So post the dreaded, yet much anticipated "chat," I just feel numb. I feared I would have lashed into her with the typical why why why?! But I didn't. For the most part, I shared my feelings and acted as a healthy person of society should. Hmm...that was new. No verbal shankings and devilish giggles as they cry?? No emotional hangovers of hating myself, alone and nursing my guilt with vodka fueled razor blade kisses?!
Sobriety has taught me to just accept things. You don't have to agree, but you can't change what is reality. Blah blah blah. I still sometimes want to play dictator and behead all my wives who fail to do my bidding. Why did you not greet me with a tender kiss?? Why did you not acknowledge my feelings and respond accordingly?? Guards! Summon the executioner!
With a death implying flick of my hand, armed guards rush in and seize my wife as she screams her wasted apologies. Look away and sigh, On with it. I adjust my crown and sip my nectar. A drink fit for Greek gods and disgruntled lesbian dictators who wish they were.
Evil memories of breakups past. I really was horrible. The screaming, spilling my best 'victim' tears, administering verbal karate chops. Hiiiiyaaa, bitch!!! I can't do it anymore. It is exhausting, disgusting, and destructive. I end up a rabid canine running in circles, chasing my own tail, snapping and foaming. Dizzy and nauseous with my own self created redundancy.
No more naughty Fido. He had to be put down. Now I sit and feel the pain. Ride it out. I've suffered worse - thanks West Hollywood. While far from perfect, I am desperately trying to bushwhack a new emotional path, cautious to not cut at those in my way.
Cathartically I dive in my writing and painting. I bang on my computer and attack a canvas like a famished hunter spearing a boar. When I was a kid bubbling with frustration, fighting projectile tears, my mom would whisper, "Just get it out, Candi." I don't think she had ever pictured it to manifest the way it often has.
Numb and dumb. Shocked by a brief love affair that ended as quickly as a snapping guillotine.
Band aide, please.
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