I’m starting to feel insanely frustrated again.
Chris came by my work to drop off some stuff and an innocent miscommunication made me want to throw things because it seemed to represent every stupid thing he did and brought back lots of frustration and irritation. I hope I am invited to attend the all-day mindfulness retreat again this year because holy shit, I am going to need it by then.
Time to review… how appropriate that we were just discussing this last night, Tracy.
Wait to get mad until you find out what happens. In my defense, it was never a car wreck or amnesia or being held hostage. It was always just out doing whatever the hell he wanted, perfectly fine with letting me wonder and worry. That’s an asshole. At some point, long after the cheating started, he did finally start calling to let me know when he would be coming home. I guess once the cat is out of the bag, it’s okay to start communicating.
This is not helping. I have a few minutes left to rein in my rage.
Well, no wonder I was so angry all the time. Do you know how often I am angry now? Aside from periodic imaginary arguments or fantasies of dragging that bitch out of my house by her hair, I am actually quite sane. I’m nice. I’m calm. I’m not anxiety-ridden or frustrated. Sometimes I’m sad. I’m often sad. Why is it that once people find out he cheated, they can’t understand how I have any love left? What do you think I have been living on for the last few years?
Ugh, ugh. No wonder it was stressful to come home to me. No wonder I was always angry, dipshit. Long before this recent bullshit, you always did whatever you wanted, disregarding common courtesy, common decency! It is embarrassing that I never left and you had to end it for us. As angry as I am at you, eventually I will be grateful. The time I spend thinking about you are my only miserable moments. What makes them so miserable is feeling like a fucking idiot for hanging on so long. We had such love, though. Truly. That will exist forever, no matter how many people roll their eyes. That’s what makes this so hard, you know. I don’t hate you and I never will. My wrath towards your 10-years-younger bimbo is completely justified, but I feel no need to threaten her. The thought of harming her delights me, but I know that she is digging her own hole- she will need no help from me. Just from the things you shouldn’t have told me about her, it sounds like her life is already pathetic. If she had kept her disgusting self away from my family, I would feel empathy towards her and her clear lack of morals and self-esteem, but instead I wish for her everything that she deserves. I do not feel like this is misguided anger. I have a separate anger for you, one that is muddled with love and history. I direct a lot of that anger at myself for ever allowing you to treat me poorly. I shouldn’t have put up with it, but you shouldn’t have taken that as an invitation.
Now I know that you are not the only picture of bad behavior- I know what I did wrong too. I will try like hell not to do that ever again. We did have love, though, and we both made a mess of it. I was worth fighting for, though, and I kept waiting for you to realize it. I just thought this morning about Ant- what was it that I gave to him, my contribution. I realized that I provided probably a lot of things that no one else did, but one in particular that never occurred to me before. I was THERE. That’s it. Dorky, angry, emotional, wrong, contradictory, or whatever, I was THERE. His mother wasn’t there and neither were you. Be honest and you’ll see that you’re probably not even there much now. I was not perfect and I learned how to be a parent as I went along, making myriad mistakes and still managed to be something he desperately needed. People assure me that my influence is permanent, yet I wonder how five years could possibly have been enough.
Maybe it’s awful to write this here. I’m okay with that. I know that I have conveyed enough of you honestly over the years to show how silly and fun you are, how much you’ve accomplished through determination and talent, that you are smart and capable and adventurous and affectionate. And that I loved you dearly. You have an incredible son and I hope someday my blog will provide him a unique and funny view of the part of childhood that is often undocumented and forgotten. That, I guess, is a gift for you both. Keep it. Keep the memories and the love I have for you both forever. I’m off to find someone who cherishes me.
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