The Twelfth Letter of Madness

Last night I was a secret agent. Playing ingress takes me to sights unseen. It also fills my dreams with images other than people I don’t like. Last year at this time I was googling hypnotists. I seriously wanted nothing more than to forget the brokenness I felt. All relationships change a person but this one did more than that. It killed me and it made me a different person. It ruined love. Although I don’t think I would share that with anyone but you. And I know that there is love out there to be had, but honestly, I do not want it. The thought sends me straight to a panic attack. I just don’t have the energy to start again. After so many times being broken I think it’s safe to say that I recognize that love is just not for me. I read my numerology often and it never changes. Sevens are unfit to marry. I honestly believe that. I look at people I pass and I feel nothing. I look at men and am disgusted. I look at woman and I feel sorry for them.  My mother tells me I can still have more children as if I really were the motherly type. As if I had any love inside me to give to a child, much less a baby. Seriously. This also would require mating. I have done my mating and I feel perfectly fine retiring. It’s okay to be single. I don’t have to be in love to be “normal”. Sometimes normal isn’t about relationship status as no relationship is normal. I will not be fooled by the superficial.

Last night I was free. For hours I drove. I thought to myself how wonderful it truly was to not have to answer to anyone. To not be bothered in the night while I hacked portals and dropped mods as if I were doing something wrong other than just simply enjoying myself.  That is what I recall from my four year relationship that failed. It failed not because I didn’t give it everything I had, but because I gave it everything I had and more. It failed because I like to do my own things and think my own thoughts. I do not like to be tied down to unknown insecurities that are not my own.

Last night I was free and last night I was reminded of how wonderful that was. No one yelled at me for not calling because my battery was dead or because I didn’t have reception. No one yelled at me cause I got home so late. No one ridiculed me because I played a geeky game. No one yelled at me because I had fun alone. No one. In fact, I was warmly greeted by my feline friend, Desmond. He was happy to see me. He did not care I stayed out past my bedtime. He did not seem bothered by my late night appearance. That is why he wins at relationship of the year. That is why him and I fit together so perfectly. He makes loving easy. He makes it simple.

I was stupid when I gave up Spencer for the relationship. I will never do that again. Lesson learned.I gave him up and less than two weeks later all was lost. Not only did I lose my ex-lover to suicide, my current boyfriend to narcissism but I lost my cat too. This is when I would have done anything for love which I did. Of course not all was lost because Spencer was half my daughter’s and she took him in happily. But I never should have given up my everything for nothing. How was I to know? Well, I knew. Deep down within my core, I knew I was with a jerk. I told the universe to free me and it certainly spared no mercy in the parting. I have no one to blame but myself. And what seemed so devastating a year ago has no effect on me today except for an unpleasant taste in my mouth when I reflect back.

The other night I dug through my tote. I pulled out his “file” to burn. I relived the memories. Wondering how we survived without any good times. I didn’t get a chance to burn it that night however I do believe that I am going to shortly, possibly even tonight. I usually don’t go around burning my memories but I don’t want them anymore. I don’t care to see his name when I open my Pandora’s  box of the past. I will retain the alcoholic, the multiple personality guy, the cheater and the rapist but there is nothing so special about the narcissist I need to keep.

I do not hate him. I do not hate him in the slightest. I am disgusted and I am repulsed but I do not hate. I will not be tied to him. I admit he did a number on me. I actually am grateful for the experience. One of the hardest lessons of love I was forced to endure, but I made it out okay. I had even found a rare photo of his dad who had passed from an online site that I had enlarged. I was going to give it to him for his birthday. I kept it for months. His birthday came and went (two days after mine) and yet I retained it. I decided he didn’t deserve anyone to care so much, especially not me, especially not me. No. I think about it every once in a while, tucked away in a drawer. Should I send it or should I not I ponder some days. Then I wise up and remind myself that it is no longer my place to do such things. He made the choice to treat me like a ragdoll so why reward him. It’s hard being an empath sometimes. Also, I know he would know that I sent it. It’s not like his current girlfriend has a heart like me. Not many people do.

That is why I love being me. Love though, will never be spoken from my lips or inked with my pen again. Unless of course it is for you but that just would make things weird if ever we cross paths again. Two sevens in love are ideal of course, but again, I am not here to love. Lucky for you so many people already love you. I read recently somewhere that you were in a relationship, six years was it? I feel for you, buddy. I can relate. Today I am grateful I don’t have those headaches. I am grateful that I am free to look at my phone without upset, to write in my journal without upset, to read a book without upset. Basically be a person without upset. I do not miss intimacy I never got, kisses I didn’t receive, love that was withheld, lazy afternoons that never happened or the talking on the telephone. I simply do not care so much for sharing my life with another and I am perfectly accepting of that to be lasting til the death of me. I will then die a happy woman.

Maybe if the right guy came along I am told. As if everyone thinks you need a man to be human. I laugh. I am quite capable of surviving on my own. I don’t want to let anyone inside my heart or my head. I don’t want to lose focus as I did in the past. The hardest part of love is breaking up. Suddenly everything becomes lies and blame is placed. Changing phone numbers to avoid phone calls. Assuming secret identities so one can be left in peace to post things online. Avoiding places that once was loved. Losing family because they friended the enemy. Relearning to live because their rejection killed you. Nah. This is not something I feel that is missing in my life. Besides, not many can handle my eccentric nature. In fact, no one to date has been able to handle pieces of my soul offered. Which is great news for me because I can write you letters. I can share my soul with you. I can bleed my heart on paper and feel as if I am contributing to something that in reality is nothing and still feel good about it. I can play these games in my head and not be judged. I can have the heart of a child again without being hurt. That is the perks of this, well whatever this is.

What is this? What am I doing? I sometimes ask myself what the hell I am doing. So easy to explain, writing letters. But why? Why you, why now, why here, why this-just why? Then I break it down to myself in simple words-mental illness. Then I laugh. I am amused. I write to get it out. I write to express. I write because that is all that I am and all that I have ever been. Because it is what I do. Because I lost a sense of identity or maybe I never had one and I desperately am seeking for it in my words. I have always been lost. I have never belonged. I have always been a wounded girl. I never was wanted or accepted. Not by any memory I recall. Always outcasted. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I too sensitive? Am I too loving? Too compassionate? Too knowledgeable? Is it because my mind is smarter than the players lines? Is it because I am not into money, fame and glamour? Is it because I would rather write about love then to feel it? Or is it because I just love my cat too much?

In any case, I care not. I am just a girl trying to survive. Finding identity in letters sent seven states away.  If ever I find it, I will have to give you thanks. Not that you have been an active participant in this letter exchange but its okay as I have never expected a reply. I like to keep my expectations on the low side so they are always met. I am simple that way. Maybe that’s my problem. I don’t make demands. I don’t like confrontation. I try to be assertive in life but at the same time I tend to be very passive. I don’t like rejection personally. But then again, is there anyone who does?

It’s been three weeks of letter writing. I have surpassed my depressed state and am on the upswing of the high.  I have discovered many things in these last three weeks that only these letters have afforded such an opportunity to discover. For that I truly give thanks. Again, you really haven’t done anything but exist but still for that you get credit. In all honesty, you do more than create-you inspire. Your genius mind is one to be museum in its death. I hope I go before you though. You are not going to be an easy death to grasp. Please live forever so I don’t have to mourn you. Even though I play pretend, I know you are real. I laugh as I bombard you with my life story. I just remind myself that all that matters is it is written and not where it is sent. I feel it is in good hands with you. Or your agent. Whomever opens your mail. I guess that just slipped my mind. Anxiety attack. Just kidding. Shout out to whoever for reading my babbles. I just hope it’s pleasant reading. I am getting paid good money to type these at work. Regardless, it is quitting time for me here. Best I clean up the porn cookies, hide the flask in the desk and go on to sling chicken, which is truly my favorite thing to do for work. Crazy I know.  Until I write again….

Much love,

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