I love you. Good-bye.

Dear Hearts

I was going to blog about “What is Morality” since my last post was all about that loaded word. Then I was going to blog about the debates, since they are apparently the most important event occurring anywhere in the world tonight. Then I was going to blog about how fucking scared I am that Aunt Faerie and Bugsy are gone for two weeks on vacation and it’s just me a G-Pa and what if I need back-up, like an adult? Then I was going to blog about how fucking scary it is to have moved out here for real. Then I was going to blog about the mouse that has taken up residence in my underwear drawer.

Rather I will blog about what weighs on my heart my heavily.

I ended it with T. last night. Yeah, yeah, I ended it the last day of July, but we have been quasi-texting since then. Aunt Faerie asked me yesterday: WHY? Why do I have a compulsion to talk to someone who was so abusive to me? Was I needing a man in my life? Did I want to still be with him? Why.

I couldn’t answer her.

Then I called T. last night. We were on the phone for two hours. He’d been kinda texting me this weekend wanting to talk and getting offended that I didn’t answer, so last night I finished my catch-up episode of Tyrant and called him on my terms. We talked about OES (Order of the Eastern Star), the Burning Bed, my bangs, my embryonic life out here, my epilator, his breathalyzer-car starter locking him out (a real serious legal issue), and politics.

I was sending him info on the breathalyzer and helping him find answers. I was helping him. Secretly, I was a little, or more than a little, glad that he’s “in trouble.” But talking to him about OES and politics—it was easy. I remembered why we liked being together. There were good times. Yes, he was drunk or at least under the influence all of those times, but there were good times. I think he did love me.

But, he lost the privilege to be in my life and I needed to tell him that. I needed to speak my truth. Oh God, that sounds so Oprah. I needed to be honest with him and say that we can’t be in each other’s lives anymore because it’s not healthy for me. Or him.

The idea of cutting him out of my life felt…bad. It hurt. But, I know that I have to do it. I can’t just accept the apologies anymore. I have to move forward with my life here. So, cutting the ties that bind—it hurt a lot.

I shan’t go into everything that was said. To T.’s credit, he did not get angry or abusive. He really listened and heard me, I think. He was mostly honest with me.

You lied to me and broke my heart. You always said I was never to lie to you, but you lied to me every single day. You made up stories that never happened—or maybe you do think they happened. I don’t know. YOU CHOSE TO BE ABUSIVE. I OD’ed that night because I knew I was in re-run of my marriage. I was cognitively impaired when I met you. I loved the idea of us and wanted it to work so badly. You were my reason for living after my OD. You were my port in the storm. But threatening to fucking kill me is not okay. I offered you help again and again. I prevented you from hitting rock bottom because I literally picked you up off the floor. I think—know that you are drinking. You need to look have a convo with your demons and look at yourself honestly in the mirror. You have a problem and rehab for you was a joke. You were dying. Drinking Listerine is pretty fucking indicative of a severe problem. You hurt people in your life-you damaged people. You have lost the privilege of being in my life. I can’t have you in my life.

(I’m blogging with G-Pa who is eating dinner. I don’t want to eat this early. It’s like only 6 p.m. Is just sitting here with him in quiet good enough?)

T. apologized, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

I believe you, but I have heard that so many times.

You have this perfect, wonderful thing in your life: Cinderella. And you are worth fighting for.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “Everything I touch turns to shit. It’s my mother’s fault..I was never good enough.”

I told him about my revelations from the Burning Bed classes and my therapy—I grew in a domestically abusive household. I was violently bullied. I chose abusive men to be in my life because that’s why I knew. I am understanding why I made the choices I did. And, I’m trying to do Act II.

“How? Help me?”

I can’t help you. I can’t help you. I can’t help you. Ask for help yourself—rehab, AA, your parents, etc. I can’t do it. I can’t be the one.

Basically, he admitted he was still drinking and not just over all of it—that he didn’t know why he was abusive. He was fucked-up. I never heard that before. He was sincerely humble and asking for help.

He wanted me to keep talking about my revelations and my new perspective of life (that sound so Oprah!) because he said I was helping him.

I was honest. Then I lied about having to take G-Pa to the VA hospital early in the morning because I needed to be off the phone and it was 11.30. I wanted to watch a True Blood episode before I went to sleep. And, I couldn’t keep talking to him. I knew it would be too easy to keep him in my life if I kept talking to him—to easy to imagine a future…lie to myself again.

T. make ammends. 

I loved you and part of me will always love you. Good-bye.

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; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: God, please? Help me?