The Tears Won't Come

Dear Hearts,

It’s been decided. I am leaving, yes, I am leaving, not letting go of, not getting rid of, LEAVING My House, henceforth known as House. It hasn’t been My House in a very long time.

I am not at peace with the decision.

 There is still are still voices in me that is screaming: “KEEP IT! KEEP IT! DON’T LET IT GO! YOU FOUGHT FOR IT! YOU LOVE IT!”

But I think that voice is maybe the demons. I think those words maybe lies.

I was very struck by the description of House that I had written of House in 2007—not even in 2005, in the midst of Asshole’s psychotic break, but two years later.

Excerpt

“Asshole wasn’t home.  I was thankful.  I sat in my car and looked at it: crouching, looming, waiting to consume me, waiting for it to suck me into its depths and crush me to death.  My new house was daring me to enter.

Some days I would give up all we have now—a six bedroom house with 4.7 acres, a small pond, a nineteenth-century barn, four car garage—to go back to our charming little renter and my blissful ignorance that my marriage was perfect.

           

I did not want to get out of the car.  I wanted to drive home to my parents’ house.  I turned around in the driver’s seat and looked at the two trailers occupying a few acres across the very close road.  I would never walk out this front door naked.

           

I looked back at the looming demon that I was parked in front of.  I felt betrayed.  I married a man who never yelled out me, tolerated my every eccentricity, lack of domestic skills, and preoccupation with work.  Since the house search had begun the man I married was a stranger.  I used to pull up our rented driveway hoping to see his truck; now I pulled up our mortgaged driveway hoping to not see his truck…

…I turned my attention back to the yellow-brown monstrosity in front of me.  I thought about Albatross and wondered how we ever thought that we would live in such a cramped space and afford all the repairs and additions.  But, I also looked at the six-bedroom house that had my name on the deed, and wondered what had possessed me to say, “Yes, I want to mortgage my life for this house.”  I fucking hated it.  I fucking hated the neighbors.  I fucking hated what my marriage had become.  I fucking hated myself.

…Nothing was right here.”

Excerpt Stop

I forgot that I was that unhappy. 2007…now that I look back…yes, things were so bad for so long. 

This isn’t about my marriage—well it is—but I am leaving House.

I was unhappy there. Always, or at least the majority of the time, I think.

I am going to backslide. I will become suicidal again. I will end up at the bottom of the well. No, I am not assuming, Mom, at least if I anticipate it, then it won’t surprise me.

When I go back East after Easter I am going to pack up House. I will take all my precious things from there. I am not waiting. My car (Thanks be to St. Jude) will tow a U-Haul trailer. I have to leave “or something sacred is gonna die.”

I put Marcia’s picture back up. She is not my Suicide-Heroine. She was smart, beautiful, talented, had the best treatment in the country, but she still fell to CD. Keeping her picture up reminds me that I am not a total fucking loser—that other “intelligent, good, accomplished” people fall to CD.

None of it seems real. I have to do it. I will have to disseminate all my precious things and furniture among here, Mom and Dad’s House, and a storage unit. Some—or a lot—I will have to let go. Not my Barbies or books.

I want to cry, but the tears won’t come.

I feel like a fuck up for having waited until House caused me to be in financial crisis mode. I really did my best…

I need to stop praying for peace to come to me with my decision and instead pray for the strength to do it. It’s on me. Not Mom, Dad, Gaia, Johnny. It’s on me.

I just keep having to say it…I am going to do it and this spring I will return to The Holy City with a U-Haul trailer and Here I Stay.

God?...Maybe...Mother Mary...Saint Jude...

Happy 40^th. Good job.

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, Jed.

Grateful For:

Chocolate, chocolate chip pie

Angel

Health

Family

Faith.

I AM SO SORRY MOMMY AND DADDY