Say Please Mother Fucker

Why the fuck did I call T. last night and ask him if we thought we had a future together and tell him that I love him and always will? Why? Why? Why?

He texted me about going to his apartment to get a few of my things that are still there—Christmas ornaments some of which I’ve had for 30 years.

I want him to want me. I want him to cry, beg, and say please. I want him to regret losing me. I want him to suffer like I suffered. So not Christian I know. But, it’s the truth. He fucking gutted me.

He has no idea what is going on out here. I didn’t tell him about the intensive course I’m taking or the Burning Bed. Neither did I tell him about Boss Lady. I for damn sure well did not tell him about this blog.

“Get a journal,” he said, “write down your feelings. See a therapist as much as you can.”

KISS MY WHITE ASS ON THE CRACK (Name the movie) TWAT WAD!

From the moment he picked up the phone he acted like everything was fine. For over an hour he talked about himself mainly: prospective new jobs, moving after just signing a lease, forcing Cinderella to spend time with him, insurance not covering diabetes, his being put upon by the State with his DUI restrictions, and general woe of being unappreciated.

He is doing the same thing that Asshole did. He’s underestimating me. By the end of the conversation he’s trying to give me hope that there’s a chance for us—and “I don’t know.” “Oh, I feel the same,” I said.

NOT!

There is no chance for us. There never was. I met him with I was literally cognitively   impaired and OD’ed in his bed. He was the first face I saw when I came too.

Let me explain to you what a horrible, jarring shock it is to close your eyes thinking you’ll be with Mother Mary and the next clear memory telling the EMTs to let you die and swearing at a cop because all the pills you took caused you to use the bathroom. The cop did not like me in bathroom by myself when he arrived on the scene of an OD. Next memory is waking up on dialysis and seeing T.

Planned Itinerary: 150 lithium and klonopin chased by a beer and then be with Mother Mary.

Revised Itinerary: T. calling 911 and me ending up in a warehouse nut house. I’ve been in two nut houses. The first one was the fucking Waldorf Astoria compare to the second hospital. Have you even talked with someone who has staples in his bald tattooed head and neck because he tried to kill him family and then himself? I have. And, he was one of the nuts I felt safe around.

T. being there for me—any port in a storm.

Any port in the storm.

That man died in a whiskey bottle.

Why does it even bother me what he thinks? If my identity is based on what Christ is to me, then his thoughts about me are moot. I didn’t speak from a place of truth last night. If I had the conversation would have turned ugly on his part first and/or he would have shut me out.

I want to be “in” with him because I want to know what’s going on? Why? I want to know that his is miserable. Nice Christ-like identity, Kate.

He says he is cured of his alcoholism. It’s over. It’s all good. He has gone through all the steps and he’s going through them again. He’s great. I don’t remember any amends being made—Step 9. Five days detox in ICU, acute liver and kidney failure, medically induced coma---cured his drinking. Oh, and those 21 days he spent at that shit rehab. And, yes, it was a shit rehab. He’s cured. Why, one of his AA buddies wanted to set T. up with his sister. But, T. is focusing on his own recovery and on himself. (Run, sister, run.) He is platinum.

I am sitting on the edge of the well. I am not even treading water at the bottom anymore. I crawled out and I’m on the edge. I can see light and still see darkness. I’m not platinum. It doesn’t matter how he’s doing. I feel like such a loser with this post. But, I’m better than I was. I am out of the well. I don’t think about killing myself every day. That’s no small thing.

He has to blow into a breathalyzer to start his car and he has lost his 30-year crutch. He can’t be okay. From the beginning—on our first date—he lied. He lied every day of our relationship. He is lying now.

I just can’t forgive him…or myself. I just can’t forgive him…or myself.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: Hail Mary Full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou among women and Blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Today is the Assumption of Mother Mary. Usually a Holy Day of Obligation—but since it fell on a Monday, the Vatican says it’s not an obligatory day because Sunday’s mass can count for today also. What? I can’t find a mass to go to on a Day of Holy Obligation—but this year it’s not obligatory. Next year it’s on a Tuesday and obligatory. Good thing Mother Mary is so fickle with her love and devotion to us.

PPS: I am so glad I blogged instead of writing him a letter.

PPPS: This song says it all for me.

Saving Jane Say Please

well, i cried out my eyes the night that you left
and i begged for a sinner’s reprieve
and i’ll never forget the shame that i felt
when you loosened my grip on your sleeve
you said “baby, you didn’t do anything wrong-
there’s just something that i have to see”
and i said “i’ll never forgive you for this-
not even if you say please”

i wanna hear you say please, baby, please
i’m stupid, i was wrong
and you knew it all along
so get
down on your knees, baby
swallow up your pride
you know, it wouldn’t hurt to cry, and say please..

after you left, you know it took me awhile
to get myself off of the ground
it was maybe a month before thy got me to smile
baby, i’ve never been so down
i know you think that i’m just being mean
and you’re right, cuz i’m still mad at you
so if you want back in my graces tonight
there’s just one thing you gotta do

i wanna hear you say please, baby please
i’m stupid, i was wrong
and you knew it all along
so get
down on your knees, baby
swallow up your pride
you know, it wouldn’t hurt to cry, and say please..

you must have thought i was clay in your hands
that i needed the strength of your two legs to stand
well, baby guess what, i’m standing just fine
it turns out that i’ve got a little steel in my spine

and i hope you got a box with a pretty bow on top
give me all the shiny things, your apologies and rings
let me make this very clear
i gotta see you shed a tear
baby, i can wait all night, so if you wanna make this right
say please..