June 9, 2013
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the letter…
He shoots me a text. The weather has cleared and they’re going to the rally. He’ll be back on Sunday at 11:30 pm. Too late to expect me to show up.
Thank fucking God.
I’m laid up with strep throat, as are the kids. I nap a great deal and try to find things to soothe my throat. I’m in agony. The antibiotics don’t seem to work for me. If I’m not better later, then back to the walk in clinic I go.
I take a few hours and write in longhand. It’s a note to D. I’m breaking it off. Angel me and Devil me say nothing, even as I hand the note to them in turn to read. Maybe they don’t believe I’ll hand it to him, but I will. I won’t see him until next weekend. I can’t imagine that he’ll contact me this week. I won’t have the kids next weekend. They should go to their father on Thursday. He’ll have them through Father’s Day.
I play it through in my head. I’ll go to D’s. He’ll tell me about the motorcycle trip, show me photos maybe. I’ll nod and act amazed by his wonderful adventure, then I’ll hand over the letter.
I can’t mail it. The damned thing is 9 pages long. Admittedly, it got out of hand, but my heart is at peace. He’ll not have a reply. I’ll leave, and never return.
Maybe I’ll leave here, too.
I released J from any obligations from our childhood. I’m releasing them all. Walking away from them all, which is something I should have done years ago. When it felt right, and before the spider web of connections and invisible obligations caught me in it’s grip. I waited too long. Over 80 followers and friends I’ve never met send messages when I grumble that I’ll go. My friends in CA also contact me immediately, telling me not to go.
I run away and hide here. It doesn’t feel any safer here. I pull up Stone Temple Pilots “Big Empty”. It fits me tonight. My sore throat makes it difficult to stay on key, but I try.
But mostly….I need to find a place to be me.
