives: ending of love

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

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.

Recovery: man v. manchild

I have considered writing about my recent activities for several days now. My problem was that I was too involved and too confused to make any sense. I couldn’t formulate my thoughts so that they made sense to me. How could I write something that would be understood by someone else? I have a large vocabulary, but I have feelings with no words to describe them. One would think I’d be able to find some word among so many thousands to say, “I feel X.” Even now, the words do not come easily. I am going to delve into my former lover’s, Glenn’s, behavior and my reactions as compared to a dear friend who happens to be male who confirmed what I’ve known in my heart for a long time and what I’ve only just realized.

I’ve noticed that I tend to write to Glenn when there’s some sort of “issue” in my present life that makes me sad. If I had to voice a reason, I’d say that it’s because he reminds me of happier times; he is someone who helped me at an absolutely critical time in my life that no one else could have handled, and; I just want him. When all is said and done, it’s the fact that I want him that is uppermost in my being. The other reasons are valid, but aren’t quite as important.

February is a tricky month this year. My mother’s birthday is on the 22nd and she died last year on the 27th. She had five days to be 86 years old. She’d been the matriarch of our family for nearly four years, but she’d never exercised the privilege that came with it. That was reserved for yours truly, who bore the full brunt of her need to be constantly honored. I am not that kind of person, which lead to many an argument. However, that is a topic for a different post. The most important thing to know about her in this one is that I missed my mother terribly, and; I’d finally hit the wall in my suppressed frustration with her estate and all of the stress it was causing because of her absolutely asinine decisions. I spent a half hour the other day screaming and yelling at the ceiling practically out of my mind with rage because she’d left me to clean up her mess–one that has very long-term consequences for me. I know she was sick even if she refused to acknowledge it and threatened me when I tried to get her help. I have extremely good reason to be furious with her even though I miss other things about her. I understand that it’s not unusual to carry both anger and longing for a recently deceased loved one. Thank Goddess for shrinks because I would have felt abnormal and incredibly guilty if I hadn’t been told my feelings are fairly normal.

For reasons I do not remember, I began to think about Glenn. I was, and am, so angry with him for what he did to me that I have to talk myself out of sending him nasty e-mail on a daily basis these days. Besides my mother’s pedophile second husband and the man I was seeing in undergrad who raped me, Glenn set up the cruelest, sickest, most twisted and most non-consensually sadistic episode I’ve ever experienced. It led to spending four days in an ICU bed because I tried to suicide after he’d left me in disbelief, humiliation, self-hatred and utter, utter despair; my mother losing her fucking mind and attacking me while in ICU necessitating her banishment from both the medical hospital and the psych hospital where I was sent; wanting little to do with men for the last decade, including my own family members, and; on those days when I do think of it, feelings of emptiness, hopelessness, ugliness and shame. Glenn knows this and just doesn’t give a damn. He and that female he married who was in on the “joke” perpetrated the perfect mindfuck. That is their specialty. They thrived on mutual mindfucks when in college. She is an archetypical “mean girl” and he, like every bully and abuser, needs to feel in control and powerful. I’ve suspected for some time now that he has his own abuse issues that he doesn’t deal with well, if at all. He finds a person’s weakness and exploits it. With me, there were several things to exploit. The first was the fact that I’ve loved him for all but 17 years of my life, then; a birth defect that made one leg considerably shorter than the other, necessitating a prosthesis; other health issues like fibromyalgia, and, finally; my weight. (Oddly enough, we were lovers for 17 years, too. That’s just a coincidence with the numbers, I suppose.) He did the same thing before we first got together. It took me the better part of two years of enduring his shit before he made a decision that I was worth having, finally bedded me and began to treat me fairly well to very well.

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s alright because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

I admit to being a late-comer to Eminem. I liked some of his music, but tended to look at him askance due to the homophobia the character Slim Shady spouted and the vulgarity of his lyrics. The latter is a bit hypocritical because I have a mouth like a sailor when I’m angry and don’t feel like holding back. As time has gone on, I’ve come to appreciate Eminem more. I am especially fond of his 2010 CD Recovery which contains a track with Rihanna called Love The Way You Lie about an abusive and dysfunctional relationship. I wish I could sit her in a room and make her listen to that track a zillion times so she can come to her senses and give up on that messed up child, Chris Brown. I think of the young women who will emulate her and I am very concerned.

I feel as though the lyrics quoted above are words emanating from my psyche relative to Glenn. My feelings aren’t healthy at all. So many people have told me that he’s a little shit, but they also had something of a conflict of interest. I have tried to get him to tell me why he did what he did for a decade so that I can move on. I’d also hoped that whatever he said would help me stop feeling as though I’d done something to deserve it. I have been able to tease a few things out that I would bet the remainder of my life are true. First, regarding his marriage, I believe he didn’t choose me because I have a rare disability and no one really knows what my future holds. He’s a record producer, DJ and manager. He believes that he has to project a certain image. Right now, he’s like carved marble. Indeed, he’s much more attractive now than he was as a younger man. I’m not the right arm candy. I have a pronounced limp and I’m Rubenesque. I also can’t dance because I risk ending up on the floor. I think he finds me embarrassing. It really took going back in my memory, but we were rarely seen together with people who know him. The only time he took me out with his friends (as opposed to our mutual friends) when I went to see him was the night we had dinner in the city right before he told me he was marrying that puta. I had absolutely NO idea that was coming. I thought it was the exact opposite, in fact. I was rather blindsided, to say the least.

Secondly, that woman he married is a physician in a very high salaried specialty. Even if I’d graduated law school I wouldn’t make the kind of money she does. I would if I did personal injury, but that’s not what I wanted to do. Neither did I want to work for one of the big law firms with offices in the U.S. and other countries. I wanted to practice criminal and intellectual property. The latter gets a pretty penny, but not as much as the good doctor. His business was more than likely funded by her, at least at first. Now, had he stayed with me and married me, Daddy would have gotten him started by introducing him to the right people. I remembered telling him about Glenn, in fact. He wasn’t impressed. With his background, I understand. However, he also wasn’t going to let me live in relative poverty, so he’d have helped Glenn for my sake. Ironically, I refused to ask my family for help unless my back was against the wall. I wanted to do things on my own.

I have a dear friend from high school, David, who was run down by a driver while biking his way to work. When I first heard about it, I was out the door the next day and went to see him in ICU. He looked terrible. I could tell from what I saw approximately what his injuries were. It was a major miracle that he lived. This was confirmed by one of the floor nurses. Had he not already been in great shape, he would have died. I hadn’t seen David in about 12 to 15 years, but that didn’t matter. He was still my dear friend and I could help him. I’ve spent my entire life in the medical system and know more than a thing or two about it. I promised David that I would see him through rehab for as long as I am in town. Then, I first got some sort of bug that turned into bronchitis and aggravated the asthma with which I was just diagnosed about two years ago and the asthma aggravated the bronchitis. Fun times! After that, my mother’s estate struck again and, for reasons that are too detailed to explain, left me without transportation. The upshot is that I didn’t see David for two months, he couldn’t talk on the phone because he was on a ventilator and is only recently able to speak on the phone after being weaned from the vent.

David is an incredibly brave, resolute, kind and loving person who is, in turn, loved by many people. He was my secret crush in high school, in fact. He is handling the changes in his life better than anyone had any right to expect. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he is. It is so much harder for someone who has a traumatic disability than for someone born with one. I, for example, don’t know what it’s like to have two legs of the same length. Therefore, although I can imagine the things I would have done and would still do, I have no experiential knowledge to miss.

Today I was finally able to drive my vehicle without fearing getting stopped again. My attorney found a creative way around some probate law and, after last minute frustration with the BMV, I became street legal again. (YAY!!!) The first person I went to see was David. I was beyond happy with the progress he’d made. I’d been worried about him because I couldn’t make sure that everything was as it should be for him because, last I saw him, he wasn’t in a position to advocate for himself. Fortunately, our group of friends has stuck together even though many of us have not seen each other in *mumble* years. Our experiences forged life-long loyalties and bonds. I ended up in tears of both happiness for David and anguish for myself. Seeing David, I realized the man that Glenn isn’t. The contrast hit me over the head like a sledgehammer. I was in tears so that I had to leave the room, actually. Fifty percent were tears of joy and 50% were tears of heartbreak. Truth be told, if it wouldn’t have been bad for David, I would have sobbed huge sobs of heartbreak sitting beside his bed.

I needed a man’s opinion, so I told David about Glenn and what he’d done to me. He was nice and said that Glenn was an immature asshole and, no, I didn’t do anything to deserve what he did. He also said that I can’t worry about Glenn’s motives because there’s nothing I can do. He chose to do what he did and it was uncalled for. He further said that we love people and we can only hope that they love us in a similar fashion. If they don’t, then you have to worry about yourself. I got over Glenn marrying someone else a while ago in the sense that I didn’t want him full time and having someone else would be a good thing even though I do not like this puta all on her own. However, the reasons . . . I don’t have the words to describe how profoundly hurt I feel. The reason I know why he did it is because he began our relationship with issues about my disability. He’s the only person I’ve ever been with who placed so much emphasis on my physical limitations. I, in turn, put too much emphasis on the fact that he is one of the extremely few people who is an intellectual match. I’ve found more women who match me intellectually than I have men. I don’t know why.

I can’t tell you what it really is
I can only tell you what it feels like
And right now it’s a steel knife in my windpipe
I can’t breathe but I still fight while I can fight
As long as the wrong feels right it’s like I’m in flight
High off of love, drunk from my hate,
It’s like I’m huffing paint and I love it the more I suffer, I suffocate
And right before I’m about to drown, she resuscitates me
She fucking hates me and I love it.

I know Glenn was, at best, confused when I told him so long ago that I wasn’t sleeping with men anymore. He didn’t know what to say, so he hung up on me. I’ve been trying to put myself in his place and I can understand why he’d feel as though there was some level of dishonesty in all the years we were together. There wasn’t. Plus, he and I had talked about the fact that I liked women. There is a big difference between theoretically liking women and actually doing something about it. I believe that a large part of what he did to me was revenge. After he got his revenge–and still gets it with each day–he simply couldn’t care less about me other than the fact that I feed his need to see me in pain. He loved me. It took me a very long time to realize that, but he did. His answer for the pain he felt was to hurt me back at least twice as badly. Revenge is a zero sum game. It is very tempting to play and does offer a measure of satisfaction. However, someone who can feel empathy isn’t going to find revenge ultimately fulfilling. By hurting me, he feels a sense of control. By leaving me dangling, he’s watching my pain and feeling powerful.

Glenn is not a man. A grown man would never have done this heinous thing to me, certainly not after 17 years of being lovers and more. A man would, at the very least, apologize after driving someone to commit suicide and damn near succeeding. I didn’t intend to live at all. I hated the fact that I was alive. I hated him. I hated myself. I hated the thought of trying and not succeeding again even more, so that was it. That wasn’t the end of the self-harm, but it was the end of the suicide attempts.

I’ve recently learned that Glenn has a son now, I’ll refer to him as “Oscar.” This is not good. There is no one in that household to teach him how to be a straight up man. If anything, Glenn will teach him how to be non-committal and talk around those issues girls and women rightly want to discuss. Oscar will probably grow up to be like some jocks I happened across in high school one afternoon. I was walking up one of the entrance ramps coming from somewhere, I think the backstage area of the auditorium. At the top of the ramp where it intersects the main first floor hallway, I saw these two jerks with letterman jackets teasing and physically abusing a developmentally disabled girl. I was furious! Needless to say, I made them stop and made sure that the girl was alright physically if not emotionally. I then reported their sorry asses to security. I can easily see Glenn doing that and teaching his kid the amorality that underlies such despicable behavior. Oscar’s sister, who’s name I’ve forgotten, will most definitely grow up to be one of the “mean girls.” She’s got her mother to emulate. That shit would never happen if those were my kids. It is impossible to teach a child empathy if the parents believe the only people who matter are them and theirs. It is impossible to teach kindness and courage if the parents are hiding their own cowardice and narcissism behind cruelty. Lord help anyone who becomes involved with them. A second generation of Thorntons down the tubes.

It’s clear to me now that I don’t want Glenn. I don’t respect him as a man because he’s not a man. He is a manchild. If he hasn’t grown up by now, he never will. I’m not going to be his emotional punching bag anymore. When I compare him to David, Glenn isn’t good enough to kiss his big toe. They are on two entirely different planes of maturity. A man takes care of his business, including cleaning up the messes he creates. Glenn won’t. His way of dealing is to NOT deal and find some reason that justifies his actions. No, that is not a man. It is a sad little boy in a $150 tank top. Writing that should lift a weight from my shoulders, but it doesn’t. I am completely and thoroughly disappointed in him and in myself. Why I’d be disappointed in him is obvious. I am disappointed in myself because I allowed my love to blind me. I was aware of his faults, but I made excuses for him. If not excuses, rationalizations. In this instance, Ocam’s Razor applies. The situation is exactly as it appears and Glenn is the person he has shown himself to be.

I will see him once again to be sure, but I think this is the end. I am in a great deal of emotional pain, but I will survive. It’s what I do.

Hypotheticals

I said I’d write more about what I think may have been going on with Glenn since what seems like forever. I’ll write and he won’t return e-mail even to say “Don’t e-mail me.” I am honest with him in more emotionally intimate ways than is safe to be publicly. Therefore, he knows what’s going on if he’s reading my e-mail at all, even if just the subjects. I feel as though I’m trying to make someone do something that they don’t want to do. I guess I am in a way. I don’t “want” to hear from him. I genuinely need him. This isn’t some bullshit excuse. My frakking mother died, for christ’s sake! I know that he wasn’t a huge fan of his own mother, so perhaps he can’t relate. He didn’t rape me either, but that’s one time he helped a great deal. It’s not the only time, either. There were other times he didn’t even realize what he was doing. So, having said all of that, I think I’m just going to present some scenarios, think about them and try to figure out which is closest to being correct. Phbt! Actually being right isn’t even a dream. It’s something I can’t even consider. Only he knows why he’s doing what he’s doing.

Hypothetical #1

He hates me and despises me enough to play a very cruel prank that, from his perspective and mine, went sideways when I attempted suicide and almost made it because I couldn’t believe someone I’d been with for so long could willfully betray me. Now, although he still hates and despises me, he can kill two birds with one stone by: a) not talking to me because I’m despicable in his eyes, and; b) watch me writhing in emotional pain without copping to any responsibility or taking any more action than he did in the first place.

I wish I could say for sure that this isn’t even a remote possibility. Unfortunately, it is. Not so much the narcissistic aspect of creating pain to watch someone else suffer on purpose. He did that, but I don’t think he thought his words would have such a profound effect. They did. Now, although he may hate me, he can just toss me into the bit bucket and forget that I exist. I’m not going to call him or bother him in any way other than MAYBE write another letter. Honestly, I’ve run out of things to say to him. I can only be responsible for myself and my actions. That wouldn’t be the case if I thought he was reading. Then, yes, I’d have some responsibility not to be a fetid vagina.

There is also the possibility that he’s afraid to speak to me given the suicide attempt. If I’d pushed someone so hard that the only way they could stop the pain was to end their life, I think I’d have a hard time too. However, I would be there for them. For one thing, there would be a lot that needed saying. For another, I’d pretty much hate myself for being such a fucking asshole as to do something like that in the first place.

Hypothetical #2

He can’t look me in the eye because he knows that he did push me over a cliff and doesn’t hate me, but is afraid of me. He can’t give me the kind of relationship I want and he isn’t listening to me or giving me a chance to tell him what I can deal with.

You see, in my book, this is the most likely. He’s consigned me to irrelevant ancient history and doesn’t wish to go back to what he did. Furthermore, he fears doing it again.

In a way, I can’t blame him. The difference is that I’m fairly savvy about mental illness and I don’t think he is. Not to mention that he loves his family. Actually, I haven’t in any way asked him to ever give up his family. But, if we did get together, how torn would he feel? That brings me to my next hypothetical.

Hypothetical #3

This is the conclusion my mother drew. She believed that I was a very real threat to his marriage and that he wouldn’t talk to me because he knew that if he did, there’d be a certain amount of pull that could cost him everything. I would love to believe this, but I don’t know. I can see a combination of the second and this hypothetical. No, he can’t look me in the eye because he knows that he did push me over a cliff and is afraid of doing the same thing again. Frankly, in my current state, it wouldn’t be difficult. I want to fully flesh this one out.

OK, I’ll bite. I’ll consider that he still loves me and knows how much I love him. (I think I’ve just realized what he needs to know.) What does that mean for his home life? What does that mean for me as someone who is at least bisexual and is more often fully lesbian? That’s when the shit hit the fan. If I was fooling around with some guy, he could deal with that. He can fight back. However, dealing with someone who doesn’t share your sexuality is next to impossible. The only reason I say it isn’t completely impossible is because I know couples who’ve done it. It isn’t uncommon for a gay or bi man to marry a lesbian or bi woman for the purpose of companionship and raising a family. While I haven’t married a gay man, or anyone else, I have had sex with three that I know of. Two I knew were gay from the jump. The second made it fairly obvious, but I didn’t want to believe it. God, he had a dick the size of a horse’s! If I wasn’t adequately “warmed up,” the result would be PAIN. As a human being, he ended up as a pathetic, horrible individual. He didn’t do as much to me as he did to my cousin, but that’s another topic.

Truth be told, I don’t know if Glenn is still with the woman he chose to marry instead of me. For all I know, they’re divorced. On the other hand, I’m not sure Glenn would divorce her even if I weren’t in the picture nor if he was otherwise unhappy. Although I know he makes really good money, she makes REALLY good money. I could very easily be wrong, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of his venture capital came from her. I can’t compete with that. He can’t risk his marriage at all under those circumstances. For that matter, he may still love her dearly and not wish to risk it. I’ve never thought he married her just for what her bank account would show. I’ve always known he loved her. What I didn’t know was whether he loved me. Mom was, I believe, right about that. I think he did, and may still, love me.

Hypothetical #4

He didn’t want to take a chance on a disabled woman disabling his dreams.

More than any other, this is the one that hurts the most. It hurts even more than the thought of him as a narcissistic terror. He did have problems in the beginning. In addition, as my shrink asked, why didn’t anyone know we were seeing each other? He and his current wife were, at that time, not exclusive. It’s very possible he was ashamed. In looking at current photos of him, he’s all about the image these days. I definitely wouldn’t fit in as far as he’s concerned. It would be easy for me to say that he really is a narcissist to look at him. However, in his business, he has to look hip/cool/young. He has to dress well and look like a yummy milk chocolate bar of sexuality. It’s the same with actors and musicians. He’s kind of in a similar business. So yes, this is a real possibility and it hurts a lot.

Conclusion

I have no way of proving any of these scenarios. For all I know, elements of all four are present. He could hate me for reminding him of what he’s done if he’s not all that happy. He certainly went for the jugular when his betrayal pushed me not just over the edge, but made me not mind the fall at all. But why? That’s the question he’s never answered. Why was what he did necessary? If I was so horrid, why did we see each other for 17 years? I realize that having kids alone would change him. Why, however, isn’t he saying that? Oh, I got the, “Things change,” bullshit. Duh! Yes, they do. But they don’t change by doing something that is deeply disturbed, exposing a lack of empathy. That’s always been my problem with the “You’re a threat to his marriage” answer. What he did was just . . . twisted. The only way I can see him doing what he did and NOT being a twisted human being is to push me away with enough force that I never come back. He didn’t count on me planning on not coming back to him or anyone else. I think that scared the crap out of him. If not, it should have.

The one thing that I haven’t mentioned is that I go running to Glenn when my life sucks. Why won’t I do it when life doesn’t suck? The love is always there. It’s never left although I’ve grown as a woman. Just as I’m a more mature and confident woman, I expect him to be a more mature and confident man. We both have more experience with life’s bumps, tumbles and joys. That’s the way with everyone who doesn’t stay where they were 30 years ago. They don’t generally change their entire personalities. For example, I used to hold a lot back from him when we were young. Now, I doubt seriously that I would, at least as often. What if he’s wondering if I’m turning to him when things are shit and will walk away when he patches me up? It won’t happen, but I can understand why he’d have his doubts.

I have to think about these. I know I won’t come up with something definitive, but maybe I’ll find some peace. What concerns me most is that he’d be ashamed of me. Unfortunately, that seems to be the most likely of all the scenarios I’ve listed. Put that together with not wishing to risk his marriage by actually loving me and there’s the formula for what he did. Damn.

I need an answer this time. I can’t deal with this as I have before. It’s time for me to change now.

Crap! This Can’t Start Again!

I can’t breathe. I can’t hear anything but the rushing of blood in my ears and a plaintive cry inside my head that keeps whimpering, “No. No. No.” I don’t want any more tears to fall at all, much less because of this individual. I know that I’m trying to prevent a panic attack, but I’m struggling with whether I should accept it and let it pass or try to fight it. I just don’t want to cry. Is that so wrong? Too late.

Truth time.

Glenn hasn’t been on my mind, which is a very good thing. Why should he be? We were over a long time ago. I don’t really know who he is today. I don’t know if I’d still love him, hate him or something in between or both. He always crops up in my head when I’m at my lowest. I think any idiot could see that’s because my brain takes the A Train to happier times. I haven’t forgotten all the times he’s hurt me–and there are far too many to count since we were teenagers. But in the bitter end, he’s the one who got away and the one I’ll always love. That is to say, the Glenn I love is the Glenn I knew and I have a really strong gut feeling there isn’t all that much to set them apart. Important things, without a doubt. However, I suspect evolution as opposed to revolution.

This started when I took the girls out about an hour ago. I looked at the house and a memory of him being here, having dinner and then making love (or having wild monkey sex) flashed into my brain. It occurred to me that he’ll never be here again. He’ll never be anywhere again and have even one good thought about me. Part of it is my fault, but it’s not like I was all alone in this. I’ll be generous and say it was a 50-50 split. I don’t believe that, but it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that all I have left are memories. He made a choice to marry someone else. I don’t know if they’re still together and it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s not here and won’t be again. What also matters is that I’ll never love anyone the way I’ve loved and love him, especially if my suspicions about him are correct. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me know if they were.

I wrote last night that my uncle is one of these people who won’t strike back himself even though he believes someone has done something unwarranted towards him. He’d rather wait for God/Fate to deal with the reckoning. I have something I have to fix. It’s something I believed because I needed to believe it and had to believe it in order to get on with my life. Not to mention that he did show a great many symptoms and a shrink would have a good ol’ time with him on his/her couch. Nevertheless, I don’t believe he is a sociopath or psychopath. I’m split on whether he’s a narcissist and that can actually be worse. However, if he’s a narcissist, he’s been one ever since I’ve known him and that’s the him I’m used to encountering. My tendency is to lean toward him not being a narcissist but someone who couldn’t and wouldn’t put himself out there for me. Why? I don’t know and don’t think I ever will. I do, however, have some thoughts.

I think that I was too innocent for him in his eyes. He was probably somewhat right. If he’d only known the truth, he’d know that I wasn’t as innocent as he’d believed. Then, years later, I think I scared the bejesus out of him when I became involved with BDSM. It really wasn’t his thing, although he’s the one who actually introduced me to handcuffs. It’s a big leap from handcuffs to learning how to properly swing a flogger; the different types of floggers; playing with blades, and, my favorite; hot wax. He would have made an excellent Master, though. That’s assuming he could deal with the responsibilities that go with it. I think he could. The only person I ever came close to loving as much was my first Master and his sub who was either my first or second Mistress. I’m thinking second. Again, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that men will inevitably go back to their boyhoods in some form or fashion at some point in their lives. What he did to me was close to being unforgivable as a boy-child, but especially as a man. Could I learn to forgive him? Yes. Do I want to? Yes, and it is costing me every ounce of will power I currently have to not actively send this to him. To do so would be selfish. Now that I’ve finally gained an understanding of what hearing from me, someone he loved a long time ago, can do, I don’t want to hurt him. It’s bad enough that I have been so hurt. Let it end.

With that in mind, I guess I’m not only mourning my mother, but a certain young man I’ll love until the day I die. As the song says:

For me you’ll always be 18
And beautiful and dancing away with my heart

OMFG

I found this definition of a sociopath. It explained a lot about both Glenn and about me. While not everything is applicable, too many things are.

Here is the link. Thank God, I finally understand.

In later, very unhappy news:

NARCISSISTIC SOCIOPATH

Sometimes people suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder also tend to suffer from another mental disorder known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Such people are often called narcissistic sociopaths or sociopaths with narcissistic traits and such a situation is a dangerous one, as these people do not want to be helped. Such people often tend to be highly manipulative and without any shred of remorse for their actions, even if their actions have harmed others who are close to them or their family members. There is nothing that can stop a narcissistic sociopath from achieving his goals. He makes use of all his charm which is highly superficial and intellect in order to attain his goals by any means possible. Such people often think that they are above all and they do not really care if anyone disagrees with them.

From the site DepressionD

All I want to do is cry. I didn’t want to be right. I wanted to be very wrong.

Naming My Desires

Occasionally I’ll mention something about the “old ways.” I refer to the ways of shamans in various societies, but also of laws that existed almost before there was time. For example, I said three times “I renounce thee” in one of my posts, along with the person’s name. In days not so old, a man or woman could divorce his or her spouse by publicly stating that they were doing so while turning around three times. The individual in question was not my spouse, but we were together longer than many marriages. Funny, now, we have been apart almost as long, but that’s another story.

In many old cultures, it was believed that it was possible to speak a thing into existence. Unfortunately, the thing brought into existence by speaking it is usually something malevolent. I choose to believe that it’s possible to bring something good and beautiful into existence by speaking or writing it too. I am sadder than I’ve been since my mother died on February 27. In a way, that’s good because I don’t have the usual protective armor and can allow the pain pour out into what I want and need.

What I Need

  • Shelter that I can count on
  • I need to claw my way out of this crippling depression
  • I need to know that I matter
  • I need to be clear about who my friends are and who they aren’t
  • I need to know who I can count on for what
  • I need to eat occasionally
  • I need to feel safe
  • I need to be important to someone
  • I need money to keep the house functioning
  • I need a home
  • I need to let some of this agony out of me before it tears me to pieces
  • I need to forget
  • I need to be loved
  • I need rest
  • I need help with some of the above

What I Want

  • I want one last love affair that burns so bright it lights the night sky
  • I want happiness
  • I want great monkey-hanging-from-the-chandelier sex
  • I want a partner who understands me
  • I want a partner who can console me even if she doesn’t understand
  • I want to be wrapped safely in her arms and hold her safely in mine
  • I want a chance to pass my knowledge of so many things on to someone else
  • I want someone who can love me just as I am
  • I want someone who doesn’t see me as a liability
  • I want someone who can appreciate me and see me as an asset
  • I want Glenn to burn in hell for what he’s done to me and, I’m sure, to others
  • I want to live my life in beauty, love, grace and forgiveness
  • I want to be a parent, even though I know that won’t happen now
  • I want to cry because my heart is breaking and I’m alone
  • I want to know that I’ve mattered to someone special
  • I want a garden of wild flowers that border a stone patio sitting in the middle of the backyard
  • I want to be a successful publisher
  • I want to be a person who believes other people matter

What I Don’t Want

  • I don’t want to be someone who believes they are entitled just because
  • I don’t want to forget that no one is perfect
  • I don’t want money to be my sole badge of honor
  • I don’t want expensive things to prove to myself and/or others that I’m worth something
  • I don’t want anymore dysfunctional relationships
  • I don’t want to hurt or cause harm to anyone–unless it is to promote change
  • I don’t want to feel so hurt and alone ever again
  • I don’t want to pass love by
  • I don’t want to be sad anymore
  • I don’t want to hurt anymore
  • I don’t want Glenn at all
  • I don’t want to feel like dying
  • I don’t want to see tomorrow
  • I don’t want my girls to suffer

I’m done.

Home Is Who

I woke up this afternoon and, for the first time in weeks, I felt content. For me, “content” is like “happy,” but with a side of “peace.” I think I’ve finally figured out why I haven’t been able to let Glenn go and that, by doing so, I may have tripped the mechanism that will allow letting go. Sorry if that’s a bit circuitous. It is for me as well.

I’m sure most of us have heard the aphorism that home is where they have to take you in. I don’t think that’s accurate, at least for me. The aphorism assumes a place and not a person or people. For me, the place most would consider my home was a very dangerous place for a long time thanks to my mother’s second husband. When I left to go to college, that felt more like home than my house did. Then, I transferred after my freshman year and that school really felt like home, but only if I again assumed “home” was a place.

At some point, totally without any conscious effort on my part, my “home” became a person, Glenn. I look back and want to kick myself for not figuring this out sooner, but I don’t think I had the tools then. If I had, I’m not sure he could have understood. Or, he would have understood and scampered away. Sorry, but the more I look at things over the years, the more I see him running and having to be in control. Anyway, he became my “home” because home really is where the heart is. My heart was with him. He was my very first adult love. Wherever he was, I wanted to be. I was so used to being mistreated that some of the things he did then that were definitely not cool may have pissed me off, but didn’t make me see the clues that something was up with both of us. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I was a victim because I wasn’t. But I was walking into a situation that I should have handled differently. I didn’t because I was usually too afraid he’d walk away. Then, I learned how to handle him. Give him space. Let’s just say that doesn’t work anymore.

In case you haven’t guessed, music is a huge part of my life. We are very much alike in that way . . . and many others. For about the last five months or so, maybe a bit longer, I’ve been really listening to a lot of modern country. There’s a song that’s older now by the Zac Brown Band called “Colder Weather” that I instantly liked. Why? It reminds me of a certain individual who does a whole lot of running from instead of running to.

“Colder Weather”

She’d trade Colorado if he’d take her with him
Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,
And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay,
She’s answered by the tail lights
Shining through the window pane

[Chorus:]
He said I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
She said you’re a ramblin’ man
You ain’t ever gonna change
You gotta gypsy soul to blame
And you were born for leavin’

At a truck stop diner just outside of Lincoln,
The night is black as the coffee he was drinkin’,
And in the waitress’ eyes he sees the same ‘ol light shinin’,
He thinks of Colorado
And the girl he left behind

[Chorus:]
He said I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
She said you’re a ramblin’ man
You ain’t ever gonna change
Got a gypsy soul to blame
And you were born for leavin'(born for leavin’)

Well it’s a winding road
When your in the lost and found
You’re a lover I’m a runner
We go ’round ‘n ’round
And I love you but I leave you
I don’t want you but I need you
You know it’s you who calls me back here

Oh I wanna see you again
But I’m stuck in colder weather
Maybe tomorrow will be better
Can I call you then
Cause I’m a ramblin’ man
I ain’t ever gonna change
I gotta gypsy soul to blame
And I was born for leavin’ (born for leavin’)

And when I close my eyes I see you
No matter where I am
I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines
I’m with your ghost again
It’s a shame about the weather
I know soon we’ll be together
And I can’t wait till then
I can’t wait till then

The thing is, I’ve usually found that kind of personality in male musicians, specifically rockers. Glenn is a musician, so I guess that tracks. He is not, however, a rocker. It’s funny, but classical musicians tend to be very stable, sometimes a bit dramatic, but generally stable in a slightly crazy kind of way. Rockers and hip-hop musicians love to party. I prefer the former to the latter, though. I don’t personally know any country musicians, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say they like to drink a lot, perhaps with a little pot thrown in for good measure. Jazz musicians=DRUGS! and R&B/Soul usually means top shelf liquor, pot, maybe a bit of coke, (but that’s up to personal tastes), and they all want sex with someone or another. I do miss that world, but I’ll be back there soon enough, probably with little patience for the bullshit. The older I get, the less patience I have for people who are supposed to be adults but act like children.

What I’ve learned about myself in the last nearly 24 hours is that I can’t rest until I understand the “why” of something. I’ve known that, but I haven’t really known that. Aside from the home angle, the hardest, nearly impossible obstacle to overcome has been getting on without knowing why. Why did he become abusive? I hadn’t said anything at all that would have incited that kind of response. If anything, it was the exact opposite. Why did he think it was OK to pretend to still want and care for me only to turn around and laugh, taunt and humiliate me when I believed him? As I’ve said to him several times, he didn’t put that bottle of pills in my hands and put my hands to my mouth, but he is as responsible for it as I am. His hands are as dirty as mine, if not dirtier because I was only harming myself while he set out to harm me. He pulled the rug right out from under me and I fell into the deepest, darkest of pits. I never got an explanation. That led me to believe he had no conscience and I called him a sociopath. Really, I definitely need to stop putting people in pigeonholes. I don’t fit. Why should anyone else? But this, I must say even years later, just fit given what I knew then and what I know now since he has done nothing to even try to make amends. As I’ve said before, each moment of silence is like hearing him say I don’t matter; my life doesn’t matter; if I’d died, oh well, see ya on the other side. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration, but it’s not. I’ve seen him cop that attitude with others.

I think what hurts most is that I can’t go back in time to save the beauty I loved inside of him. I don’t even know what I’d save him from because I have no idea what happened. I can accept losing him to someone else, although I can’t respect the reasoning; I can hope like hell that he’s happy and that almost losing my life was worth it to him; I can wish him well and try like hell to just go on with my life, even knowing that he’s loving the chaos he’s causing. I can grant him grace, but that’s all I can do. The young man, the adult man and the getting-into-middle-aged man are the stages of his life in which I’ve loved him like I’ve never loved another. He is none of those people now. Mom said that I needed to be patient. I have been. I’ve been more patient than anyone has a right to ask of another. It’s done and I’m very sad. One day, I want to trade that sadness in for liberation. In fully realizing who and what he is now, I feel so much lonelier. I’ve lost my home and my heart is broken. I’ll see the “good” in all of this one day, but it won’t be today. He thinks he’s invincible because he’s got money, a growing business and a family. No one is invincible. Bad things happen to people every day who don’t deserve it. One day, fate will catch up with him. He is no innocent. Nature likes balance. There’s nothing more to say.

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.