I talked to your cousin today. You know the one who is like your foster-brother.
I have wanted to text/call/Facebook him so many times and I just don’t, because of your uncle. I’m sure you know what a sticky situation that is.
Your cousin regrets that you didn’t know that you could be real with him. He then told me, since you trusted me, he would too. He told me the same thing happened to him then he named a few other names.
I love you.
I don’t know if you would approve of this friendship that is forming between your cousin and me. He has tons that he says he wants to say to me, and after all the crazy, and understanding why you kept friends and family separate, he feels safe. I told him about the horrible night. The suction night. The Gown night. How I wanted to kill someone and walking away. How upsetting it is to me, that this is the last time I saw your beautiful almond-shaped eyes. They did smile at me in those last days. I do find peace in that, but it just sucks that the last time we locked eyes, was in that moment of fucking of trauma.
I remember asking you if you could feel me or anyone holding your hand when we were sitting with you. You were still on the life support and unable to nod. You blinked your eyes, slowly. Twice. I asked you if you could squeeze my hand, and you did.
I also remember the night that I whispered in your ear about your daughter. Knowing you needed to say you were sorry to her, helping you to be able to do that and hoping that I gave her some kind of peace and ability to not blame herself for the boat YOU captained. I remember looking at you and hearing you try to push air out and seeing your lips trying to move. I heard an “Uhhhhh” sound. I watched your lips and could see you purse your lips like you were trying to get sound out. I realized you were trying to tell your daughter, “I Love You”. I asked you if you that was what you were trying to say. We were at the second hospice by then. No life support. You were able to nod yes. I wish you knew how beautiful that moment was.
Talking to your cousin today, we were contemplating a drink, which I am sure means a drink and a bowl. I told him I couldn’t see anyone till I clear up my scabies I brought back from Texas. We talked about that and then I said, I wonder what she would say to that. He didn’t miss a beat, other than he called you that name you told me to NEVER FUCKING CALL YOU. He said “She would be laughing her ass off.” I can’t even type your
fake family name.
I am sure, I will always be a little mad at you, but I can’t carry around what I have carried for a while now. I have to forgive it all. Mostly because I love you, but also because I understand, and know that forgiving you is what I will do in the end. I’d rather always love you and not hate you. You have always had the best of me and never judged the worst of me. And my secrets that I told you? Well you never spilled a single bean, judged me for them, and you took them with you. I will do the same with you. Except the one your daughter figured out. That cat is out of the bag, but she and I are the only ones who know. She wasn’t surprised.
Don’t take it the wrong way if I let myself forget some of the really bad that happened in Texas. Every bit of it sucked, but there were moments I thought I was going out of my mind.
Leaving you? Oh my fucking god. Each mile closer to the airport was horrible. I felt like I needed to stay till you were gone, but I had to get back to work. I changed planes somewhere. I don’t remember where. Maybe Utah? I stopped to get something to eat between flights. I was sitting at a table outside this burger place. I was trying to choke down some food and thinking, “Mel is dying and I am sitting here eating. Mel’s not dying. I wouldn’t leave her. The doctors are wrong. She can’t die…” it went on and on and under it all was the knowledge, that you my love, were gone from my life. There was one moment when I thought I was going to start screaming. I don’t know what I was going to scream, I just remember wanting to scream and knowing this could not be fucking happening.
Suddenly there was a man in my face. He smiled and looked at me and asked if I was alright?
I remember looking at him and nodding yes and then my lip quivered. My eyes got hot. I felt my crazy start to spin. He asked, “Did you lose someone?”
I managed to tell him my best friend was laying in a hospice in DFW and I was on my way home.
He talked to me and said words I don’t remember. I remember is calm, warm, smiling face. I remember realizing what he was doing and thanking him. He replied with, “I just gave you a place to get away for a minute.” I again thanked him. He gave me his card. I found him on Facebook a few weeks later, because I know water seeks its own level as does energy.
His name is Michael.
He was like my angel in that moment of insanity.
I miss you so bad and wish we could sit and talk about this. Maybe some day?
I don’t want to be ready to do that, but I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it and how absolutely easy it would be to just give up this time.
He doesn’t deserve that from me. He would hate me. Because I would just go pick one up, and use it. I love you, but I don’t hate myself enough to do that anymore. I know, one day I will feel you again, and that will be an awesome, awesome fucking day.
Not because I want to play in victim-hood.
Not because I hate “him”.
But because I saw “him” yesterday and I am confused.
My stomach fell when I got the text that some of my tax papers went there. I thought I had seen him for the last time.
I knew I couldn’t go to his place alone and get the papers, so I offered to meet someplace for lunch.
He wanted to see me, so he immediately offered to come this way. The more I thought about it, that was a good idea, just have him come by here and have three other people around me. I felt safe.
When I saw him, there was no heart flutters. My body didn’t react. I knew neither would happen. It was strange though to sit there for twenty minutes, and play nice with “him”, the guy who literally broke my face. “Him” the guy who laughed when I asked for half the respect his dog got, and said, “Like that will ever happen.”
He brought the guy I liked over, not the guy I grew to fear and hate. He was on his best behavior. When we sat and passed things between us, I saw how he purposely touched me, and looked into my eyes as much as he could. I saw glimpses of the guy who used to cause me a burning desire to kiss up one side of his face and down the other. I wanted to go ahead and hug him when he left, but it felt so completely wrong, hugging the person who caused me tens of thousands of dollars in reconstructive surgery, because I know he is hoping.
I’m confused how after all of it, I am still concerned about hurting his feelings and yet there is a part of me that wants to tell him how very much I have enjoyed living in a closet the last year*, compared to dying inside with him. Yet I won’t say that because it’s mean.
I’m confused because tonight when I got a text saying “Very nice c ing u”, I didn’t respond. I didn’t say, “Do you wish you would have listened when I warned you to be nice to your toys?” I didn’t say, “It was awkward as fuck, seeing you! I’m glad it’s over and I’ll be moving soon where you won’t know where I am at!”
Yet I feel sure, I did the right thing, once I actually left and stayed gone. (Yeah, I went back after the face breaking, just to make sure it was what it was. Dry laugh.) I love the way my life has changed and I am sure I am a better person because of what I went through after the “events”, as I call them. Him and her.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about her here, but I love her, still…rejection and all.
I just can’t take another 48 years of life, like it was. My God, I don’t think I could even take another five. I think about the things that “could be”, and the powers that could be…if they kill us all today, I can’t say I am OK with it, but I am not afraid of my life ending. Either way, I’m going to find out what comes next and I don’t feel like if I were to exit today, I would leave full of hate. THAT means something to me.
Why does it feel so important to forgive and understand that people do fucked up things because they had fucked up things done to them and like the rest of us, don’t know how to deal (release) with it.
It wasn’t till I realized all the hate I had festering in me wasn’t hurting the people I wanted hurt, that I was able to stop hating. It took seeing what I had allowed that hate do to MY LIFE, and how it spiraled out of control in all areas of my life. When I realized I passed it on to her…I had to forgive myself.
I claimed my freedom over a year ago, it is the most precious thing in the world to me. My freedom was finding MY value. I never knew I had value. My freedom was finding love and living from there. My freedom came the day I realized that I deserve nothing less than love, as do you.
I truly wish him peace and hope he has learned something from me so more mascara stains aren’t left on the pillow that had mascara stains on it when I moved in.
And you thought the post called, “In My Closet”, was all metaphor!