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My Profile
Because I can't bear to eulogize Doug - 2008-08-19
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10:43 a.m. - 2004-05-20
I’d like to thank everyone for their kindness recently. Sweet Amy sent a lovely letter. One of the things she asked was whether I was putting up a false face here. Of course I am. How else to cope? I feel like some no-neck thug tooled up on me with a baseball bat. I hurt so much inside it’s hard to breathe. Finally facing up to the knowledge that nothing is EVER going to change between me and Mike is so bitter and horrible I’ve barely begun to process it. It’s the last thing, you know? The last major relationship of my life and it’s gone into the toilet too. Hell, it’s probably always been in the toilet, I’ve just finally gotten around to noticing I was swimming with the turds. I wonder sometimes what kind of horrible person I was in my last life that I should spend this one being betrayed and fucked over by those who were supposed to love me. What the hell did I do? Was I Hitler or something? What lesson am I supposed to learn? Love is a lie? Only fools dare to believe? That only pure-D idiots expect to be taken care of? Trust is a sucker’s game? I have no answers. Sometimes I comfort myself a bit by thinking the cycle is broken. The beatings, the drunkenness, the terrible abuse stopped with me. My kids grew up free. But is it really true? Alex is fat and unhappy and has zero work ethic. Wolf? Who knows what Wolf will turn out like? He could grow up to be another John Wayne Gacy. It’s possible. Not likely, but possible. My best wasn’t good enough with my kids. What kind of hideous cosmic joke is my MS? I wanted three things from this life: love, a child and to travel. The kid I got. Two of them. Travel? My passport’s due to expire soon and it’s still unused. I’m trapped in this house and have to negotiate for a week to get my husband to drive me to Sam’s Club. The only world I’m ever going to see is what’s right outside the windows of my six room prison. 1.5 acres of wide horizon. No passport required. And love? Don’t make me laugh. I think we’ve pretty much settled that love ain’t coming my way. After all, my sister was listed as an only child in my mother’s obituary. My biological father sold me to get out of paying child support. My rash teenage first marriage ended when my ex took a swing at me for mixing up the dinner plates and serving him the one with fewer mushrooms. (He counted them.) And for the last 22 years I’ve been hammering on the wall of my husband’s indifference. Taking his shit because, hey, at least he didn’t beat me with his fists. Carrying on about underpants is about the only thing I can do that makes any sense. Practically, ~LA Today’s Pick: “Crazy Underwear” by Phoebe from Friends
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