just words

i never wanted
perfect
i would have been
happy
with
kind
i would have traded the world
for someone
who
loved me
best
but…marriage vows
are just
words
really
no matter
how pretty they sound.

there is this thing dusty says to me whenever he feels the need to shut me up. he mentions this mysterious thing he whispered into my ear during our wedding ceremony. he brings it up knowing i have the memory of a chipmunk on mind altering drugs. he brings it up knowing i was so stressed out on our wedding day that i barely remember being there. he brings it up knowing i will feel bad for not remembering his great declaration of love.
or maybe i’m wrong.
but i’m not.
he brought it up recently when we were texting back & forth.
he texted, “i meant what i whispered in your ear that day.”
so i asked, “which day?”
and of course it was our wedding day to which he referred even though that was no where near to being the topic of our conversation.
yes, dusty, you are one up on me. i don’t know what you whispered. i just don’t fucking remember.
so i texted him back to confess that i was too hopped up on anxiety to remember anything from our wedding day.
so he finally told me those magical words that he has held as proof of his good intentions all these years:

i may not be perfect, but i will always love you.

so of course my response was what the fucking fuck? who asked for perfect? i would have settled for a dude who didn’t escape into a pot-induced video game haze instead of being present in our marriage. i would have settled for a dude who didn’t insult me on the day i buried my brother. i would have settled for a dude who helped change the diapers & got up at night to help me with the babies…or who fucking didn’t berate me for being pregnant. i would have settled for a dude who didn’t fuck around on me to punish me.

sigh.

so i told him, those are just words. anyone can say words. without the action to back them up…just..fucking..words.

Advertisements

i’m (not) fine!

old wounds
fall open
when you least expect
your insides
spilling out
on the hot
sticky
sidewalk
& you’re all like,
“that didn’t hurt,”
as you refuse
to let
anyone
help
you.

just stuff. processing everything, sometimes things surge to the surface and catch you off guard. but you keep processing through it. stitch it back in. continue the journey.

adrift

he is so good
at handing his problems
over to me
waiting for me to fix them
so he can blame me
when they just aren’t
fixed
does he even know
what i struggle with
every day?
he is so good at showing
his injuries to me
getting me to cry
over every little bump
& bruise
to his heart & soul
does he even see
how my injuries
bleed out
next to his
& leave me
empty?

okay. maybe you will understand. dusty thinks i have written him off because he was “honest” with me & told me about his still being in contact with hello kitty fuckface (not her real name.) he refuses to comprehend that the reason i am telling him to fuck the fuck off for good & forever is that fact that i have been asking him since 2013 to end his contact/relationship with her. that there should be absolutely no reason for him to be “honest” with me about her because she should not even be part of the equation.
five years.
five years of his using this other woman to manipulate me. holy fucking shit. why have i let him do this to me for five years?
seriously. what is the psychology behind that? am i a chump? a masochist? a desperate & lonely soul? that fucking desperate? that fucking delusional. that fucking dedicated to a happy ending?
what the ever-loving fuck.
and now i find myself having to learn to just walk away. it is so hard…so hard to just walk away. to suppress that urge to have the last word. to suppress that need for him to understand–to just fucking get it for once. i have to walk away. every word i say to him. every conversation i have–it’s the sticky strands of a spider web. his spider web. to keep me engaged…he just wants me to stay engaged…because then he somehow wins?
i don’t fucking know.
or fucking care at this point.
he keeps talking about how we need to talk…thing is, he never talks to me. he never listens to me…he just manipulates and plays me like a fucking pawn in his demented game.

guess what, motherfucker, i quit.

a foundation for failure

he’s built the groundwork
for my psychotic break
just one word
a whisper
& the grasp
i so desperately hold
on my reality
my sanity
crumbles
so many careful years
he spent
just building on
to damage done
by my parents
by other men
i even handed him
the ammunition
trusting
that he would not hurt me
with it.

though my ever-faithful tarot cards (as well as every other experience i have ever had with dusty) warned me there would be conflict and that it was best if i did not engage…just let it blow over…holy fuck, he knows how to get me to engage. i try so hard to walk away. i say over & over, “i don’t want to talk about it.” but dusty is relentless until there is nothing left of me. just a glimpse of who i used to be as i morph into something i never want to be.
one of my parents.

this was our last dance.
i asked for a sign, and i got it.
there is nothing left here.
i need to move forward.
like, nine years ago…but better late than never.

this journal page is dedicated to my friend nexus who has been very supportive & encouraging of my art…and who knows how it feels to burn at the stake ❤

feeding the scavengers.

the predators
come at night
whether you believe in them
or not
the predators
come
at night is when
you should leave
little sacrifices
gifts
so that those
scavengers
know
they are welcome
if not wanted
that yours is a protected space
give them a little
but not too much
& send them
on their
way.

something is living in my compost. or, at least, visiting every night.
i bury things, he digs them up.
every night.
and i wonder if i should dig a deeper hole, or just leave the scraps on top and hope for the best.
he dug up the remains of the lambs (the remains of the lambs an anthony hopkins mash-up coming soon to a theater near you)…and digs them up again every time i try to put them to rest anew.
so the other night, i butchered a duck. i went ahead and did it on top of my compost and just left any unused parts laying out for my compost dweller.
my thinking is that if i keep the critter fed, it won’t set its sights on any living creatures in my yard.
is this faulty thinking?
i don’t think so.
there is enough for all of us…i can live & let live as long as my compost companion does the same.

in other scavenger news…
dusty will not stop texting me. fuck a fuck a fuck. seriously? he is trying to evoke a response from me, and i am seeing what he says for what it is–bait. manipulation. espousing his own reality as if it were fact.
it is nice to be able to spot the bullshit…but i wish i did not have to.
he is due to visit saturday morning through sunday for iggy’s birthday.
i am trying to mentally prepare myself…but mostly i just feel pissed off & stressed out & filled with dread.
then i remembered another fucking thing. april 22nd, the day after iggy’s birthday, is the 8 year antiversary of our divorce. i divorced him 8 years ago.
eight years.
why haven’t i managed to move further away from him in those 8 years????
but at least i’m moving now.
i’m moving now.
watch me go.

wondering

wonder
wondering
feel…feeling
so overwhelmed
by what goes on inside me
trying to decipher
this
chaos
what is good
what to hold
onto
what is bad
what to let
go?

i have let go of dusty. again.
i have no desire to have the same argument with him…explaining my feelings until i am blue in the face & he responds by saying, “yes, but…” and asking me to explain them again in a different way.
i’m done.
i am so done.
i have no desire to talk to him, to see him.

of course…this weekend iggy turns ten…and i have already invited him down/agreed to his coming down. with his sister & his sister’s girlfriend and their child.

how am i going to do this?
how am i going to not ruin iggy’s birthday?

sigh.

when he turned aggressive in a text exchange today, i simply turned off my phone. i do not want to engage with him anymore. he is too good at drawing me into a fight. he exhausted all efforts to appeal to my empathy…so then he just turned accusatory. it’s my fault…it’s all my fault.
oh, i remember this game.

so, again, how do i not ruin iggy’s birthday?

queen of swords II

before my whole fucktardery with dusty…
while my witchy friend was visiting, she & i read each other’s tarot cards. my near future card was the queen of swords. a card that often shows up in my spread–especially regarding dusty. the queen of swords has a high moral position and expects others to live up to it as well.
so is this a good thing?
a bad thing?
just a thing?
it’s true of me. i do expect a lot of myself & the same from others. dusty has never hesitated to fall under my sword.
then i’m all like–am i being too cruel? expecting too much? not accepting him for who he is?

fuck that.

i am the queen of swords.

off with his head.

as i protect myself & re-enforce walls that i had to build after letting him break my heart too many times, dusty does a dance & tries to appeal to my nurturing side. he is trying to get me to rescue him. he wants me to save him. he is trying to be sad & helpless while never admitting that he has done anything wrong.

so i’m going to go ahead & hold onto that queen of swords
because even though i am hurting right now
i know i am going to recover again
faster this time
& i need to make sure i finally remember this lesson
remember this heartbreak
& not let it happen again
seriously
for real this time.