The Eighth Letter of Madness

I have to laugh at the irony that life has thrown at me. I can’t help but to share my thoughts about it. Bare with me because sometimes they are not the clearest. Back in September I reunited with an ex for like two weeks. It was a romantic love story (in my head). I was 19, he was 35. I met him in a small town at a Kwik Trip. He was a cop, I was a criminal (traffic violations and marijuana possessions). He was married and apparently so was I. It was something I did once. Maybe so I could later look back in life and say, “Hey, I was married once”. It also throws off people when I throw that phrase out there. They are like, “Whhhhhhaat?” Basically, I wanted to piss my parents off. It didn’t last long. I fell in love with this cop, Steve, so, I had to leave the guy I married. I couldn’t sleep next to him knowing I was obsessing about another. It’s just something I don’t do. I can’t. I do not understand for the life of me how anyone can do that. But then again I think my ego drives me more often than not making it impossible for me to do what others do or do not do.

Regardless, OMG….this is funny- I would write him letters. Ha. I guess I didn’t realize this until now the extreme irony of this. But some of the letters I wrote to him were erotic in nature. I don’t know how this started but at nineteen well, it made sense to me. Perhaps it was encouraged, I can’t recall. Nothing happened. I just loved and obsessed. He hated his life, hated his wife. He was very unhappy. Hence perhaps the attraction. I’ll save you with my love. NOT. Flash forward like five years. I was in a situation and needed his help. He knew I was a good kid despite my troubles. I had moved away from the area only to have to move back. I couldn’t call upon my parents for help as I do believe this was the time period I was living in my car a mile from their house on my aunt’s land. My daughter and brother could stay there but I couldn’t. My mom convinces me that this was tough love. I call it bullshit and yet I am over it.

I lived in my car for the whole summer. I didn’t mind it too much. It was light travels in any case.  But eventually I got my life “together”. I was 25. I finally was able to grasp that my mother was an alcoholic and had “ruined” me and why was she raising my daughter. Don’t think I am ungrateful in that statement. I appreciate her so much. I don’t want to make it sound that she did terrible. She did wonderful. More so than I ever could have. But, it was time to grow up and quit chasing death-obviously it didn’t want me. So I got a place and got my daughter back. I ended up getting together with the married man.

This brings up a lot of life lessons. Number one NEVER EVER EVER have an affair. I ended up pregnant. I eventually ended up miscarrying. Which was horrible. I think it was like karma for previously having an abortion at 16 (rape). I also think it was punishment for not being a mother to the child I did have. Although, trust me I wanted that baby. I was so excited for the ultrasound. I remember being like,” Oh, can I have pictures?” To which the technician seemed not to be as excited as me. I wouldn’t blame her. She was looking at a dead baby inside my uterus and trying not to tell me. I knew. I am hardly an idiot. Maybe naive at times, rightfully so, but I know people. I knew this was not good news.

That weekend, on my mom’s birthday, October 30th, I officially miscarried. I bled on my bathroom floor. Married guy is like whatever. I lost a pint and a half of blood. It was mentally a mind fuck in all aspects. Married man gave me an hour to “console” me. Fuck him, right? Doesn’t matter. He ends up leaving his wife. I end up moving in with him. We were together for five years. Lots of life lessons. It was like a marriage. I loved that guy. I truly would say it was the most functionally unfunctional relationship I have ever had. We were like a family. His two sons, my daughter and us. It truly should have been my forever home. But…..he was a hoarder and an alcoholic. He still remains both to this day. I don’t know how many times I had an intervention session with him. How many nights I would come home and he would be passed out. Sometimes with a cigarette. When I say he is an alcoholic I mean he drank a thirty pack a night. I wish that was an exaggeration but it is hardly so. In my anal retentive ways I set up experiments all the time. One of which would be to see how much he drank. Great guy. But just a drunk. So I left him. I knew that if I was face to face with him he would talk me into staying. So he went to work and I moved out.

Flash forward eight years. My daughter moved to the town he is a cop in. There is an annual  festival there. I go there. I see him. Feelings come up and we hook up. It was a two week affair. Men are not my thing. First of all, never ever go back to an ex. That is a given. I was caught up in feelings having not seen him for half a decade. That makes sense I am sure. Then I end up waking up with this feeling of dread. He has a dog. He is in his mother’s house now that used to look nice. The hallway is not a hallway but a storage spot for junk like actual garbage. Half the house’s trim is painted on the backside. His TV goes black every five minutes. He has no Netflix. I ask him if he wants to do this or do that. No. No. No. I remember. Ahh….that’s right-this guy has no ambition. No drive. He also has no Netflix. That’s a deal breaker. Honestly, I was binging on Person of Interest and without Netflix we can’t just chill.

So I had to tell him that I made a mistake this isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to seem so shallow to tell him that his lack of Netflix was one of the deciding factors. I’m kidding. I am not that shallow. Seriously though I had been single for ten-eleven months and enjoyed not having to answer my phone or make routine phone calls. He annoyed me. All of a sudden I felt suffocated. I told you I am rather impulsive. I need to learn to check these fleeting feelings. It’s unbecoming of me.  Of course this has caused me problems. I had to change my phone number and block him in social media land. Now he texts my brother and messages my mom to have me call him. At one point a few weeks ago I called and was not nice. I was like, “Look, you are an alcoholic and you have no ambition. I am improving in life whereas you are not. Please, just leave me alone.” It’s true. There is something weird about the way an alcoholic thinks and lives. I am not sure if you have experience with them but it is not a healthy environment. They are mentally sick. They are emotionally sick. They are wonderful wonderful people but they have some heavy baggage.

Regardless, the other day I get a message from my second facebook account from him. He tells me he has a letter. I don’t want his damn letter. I don’t want it at all. Then I think, I wonder if that is how you feels. Irony at its finest. Maybe that’s not even the word for it. So that was in October. I also was a dog owner for a weekend. I realized two very important things that month. Dogs and men were not for me.

Interesting enough though in those two weeks I learned a lot though about being single versus being in a relationship. I envisioned myself doing as I had always done in the past and putting the relationship first. This has NEVER worked for me. I had my cat I didn’t want to forsake. My bed at home. My amazing tv. My own house. The last thing I wanted to do was give up my weekends to go travel almost an hour away to hang out with an alcoholic in a house that was not comfortable in the least, with his dog and his shitty TV. I don’t want to sound like a snob but that is something I do not want to settle for. Why should I spend my spare time hanging out with his dog. I don’t like dogs. They are too dependent on their owners. You have to take them outside. You can’t just leave them for days. No. I did not want to be involved with him. Why couldn’t he come to my house? Well, for starters my bed had to be downsized to a full when I moved so with his size there would be no sleep overs. Plus, that would require effort on his part to come drive so far as well as cut into his drinking time. Tell you what, if he did give a shit, he would have already came to me. But as it is, he is passive and not a go getter. Not like me. I’m like I want  that and I go get it. I recall breaking up with this one guy and he literally came to my work at 4 in the morning to confess his undying love. That was sweet. It didn’t win him back into my arms but it gave him points. In the end it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be loved by that guy or any other guy.

I remember after my four year relationship with the narcissist ended I was so damn depressed. It was a hard time for me. Today is five days shy of a year. With not only that but in losing my “Prince Charming” to suicide I was a complete mess. I remember I was down at the bar sometime in December. I usually sit and write in my journal as I watch the locals converse.  My boss frequents the same bar. He found me one Monday where I was in the worst mood ever. He came up to me and made the mistake of asking me how I was doing. I don’t know how long I talked that night to him but I let him know I was fucking miserable and depressed. He later told me at work that I could be choosey. I didn’t have to settle. That guys eat up a woman’s confidence.  I remembered that when I started feeling less depressed and more comfortable being alone. As it seems- he was right. Add some confidence and everyone wants to bang you. Regardless, I am not settling. I am being choosey and that’s okay.

Speaking of the narcissist, his new girlfriend delivers my mail on Mondays. I always smile and say , “Thank you” and I mean it every time I say it. I have no hard feelings for her. She knew what she was getting involved in. She delivered my mom’s mail for the four years I was with him. She heard every stupid breakup story. Not turning the oven on. Reading the back of a pizza box. Whatever the reason (and there were many)-it was dumb. She was well aware of his insensitivity and extreme moods. See after I reported him for his manhandling me he destroyed his pot farm. I got a lot of slack from my brother about calling the cops for dickhead’s crime against my person. It was a very bad month of December last year. It didn’t matter that I didn’t deserve to be thrown about like a ragdoll. It didn’t matter that I was his sister either. He worked with the narcissist and was friends with him so obviously I shouldn’t have done anything except kept my mouth shut I guess. But, I pointed out, I was not being vindictive. Had I wanted to “ruin his life” I would have happily reported him for his 12 -15 pot plants. I did not. I didn’t because this wasn’t about getting him in trouble. This was holding him accountable for bruising my body and throwing me about his living room. So after he was arrested and my dad bailed him out, oh yes, my brother convinced my dad to bail him out, which is just fucking fucked up but he is a nice guy and that was nice of him to help out the guy who manhandled his only daughter.

Anyways- he apparently destroyed his pot farm and as a result of getting rid of all his pot he had to find someone else who could get him pot. That would be his now girlfriend. Funny that he ended up with a girl who is known to be a “whore”. Ironic as he would always accuse me of “whoring around” when I am loyal to a fault. I just laugh.  She delivers my mail only on Mondays. The regular mail lady, she tells me how his girlfriend is materialistic and is no doubt only with him because he buys her things. It’s called love bombing. I went through it, but I am not materialistic. He could not buy my love. The mail lady just told me she thinks that they will break up after Christmas. And bless her heart she says,”I hope that hurts his heart.” He is not well liked. He is an asshole. He mocked the town people calling them “pitiful” It showed not just to this town, but to the world that he was a sociopath and lame. That was enough for me to know that karma works as it should.

It took my about 8 months before I could even speak his name. Even now when I try it out on my lips I feel dirty. I can’t believe I sacrificed 4 years of my life with such human garbage. Another one of those cases of I will save you with my love. Ha. Joke is on me. You can’t save anybody with love. It doesn’t work that way. I knew he was a horrible person even prior to him manhandling me after the funeral of a loved one. It was when he told the story of killing an old lady when he was 17. He was “so fucked up” and it wasn’t his “fault”. If you are driving fucked up and get into an accident-it is your fault. And if your daddy cop loses your blood tests then you really are at fault. Whatever though. No longer my problem. I no longer care.

I did have some fun after the relationship where I reversed stalked him on twitter. Again, I do stupid experiments which only make sense to me. Such as taking my twitter account that I had set up and never used, stripping it of every person on it but just him, loading twitter analytics on it and then tweeting. Well, look at that, he spent a lot of time reading what I was writing. And as you know I can write. I learned that he had trouble sleeping. Eventually I got bored, felt almost wrong about it and called it quits, killed the account and decided to get over him and heal. Thank god that worked out. But, yeah, I won’t lie, I enjoyed the reverse stalking. I suppose it was a form of mental warfare. But fuck him, he was a jerk and he shouldn’t have been reading it. I still laugh at the brilliance behind that one. I know, I know…I am a bit odd.

Awkward pause.

All I really wanted to say was that someone wrote me a letter and I don’t want to read it. Nor receive it. I just thought it was ironic since I just started writing you letters. Maybe you feel the same way. Like, “Another one?” How does she have so much time? Can’t she find a friend to talk to? Why won’t she stop? I hope that this is not the case. I really should be honest and tell you I don’t care. Does that make me a horrible pen pal? I mean for real. I don’t expect a letter back and if I did I would probably not be able to open it because I would fear it would say, “Quit writing me”.  That would just break my heart. I just am hoping that I am not bothering you. As I have written previously though, I am not a follow through kind of person so the letters will stop one day. There is just something about sending off my private thoughts 1249 miles away into the oblivion. If anything it makes great material for song. Or many songs. In any case, I appreciate being able to get my thoughts out on paper. It has broken up my stagnant journal writing. I also find I am a horrible love letter author. I apologize. Maybe one day when I am feeling loving. As is though, I am content with just babbling on paper-obviously. J

Have a Happy Thanksgiving.

With much love,


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