Sands of Time

I’m fucking losing my mind is all….

I changed my mind. Don’t give her any of this to listen to or read.
It’s not that neither of us could use another perspective.
It’s not that I’m the crazy psycho bitch from hell and he’s the ginormous, misogynist dick.
It’s that she’s smart.
And she’ll see the darkness.
You’re next, m’dear.
Now you know how it ends.
And it always ends,
It’s just a matter of time.

a small slice. It will heal, right? It’s smaller than the scar carved on my heart..

I woke up crying.
I reached for…what…oh, the knife,
It was out on the bed.
Dammit.
I thought of how careful I need to be here.
To keep it sheathed.
How easy it would be.
As easy as he did to me.
But far more lethal.
I tend to nick in defense.
And I did by telling him he needed to put the shoes of ignoring and hear-hurts and abandonment back on, and give them another go around the block.
Purposeful wording,
A nick.

I have only once had the need to cut off the head of the monster with deliberate precision. An act of self-preservation.

When you trust, you become all the more vulnerable.
Others hold your secrets,
see your darkness
use it against you.
Jaded. I am so jaded today.

Five hours of sleep isn’t going to sustain me.

I stuttered as a child. I don’t actually remember stuttering, but I remember having speech therapy in the auditorium. I remember we did that for a long time. Or what seemed like a long time for a child of 6. And then we were done and I suppose it went away. I mean, I’ve never stuttered.
Yesterday. It started yesterday, and I know what it is to stutter. Embarrassing. Limiting. Confusing,

6 days. Nothing. Not a word.

Not, give me some time. Not, I’m pissed at you.

Not fuck you. Nothing.

welp.

No answer is an answer

no action is an action.

I’ll probably regret it like drinking too much tequila.

Foolish woman that I am,

I said what I had to today.

Why the fuck not. I have nothing to lose.

I’m sick over this.

I am angry. So very angry

Hurt.

My. Heart. Hurts.

Maybe I’m the asshole.

Maybe I’m the psycho bitch from hell.

14 years in January.

This isn’t about me…

He cut me. deliberately. easily. with precision

didn’t have the decency to hand me a tourniquet

as I bled out on the sidewalk and he walked away.

I thought…

I thought my Anam Cara was walking with me to the next fork

to help witness me

that fork

my death.

A death that will come too soon

Ah…promises of never doing this again.

An offer to be my executor.

To mind my blog

everything is..until it isn’t

He was always like coming home to me

Again, my heart has no home…

I ha have never hated anyone

I I I’ve never uttered the the the words

And it it tttook everything i i i had to

na na not say

I hate you for treating me this way,

be be because I sshould

and I da da da don’t

But I I I can’t do th th this anymore

I’m na na not the bad person he’s ma making me out to be.

The battle in my head for some time is what to do with the numerous journals-both formal and informal, and of course, this blog, when I die.

There is a good deal here and in my journals that I really don’t think my children want to read.

I had a conversation with my cousin a few weeks ago about this. What do I do? Destroy everything? He was shocked. He told me that he would give *anything* to know more about his own father. His thoughts, his mind, his process. And to deprive my children of that knowledge would be a most selfish act. Stunning. I just never considered that perspective. He said just preface it with, if you feel uncomfortable reading something, then don’t. It’s on them. You’ll be dead.

I’ve decided that one year after my death, I will have Gene give access to this blog to my children. They can do what they like. Maybe then they will finally understand and know me not just as Mom, but as a person.

have a little fun.

Ice cream and a swing in the park.

A blanket and a book.

A kite on a nearly cloudless day.

A drink, a dance, a smile

Normal…

There is no normal anymore and it fills my heart with the sadness of loss for these small things that once bought me joy,

Where is the joy?

bone crushing, all-encompassing, sadness

sitting in the corner crying, sadness

Oh, Anam Cara, Why?

Why are you so mad?

Why do you reject me?

Punish me?

Ignore me?

Be deliberately hurtful and mean-spirited?

If it’s intentional, it’s working.

If it’s not intentional and you’re just being an ass,

It still feels like abandonment.

my. heart. hurts.

What have I done?

What have I said?

What have you assumed without asking?

I thought we were never going to do this again.

I thought…

I have nothing to offer you

no PhD’s and Masters degrees,

half a million dollar homes, hot tubs and saunas,

high powered jobs and money galore

hot cars and nice clothes

a hot, toned, fuckable body.

I just have me. Me

my heart,

my unconditional love

an apology

you should never get my snark and frustration

even tho you occasionally do.

I’m not a swipe left kind of gal.

You’re not a swipe left kind of guy,

I want to see you. soon. sooner than later.

not in a month

or 6 months

or 2 years.

Whatever needs to be said should be face to face.

Good, bad, or otherwise.

We owe each other that bit of respect.

I want to see the anger/disappointment/disdain in your eyes

I want you to see the hurt in mine.

Anything less is cowardly.

I guess everything is. Until it isn’t

just, so. very. sad.

sitting on the floor, crying, sad

What is your set point?

Mine is cantankerous with a sprinkle of sarcastic amusement of the absurd.

Oh, and I hope they serve good sweet milk stouts and wine in hell. Just sayin’

With every loss, for every scar stitched across our heart, remember that those scars limit neither the size of our heart nor our capacity to Love.

The heart always grows larger to accommodate the loss.

Death is my constant companion.

We walk side by side,

silent,

a shadowy presence

I often wonder if anyone else can see his shadow next to mine.

There are times I shrink in horror the thought,

at other times I long to grab his hand,

take me away, give me peace.

The line I walk is thin between two worlds

of the living and the eternal.

Cast me gently

Into morning

For the night has been unkind

Take me to a

Place so holy

That I can wash this from my mind…

(Answer, Sarah McLachlan)