Tag Archives: loss

Forgiveness

I was originally going to title this post “The Exhaustion That Will Not End,” but the exhaustion is a symptom of, possibly, other things. It would all come back to Glenn one way or another, so I’ve decided to simply write about him. I am having a difficult time remembering what I’ve said about him in posts here and what I”ve written to him. Therefore, I’m going to assume that I’m repeating here what I’ve written in letters. If I repeat myself, I do apologize.

I wrote to Glenn, the love of my life I met in undergrad, and told him that I forgave him for something absolutely horrible he did to me about ten years ago. What he did had a profound effect on me and, had it come from someone else, I would never forgive. It took me many years to understand the reason for his betrayal, but I think I finally have with age and experience. The reason was two-fold. It was revenge for basically coming out to him in a less than stellar manner after he’d left me high and dry for two years, then called me so he could have phone sex. Needless to say, I was a little bit annoyed that he’d done that. Hence, the “Sorry, I’m not sleeping with men at the moment,” comment. He said a shocked “What?!” I repeated what I said and he hung up on me. Then, some years later, after being emotionally devoured by a cousin I couldn’t fight back because of our uncle and patriarch’s wishes, I tracked Glenn down at a club and, after several conversations leading me to believe he was still interested, he said that he was joking and that he didn’t want me because things changed. Mind you, he didn’t say this until I pressed him for a date when we’d get together since he’s 500 miles away, or was then. Now it’s more like 400+. This is the man I’d hoped to spend my life with, but he decided to marry someone else. Still, we couldn’t stay away from each other. So, for two or three years, we continued to see each other. If he’d married a woman I gave a damn about, even a stranger, I probably would have at least attempted to end things. He had to marry the woman he did and I could not have cared less about her feelings.

I believe second reason for the above-described betrayal was that he hoped I’d stay away on my own because he still had/has feelings for me. It is this reason and this reason alone that I didn’t get it. I didn’t think he had any feelings left for me at all. How could he and knowingly do what he did? Then, I began to think about men and what men will do when they are desperate and have too much pride for their own good. I didn’t want to believe that he still had feelings for me. That sentiment was born from the same one that wouldn’t allow me to believe he had ever had feelings for me. In the end, it had more to do with my lack of belief in myself than anything he hadn’t said, although he really should have said something. He broke me. No, I truly mean that he literally broke me. He pushed me up and over a cliff called “Suicide.” I almost made it.

My mother died probably not knowing that I’d forgiven her for something she’d done that wrecked both our lives. I can’t go through telling the story again, but suffice it to say that I could not go through life not forgiving Glenn for something that was nearly as bad. Like I still loved my mother, I still love Glenn, though differently than my mother of course. Furthermore, I want him back. I got so damned tired of hating him for what he did and being afraid he’d do it again that I couldn’t do it anymore. I finally threw up my hands and pulled out the tissues and wrote to him. I began the process on July 10 with one letter. It took me two days, but I finished the second one tonight. But for the fact that I had to go through his online store to tell him that it may have gotten lost between my computer and his, I’m not sure he would even have known I’d sent private e-mail. For all I know, he’s got me filtered out. In one sense, I can’t blame him. I’ve made several attempts to reach him over the years with no response, which doesn’t mean he’s not reading, but doesn’t mean he is. If he’s behaving like he did when we were in college, he had to wait to see how serious I was before he’d make a move. I wouldn’t move past the initial couple of letters because I thought it was pointless. That ended on July 10. I’m very serious. I haven’t let another man into my heart since he went off to marry the woman I’ll assume he’s still married to. He can have her. I just don’t want to be without him at all.

This is going to be a long, drawn-out fight unless he actually grows the balls to tell me that he’s uninterested. Even then, he’ll have to tell me to my face and not on the phone. Skype is a wonderful tool, isn’t it? So are the airplane and the highway. I’ll be in his area in October. If need be, he can tell me then. My guess is that I’m going to have to keep things going until he gets a big ass clue that I’m not going away quietly into that good night again. As I think I said here before, if two people have to work so fucking hard to stay away from each other, then there’s a reason. As my mother once told me, I’m a threat to his marriage. I prefer to think that I’d be an addition as opposed to a threat. The only reason I give a damn is that I know he has at least one daughter. I don’t want her caught in the games grown-ups play. I wish I hadn’t let him go so easily when he told me he was going to marry that woman. I just didn’t have the experience to fight back. All I could do was cry and I cried for days and weeks. He didn’t enjoy my pain. It hurt him, too. However, the marriage was logical. That’s the other thing I’ve had to accept.

Knowing how to fight for him meant that I had to remember things about him that I knew probably wouldn’t have changed and believing in myself. I don’t doubt one bit that I’m going to have to move once/if we reconcile. He can’t explain long absences the way he could before. With Mom dying, there’s no more reason to stay here except one and I can fly in to see her or have her fly in to see me. I’m referring to my last living great-aunt. She’s like a mother or grandmother to me. She has more than enough people to take care of her, but I adore her. I’ll also have to leave the only blood cousins in my age group. That, too, will be difficult. Basically, I don’t want to move. It’s just that I see it coming.

I’m also going to have to figure out, with his help, how do deal with my sexuality. It doesn’t lend itself readily to monogamy. In the past, I’ve used polyamory as a way to detach myself. It’s what I learned to do from those who’d practiced polyamory as the central figure in past relationships. That isn’t the way it should be. I think some part of me knew that there was only room for one love of my life and, therefore, thought it better to keep my distance on some level.

In addition to being “fluid” in my affairs of the crotch or heart, I still consider myself as a practitioner of BDSM. In short, I consider myself a leatherdyke. Or, perhaps, a leatherbyke. Whatever, BDSM is in my soul and he isn’t into it. What’s so funny is that he’s the one who got me started without knowing it. If need be, I can give it up.

The question I’ve had while making all of these compromises is: What is Glenn willing to give up to be with me? Only time will tell, assuming I can break through to him at all. I may have to resort to changing e-mail addresses periodically and actually chasing him around the Internet until he stands up and says, “Go away!” If he does that, then, aside from a few questions I want satisfied, I’ll leave him be. I’m betting he won’t, but I don’t know for sure.

I vaguely remember telling him that while I forgive him, there’s still a large part of me that doesn’t trust him not to repeat the same evil deed. It’s true. That’s something I’m only going to be able to work on once we’re in conversation again. I can’t do it alone. There’s a difference between forgiving and forgetting. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget. I do want to get to a point where I can put my distrust in the past and not have it staring at me in the present. People make mistakes. At last glance, he was a person. He is a person I want back in my life.

Understand Mom, Understand Myself

Before getting to the material referred to by the title, I want to thank the Sound Gods for big, male cousins who run to their defenseless female cousins’ rescue when called. In this case, to move my bed so that I can put my real speakers on top of my headboard and lean them against the wall. I will have REAL sound after Wednesday and he can say a word to a certain “grabby” neighbor to grab something else besides me. Gotta love it!

I’m noticing more and more changes in my perspective now that my mother is gone. Of course it was she, more than any other person, who influenced me in both negative and positive ways. I will be forever grateful to her for teaching me how to use my intellect. She never copped to her own brilliance, preferring to say that it was my father who was the brilliant one. Oh, she’s definitely right about that! He was absolutely, stunningly brilliant and it kept him alive far longer than one would think given the vocation he had for most of his life.

Now, this is where my brain and heart part company. One says go for it and tell what he was and the other says, STFU. I think I’ll take the latter tack. I want to write my Master’s thesis on my father, so he will get his due one day. He’d be deeply ashamed that I knew more about who he was and why than he ever wanted. He was who he was and things were the way they were. I can’t judge him. He, however, judged himself far, far too harshly.

Be that as it may, Daddy had a very deep love for my mother and had from the time they were barely teenagers. He also understood her in ways no one else did. Her family pretty much hated him and that didn’t help at all. I can posit the greater family and many friends asking her why she was so in love with him. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was smart, but that wasn’t unusual. In truth, no one could swing a cat without hitting someone with at least a Bachelor’s degree and, frequently, a graduate degree, in Mom’s family as far back as the late 1910s. When I get that longed-for M.F.A., I will be the third generation in my mother’s father’s tail line and I think the fourth on his distaff line to do so. My great-uncles and my grandfather were the product of both violent Southern racism and the combination of two highly intellectual black families. Business and fear brought them North.

Mom was different. As brilliant as she was academically, she was a deeply gifted artist. It is the latter that I’m coming around to believing caused her to be misunderstood a lot of the time. I’ve misunderstood her and I lived with her for most of my life. Had her relatives been more open-minded about her artistic talent, I think she wouldn’t necessarily have seemed shy to the point of being ice cold. How many times can you justify a dream before wondering if your dream is foolhardy? She was a visual artist and a dancer. She spent most of her life in education. It was there that I realized how incredibly talented she was. There is no way I could ever hope to have half her ability to handle the most undiagnosed, but deeply disturbed, children she did on a daily basis. She teased the desire to learn out of them instead of throwing them away as many would. The thing is, she wasn’t even a special ed teacher. Her memorial service was a grand testament to a highly distinguished career. It could have easily lasted another hour but for a minister I could throttle. Believe me, I wasn’t alone. x:(

People who’ve known me for lengthy periods of time remind me that I’ve always been a writer. It’s not something I really give a great deal of thought. Writing is as much a part of me as the blood coursing through my veins. I remember the woman who was my best friend in college and for many years after we’d both graduated saying, “You’ve always written. Don’t you remember . . .?” Actually, one of the amusing memories I’ve had while looking for Morgan (that sounds like the title of a book and/or screenplay) has been remembering a rather surprised Marketing prof who returned a marketing plan I’d submitted for a fictional product with a good grade and a notation that said something like,”This is definitely one of the most unique products anyone has imagined in my years of teaching.” Well, I did float the idea to my female friends and we thought it would sell if it were real. Actually, only in the last few years have products like the one I’d described been on the market, usually by Trojan.

I have a fertile imagination at times and, so I’m told, a very different way of understanding and applying concepts. I was really glad to hear that recently because it meant that my law school experience had finally been changed from conformity to inspired. My general theory is that the law is a living, breathing organism that must change as society changes. While it may be a laggard at times, laws do change either through legislation or through case law. If one assumes that my theory is correct, then why can’t laws be applied in new ways for new reasons? If there is nothing prohibitive in legislation, then it may be possible to make the argument that the law is applicable in a different way. This is an area of law left to litigators, yes, but then handed to appellate attorneys who will inevitably end up before higher courts.

I phoned one of my mom’s besties for a zillion years to check on some information and to try to explain what is going on in my life. She’s a retired college professor and now spends most of her time writing. She’s also an ordained minister I wanted to officiate at Mom’s service, but couldn’t due to some crap about her not being Christian enough. If only I could get to arrange her service again, but I can’t. So in speaking with her, I confirmed the premise of this post. Yes, my mother was greatly misunderstood. Yes, although this friend wasn’t exactly a fan of my father’s, she confirmed that he understood her in a way few did. She also confirmed that I’m correct about something else by telling me how wrong I was about it. That’s not at all to say that she was wrong. She wasn’t. However, it comes down to perspective. Mine includes multitasking. Hers didn’t. Because I only have so much emotional energy to pour into my personal life; so much to pour into pulling a miracle out of the mess that is Mom’s estate (Where the hell is the money??), and; so much to throw into my own project, Mom’s bestie has an excellent argument. My head needs to be in the game and it isn’t yet. How can it be? I’ve just hit bottom and begun to scratch and claw my way up. I’m already exhausted from the effort, but not being able to keep anything down may have something to do with it too.

I don’t even waste my breath trying to deny accusations of those who say that I’m too cerebral or that I don’t travel a straight line to get from Point A to Point B. It’s pointless. I do, however, try not to waste people’s time. Sometimes that means speaking so quickly that I sound like I’m on speed. No, just trying to be considerate and forgetting that most people’s brains don’t work as quickly as I can speak. *shrug* When I get the inevitable, “Huh?” I go back to the beginning, explain that I’m trying to say what needs to be said quickly and continue from there. I must admit that there are days when I’d like to scream out of pure frustration that the listener doesn’t get it. I think that’s my real problem with Mom’s lawyer. He doesn’t get me at all and he’s a journeyman at best when he should be far more skilled and careful than he is.

As I said, I tried to explain what’s going on in my life and that meant Glenn and Morgan. Glenn doesn’t even know why I’m looking for Morgan, assuming he didn’t simply delete my e-mail. If he did, it would be a shame. For once I can say that I am truly satisfied with what I wrote to him. I’ve been able to put a lot of things together since Mom died, especially since I’ve spent hours navel-gazing these last few days. Some things simply made me sick because I was so freaking wrong in an effort to be both right and not afraid. I realized that I’d done to him the same thing he’d done to me. We were both wrong. What I couldn’t stand was the thought that one of us would die and leave so much unsaid. I have good reason to be afraid of that circumstance sitting on a shelf in my china cabinet. I also needed to have a fictional conversation with him in my head as I waited for word on Morgan. That, too, was the impetus for my letter. I know I’d be absolutely destroyed if I learned long after the fact that Glenn had been killed or died. No one in this world or the next would ever be able to console me. Take what I’m going through now and multiply it by ten and that might be an accurate assessment, but probably too low on the scale.

One of the things I wrote in my letter was an acknowledgement of the importance of the people in his life. He has a lot to lose by getting involved with me again. The potential damage I might unknowingly do isn’t worth it. Why would I want someone who’d hate me for ruining his life? I’d be crazy and I’m not crazy at all. I would one day love an acknowledgement of what he’s done to me. He’s never done so. There have been those who’ve said that, in and of itself, is grounds for punting my feelings. It’s just not who I am and I can only be true to myself whether anyone else likes it or not. That’s not to say that I haven’t reached the end of any attempts to verbally touch some part of him. Every time I’ve thought I had, something else crops up. Like I said, we’re in different situations. Nevertheless, two people who have to hurt each other so badly just to stay apart probably belong together. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. I needed him, and still need him, to help me get through the grieving process in a way only he’s ever been able to do. I don’t know if he’s realized how completely open I was to him. Actually, in many ways, I still am. If he were to ask me what I want at this very moment, I’d say hold me, let me cry and don’t let go. Absent the ability to do that, tell me what he’d do if he were here and I don’t mean sex. He never really understood, perhaps until fairly recently, the innate ability he has to bring out certain emotions in me.

Since hitting bottom the other night, I looked in the mirror and saw a different person staring back at me. In some ways, I think I’m much gentler than I’ve been in a very long time. I couldn’t continue to carry all that anger around with me anymore. I was really angry with Glenn, with my mother, with a couple of other people I’m trying to decide how to handle and with myself most of all. A lot of it is simply inconsequential now. I’ve said everything I believe needed to be said. I think I’ll ask another friend about Morgan and then leave it alone until the fall. If it’s still important, then I know the best next step. I’m hoping like hell it won’t be. I don’t think I’ve got enough tears left to cry. I “only” feel a deep sense of profound loss.

And It’s Only 12:35p

Right now, I am beyond thrilled that I set this blog up a couple of years ago even if I didn’t use it then. Here, I’m anonymous. It may or may not be possible to figure out what I do, but that’s not a big deal. What is a big deal is that I can say whatever I want, ruminate on it for a bit and figure things out.

With that in mind, I have a sick feeling that someone I’ve tried to find since yesterday from my ancient past is dead. I contacted a friend I’ve had for a very long time–as in since junior high, high school, college AND college extracurriculars “long time”–to ask if he remembered Morgan’s last name or was in touch with any of the people we worked with. I’m trying rather hard to find him to confirm something from my own history that I believe to be true but may not be. My friend posted on my FB Wall, something he hasn’t done in the three years or so that we’ve been in semi-contact again. He left his phone number and no, this wouldn’t be a booty call. We’ve always been platonic, sometimes antagonistic, fun-loving, dear friends. It didn’t hurt that we did have the camaraderie of one particular class that will probably link us until we’re both older and more grey. In fact, I’m going to be pissed if I don’t find at least one grey hair among the blonde should I decide to attend the next class reunion.

When I phoned the number he left, the girls were going crazy because a neighbor was getting ready to repaint a room I need to set up as a studio. I tried to sound very normal and just glad to hear from him, but he isn’t stupid. He knows me. He knows that I’m probably going to figure out what’s up and why I can’t find someone in what amounts to a fairly small group of people with certain skills. I’m going to have to make that call again because I don’t know if he could even get my phone number due to all the enthusiastic barking and I don’t answer the house phone, a number that would be super easy for him to get given a shared set of friends and acquaintances of old. Indeed, I was kind of surprised to learn that he’d moved across town. People in this ‘burb tend to stay here unless they leave the state altogether. But, change comes to everyone and everything. To stay static is to be left behind.

There is one thing I wish would stay static, my youngest furbaby. I was on the phone with the aforementioned neighbor, walking into the house when a wasp followed me in. Can we say “ALLERGIC!!”? I don’t need to go to anyone’s hospital at all for anything right now, even if it is just for a shot of epi, which I foolishly never carry even though I am very allergic to something else no one has ever been able to identify and that I’ve encountered twice now, I think. So, I’m on the phone, the wasp comes in to the house, instinct takes over and I try to get away from it, dropping the youngster’s leash in the process. Off she goes, running behind two squirrels she’s been after since forever. Although I was close to panicked, I had to laugh at her attempts to climb the tree and get them, silly girl that she is. She almost made it, too. In the process of convincing her to come home and forget about the squirrels, I found the spot where a local bat has been hanging out, no pun intended. Indeed, we have our first bat and our first owl. I have to remember to write about the indescribable awesomeness of watching an immature bald eagle riding the air currents, probably trying out its new wings. I thought it was a golden eagle at first, but the beak was the wrong color. That’s how close it was. I could see its beak. I love raptors!

Between the old friend’s message, the youngster’s foray into the adjoining backyard and a really bad night, I think it’s safe to say that I’m fried emotionally. I never intended to get up from bed except to take the girls out, feed them and bring a water dish up. Last night was brutal and I can’t say that I’m any better today. I narrowly escaped the third panic attack in two days by calling my friend/ex-Mistress/lawyer to talk me down. She really needed to work today and I knew that. My solution was to say what I needed really quickly and take as little time as possible. I can tell myself to breathe, that my buddy may only wish to find out why I wanted to contact Morgan, (Ha!! He isn’t dumb. He knows me and he knows perfectly well how I worded the request.) or try to convince me to come to the reunion. (Ha!! Ha!!) I finally said, “Fuck it,” and took a hit from a joint the neighbor was about to light. I only needed the one to calm me down and let this all sink in.

I came close to wrecking my van as I was driving back from a prescription pick-up that’s about 20 miles or so away. I’m not sure I wrote about it, but I think I may have mentioned a flash of memory that came around the same time as my second panic attack yesterday. What I didn’t write is that I feared he’d died of either cancer, an accident involving alcohol or cirrhosis. Those boys party hard and he was already in his 30s when I was with him. The term “friends with benefits” hadn’t been coined yet, but that’s essentially what it was, although I had this crazy notion that I could help him heal inside. What I now understand is that his body was in incredible pain from a construction accident that should have killed him, but he was doing the thing that he loved: hanging lights, running cable and unloading semis. I honestly envy him that. There is nothing that beats watching a warehouse-sized or bigger venue come to life as a concert hall. It is an absolute marvel that I hope to see again one day.

Karen, the lawyer, asked me what I could do if he is gone. I told her I’d cry even more, try to pick myself up and phone up a mutual friend to raise a glass of JD, which I hate, to Morgan, the redheaded wild man.

The above was written a couple of hours ago. I’ve had some interruptions in the meantime, not the least of which is me in tears again. I don’t know how to absorb another loss. Morgan was a part of me, though in a much smaller sense than Glenn. I can see his face as clearly as if he were sitting next to me. I’ve remembered bits and pieces of facts that I haven’t thought about in a very, very long time. I hope like hell that a friend who’s now a prof at another university had the presence of mind to save Morgan’s photo. Yeah, I think that if Morgan is no longer alive, it’s time for a reunion of the Roach Patrol. No, “roach” has nothing to do with insects. However, I’m more than sure that I need to go “home” again.

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

Crying

I’m sitting in my van inside my garage after taking one of the furbabies to the vet. Then, I went to pick up a book I ordered from my favorite music store. By the time I got to the music store, it took everything I had to not break down in tears again. I first lost it in the shower today. Now, I’m so close to losing it here in the garage. I don’t want to go into the house because there are two other furbabies who need me and I can’t cope.

I prayed and prayed, asking God to both give me strength and let me know why Glenn is more probably than not a narcissistic sociopath. I have zero credentials to make that assessment. NONE! All I have is a lot of experience with shrinks and parts of the DSM-IV that’s online. So, maybe I’m wrong. I want to be wrong. If I’m right, the dark side he’s always had won over the good.

I did something stupid yesterday and wrote to him about what I’d discovered about myself and about him. How do you tell ANYONE that they’re something so horrible? How do you tell someone you knew years ago and your first, real, forever love that his actions and attitude fit the profile of someone so horrible I can’t bear to type it another time? Somehow I did. It wouldn’t matter because he couldn’t care less about what I think or feel except insomuch that he enjoys watching the pain. And there truly is pain. I feel as though my soul has been cleaved in two.

On top of this, I really need my mother. If she were alive, I wouldn’t tell her about this for fear that she’d say I was weak. But now, all I want– besides the ability to go back in time–is to lay in my mother’s arms and cry. She never knew how many times I wanted to do that, but she considered crying a weakness.

I prayed to her too while sobbing in dry heaves in the shower. I sensed that she was sympathetic, but also told me to pick myself up and do the things that need to be done. I will, but I don’t have it in me now. The most I can do is go in the house and face the two girls.

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

I’m Not There Yet

I’m listening to Taylor Swift’s Last Kiss. Although it’s about losing a lover, something I’ve done all too frequently, the premise of loss is ever-present in my life and in this house. We’ve lost so much over too short a time. Oddly, the girls seem totally OK about Poppy’s absence. I didn’t see that one coming! Still, every night for the last two or three nights/days I’ve had dreams where I was happy and content because I knew my mother was still alive. I kept that feeling even after waking up, if only for a minute or two. I cried out for her, as I often did, to get our resident pee-pot, Snippet. In all fairness to the little snip, she came here with a bad bladder infection that wasn’t helped at all by two rounds of antibiotics. Plus, being used to larger dogs, we didn’t stop to consider that little dogs have little bladders. The upshot of it all is that Mom was doing LOTS of puppy laundry. Now, it’s up to me. Thankfully, the cranberry pills we’d started giving her over a month ago and stopped about the week Mom died, seem to have worked. Now, watch. I’ll bet she pees tonight or tomorrow morning before I can get her out.

This house feels so empty. I keep wondering if my prescient thought as a teen had anything to do with Mom’s death. I knew when I was a teenager that I wouldn’t be able to live my life until my mother died. I didn’t want her to die at all. It’s just something that I knew to be the truth. I feel so guilty about thinking that way. Unfortunately, it’s the truth, as much as I wish it wasn’t. It’s as though God took my mother so I could be free. I’d been putting off my application to the grad program in Journalism at Kent State because I just didn’t like the way my mother was getting around. More accurately, not getting around. I was so worried that something would happen to her and I’d be an hour away, unable to do anything. If she’d had an aortic dissection while I was in Kent, I don’t think I would have been able to cope. In my eyes, it would be my fault. Mom kept telling me to go and do this and gave me a lot of encouragement, not wanting me to worry about her But if I didn’t worry about her, who would? Her brothers are all wrapped up in their own drama. Her oldest brother is married to a toxic waste dump of a woman. Actually, I think I called her a puta, not that she’ll ever know what language that’s in to look it up. No matter, she is what she is and my uncle married her, so she’s his problem until she makes herself mine.

It’s been a few days over a month since Mom died. I feel like it was yesterday. It’s taking me forever to do the simplest things. I need to get the VIN # for the van I drive and add another checking account # to the list of things the attorney needs to open an estate. It would take less than five minutes to do, but it feels as though it will take five hours. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. I don’t know whether it’s because of the coming sinus infection or depression. Perhaps it’s a little of both. How can I feel so empty and so full at the same time? I feel very alone in the world, although I know I’m not, at least not completely. But it’s true that once the funeral or memorial service ends, the survivors are on their own. That pretty much describes me. It’s just three girls and me. If anything were to happen to one of them, I think I’d die right there. I pray each time I go anywhere that God will keep me safe so that I can come back to my girls. I’m all they have. Frankly, I don’t think they or what’s left of the family can support another loss. Since darn near everyone in the family from sea to shining sea knows me, I think I’d be missed a bit.

There was someone else in my dreams recently. Robin. God, I can barely type her name. She hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I think back to that day when we were all at Oberlin. She walked past the car or van or whatever and I stared at her and then decided to speak. All I did was say “Hello.” She said “Hello” in response. That’s been the sum of our conversations. It’s been over 25 years and I still can’t accept that he chose her instead of me. I have to do it. The person with whom I fell in love does not exist anymore. What’s left is a horrible shell of that person’s basest being. How long am I going to mourn him? I don’t know. How long does love last? I will always be in love with the person who was and I can’t bring him back any more than I can bring my mother back to life. It’s strange that Mom would tell me that we’d find our way back to each other. Maybe she said it to make me feel better, but that’s not her style. Platitudes were her style. Spoken premonitions, especially about a man she could barely stand, were not. The funny thing is that I think he doesn’t want me around because I do jeopardize his marriage. Maybe that’s why he did what he did. Or, more probably, he can’t stand me, or is at least telling himself that.

The two people I love most in the world don’t love me. Mandy could call me from where ever she is, but she hasn’t even bothered to check in with me to find out how I’m doing. Whose fault is that? Both of us have played a part in this mess. I never should have told her. She’s distancing herself and I can understand. I lost one of my best friends because I was afraid of losing her without her knowing how I felt. Was it really that important? I’ll never know. Glenn won’t call for reasons I don’t understand. As I’ve said before, there’s more going on here than I realize. I can feel it. Still, I’m going to have to accept that he’s married to someone else and has been for a very long time now. There was a time when I wished her ill. I don’t anymore. I don’t because she doesn’t deserve it. If anyone in that family deserves something horrible, it’s Glenn himself. But I don’t want anything to happen to him either. When all is said and done, neither of them should be part of my life. I think I’m going to write to Mandy. It’s time someone called this game due to bad timing.

Oh, I didn’t feel like eating again today. My stomach hurts and generally doesn’t feel well. But the real reason for not eating is just that I didn’t want to.

I forgot to add that Clayton the neighbor is getting freaky. He ran his hand across my cheek from behind and it repulsed me. I pretended that it didn’t happen, but I fear that I’m going to have to set him straight soon. I don’t relish that conversation because I really do need a male around to help me out. I just don’t want to sleep with him in order to get what I want. That’s especially true since I don’t want to do anything that would hurt Sharon. She’s a good person.