Tag Archives: ending of love

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.