I guess you guys need some context clues and stuff about my first post.
I got secret married at the courthouse where sex offenders register.
Not because I married a sex offender, but just because sex offenders and newlyweds might as well learn to live in harmony.
I was in love. Like, stupid in love. Married after two months of dating. (Yea, I know. Shut up about it.) Dating after a drunk cat-call on a corner. Me, drunk cat-calling him while he smoked his cigarettes outside a comedy club.
He was hot and funny and charming and a disaster with great hair. Still is.
That went up in a legit chemical fire.
But, I don’t want to focus on figuring out why it burned up anymore.
I just want to learn to accept that it’s dead.
And I can’t revive it, nor do I want to revive it so, why bother dwelling on it?
And, really listen to me here. This ain’t no bash blog, homies.
Sorry if that disappoints you.
I honestly don’t want it to focus on him at all.
This is about me, people!
But, I also thought I owed you a little background since you were gracious enough to click on this blog and spend even a few minutes reading it.
This isn’t a documentary about my failed marriage. Surprisingly, I do like to keep some things private. And most importantly, I don’t want to hurt him. We’ve hurt each other enough. We don’t need to anymore. And I like to think he’d respect me enough to not bash me either. I am POSITIVE he has his own dirt on me.
I have stories to tell, but I think it’s always possible to live your truth without dragging other people through the mud.
At this point in the grieving of my dead, short-lived marriage..for me, it’s no longer about being mad and angry or what I think he did wrong, or what I should have done differently. It’s really just about how I feel now and what I feel like I lost, and more importantly – where do I go from here?
I started writing the first blog post before I was fully in the Don’t Be Angry Anymore, Dummy phase. That’s right people, I prepared that post well before launching it and even figured out how to schedule it so it came out on a specific day – my 30th birthday! I’m crazy smart, right?!
Now, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes, I really do want to punch him in the face and there are, certainly, horrible things I have said and could continue to say, but it doesn’t make me feel better and it only shows that I am still attached and hurting and it only proves that at the heart of all of my negative feelings, I loved and love him deeply.
And I think that is my true struggle – learning to accept that love wasn’t enough.
If I love big enough everything should be fine, right?
Nah, yo. The Beatles don’t know shit.
He has his own story and his own truth and I don’t want to take that away from him. We will never agree on what happened or who did what. And I know he is hurting, too. I hate it. Literally, no one has won in this situation. There wasn’t one thing, or one day, or one fuck up, or one of us that ruined us. It was both of us, and it was many, many things. Misunderstandings, misperceptions, miscommunication, missed opportunities, assumptions, insecurities, mental health, selfishness, enablement, and a lot of fucking baggage, and probably some self-fulfilling prophecies in there, too.
Side note: He definitely said, Take your negativity elsewhere, sweetie which PISSED ME THE FUCK OFF at the time, but that doesn’t represent his entire character or how he treated me throughout our relationship. And, I also said some pretty fucked up shit to him right before he said that. I mean..I still stand by it, but I’m sure it hurt him.
But, come on! I just couldn’t pass up that title.
Take Your Negativity Elsewhere, Sweetie.
It’s fucking great.
Mostly, I hope he can appreciate the humor in it and giggle and not feel like I’m using it against him, and understand that I’m using it FOR ME. To cope and turn it into something positive to help me heal. But if not, ah well. My life and the next steps I take aren’t about him or his feelings anymore. It’s about me, and I think the title is great and I’m the boss of this blog, dammit!
I said and wrote a lot of awful shit at first.
I have a laptop overflowing with Die, Dan, Die –ish poetry and journal entries. Maybe I’ll share them at some point, because that part is important, too. Getting through the anger and to the other side.
But, I really don’t feel as angry as I once did.
Which was really scary to let go of.
One of my friends said it was easy to stay angry and it was hard to let go because it was the only thing left connecting me to the man I loved and the life that was leaving me.
He was right.
Anger is awful and toxic and it kept me thinking about him. It kept me missing him and it kept me still using all of my energy on him. He wasn’t even doing anything or saying anything new to me at that point, but my anger was allowing him to still hurt me.
And I don’t wanna hurt no mo!
When I decided to let go of that anger, it was the biggest relief I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
Here is a very unprofessionally typed message I sent to my secret committee of good friends the day I decided to try to stop being angry and the day I stopped engaging in the toxic do-si-do that was our relationship. I had left our home months ago, but just in the last few weeks I finally decided to really let him go.
Ahem, okay, this is me messaging my friends about my real-as-shit epiphany. No editing:
So I cried on the way home. With happy tears for the first time in a long time. Happy because I simply didn’t email him back. I didn’t do anything! I didn’t want to do anything! And it’s the best thing I’ve ever accomplished in my whole life. This silly, small moment of simply doing nothing. To HAVE CONTROL OVER MY GODDAMN EMOTIONS. And i realized I could actually feel what felt like a cement slab lifting off my chest. I could feel his stupid wrath falling away from my skin and my throat and my fucking teeth. And I think I’ve finally learned that I can let him go. And he’s going. Not because he wanted or chose to go. But because I’m unhooking him and I want him to fucking go already. Holy fuck. I feel great. I mean I just ate a Wendy’s 4 for 4 so technically I should feel horrible but I feel like a goddamn super hero. I feel like I’m probably gonna get hit by a bus or something cause that’s what happens when people start feeling good, right? But I don’t give a shit! I feel like I would die really really happy.
And, I really am happier.
And, I’m letting him go.
I love him dearly. And I even miss him. But, I am taking him down off the top tier of the most important things in my life. That’s my spot now.
I wont throw him away, but I will carefully file him among The Others. All the people I continue to wish the best for.
No one deserves to be unhappy and at some point in our lives most of us will have to live with being left or the one who did the leaving. Both sides can be messy and I don’t wish it upon anyone.
What I wish for is love and strength, for both of us.
Love and strength to forgive ourselves.
To face some things we’ve been afraid of.
And mostly, to let go of the burdens we think we still have to carry.
We don’t have to carry them anymore, lovey.
This blog is me letting him go. And moving on. And I’m going to try my best to focus on myself and my loved ones and the rest of the awesome shit that I know is ahead of me.
He was hot and funny and charming and a disaster with great hair. Still is.
But, it’s time for him to go.
Or, should I be the one going?
I don’t know.
I’m not a real author.
You guys can just re-arrange the endings to my stories like those weird Choose Your Own Adventure Books because none of those authors wanted to make any decisions, either. Buy this book and write it yourselves, stupid kids!
K, that’s it for today.
I was looking for a picture to post, but found this poem by one of my favorite people. Someone I get to personally and proudly call my friend and who has been a part of this wonderful support system I never knew I had and who I will never be able to thank enough. I appreciate you friend, and the honest and beautiful art you make and share with the rest of us.
Check her instagram out at: @jabpoet