i have so much to tell you

the poplar tree in the front yard is dying.

i think old man cat is dying, too.

of course, we all are. some of us in faster increments than others.

i think of all the things i told you over the years. all the banal, everyday details of a life lived together. all the deepest, darkest secrets. all the hopes and dreams and tiny little joys. all the things in life i'm curious about.

i wasn't finished yet.

but truth be told, you stopped listening a long time ago, if you ever really listened at all. i see that now, in our rearview mirror. all the ways you were never curious about who i was. am. will be. it was always, always, all about you. we used to joke about that, all of us. it doesn't seem that funny now. apparently, that is life with a narcissist.

i'm learning more about you now than i did through all those years spent walking on eggshells, trying to please, trying to conform to be who i thought you wanted/needed/desired, just so you wouldn't leave. (this is what your annual threats of departure created).

and you left anyway.

in some ways, i don't blame you. i see now that i contorted myself into a warped mirror of you. and you are not me.

the problem is, now i am not me, either.

but i will be.

i have so much to tell you.

the basement flooded again. the roof is still leaking, just above the back door. there's a mouse in the kitchen. i can't remember the name of the place we stayed at in the berkshires, or if that was before, or after, you started sleeping with someone else.

26 years, and the last six were lived inside a hall of mirrors. each hour, day, week, month, fake. i can't remember what reality feels like. i can't even figure out what reality is. six years trapped in a life that existed only in my mind. you turned my reality into a game, i was the pawn, you and she, the players. you always were better at games.

you stole all of my choice. held me hostage while you had your cake and ate it too, and when you'd had your fill, spit me out onto the pavement.

i no longer tasted sweet to you.

the blue jay is at the feeder just now, staring at me through the window you bought me. i thought you'd done it so we could watch together, sitting here for breakfasts and dinners into our old age. but no, it was always your plan to be leaving.

i guess i should thank you for the gift, i love my window, but my body hasn't finished with its hating of you yet. maybe someday.

maybe not.

the electric bill is due this week. it's high again. i worry about money. i worry about everything. i still sleep on my own side of the bed, even though it's the side closest to the wall and there isn't much space to walk beside it. remember how you said the man always had to sleep on the side closest to the door, to protect the woman? ha.

i don't miss the snoring.

but i like being close to the window. at night now, i open the curtain and squeeze myself down into that tiny space on the floor and look out at the poplar tree. it's dying. just like the one we helped jonas cut down. i remember that day, how he said i was such a hard worker, but i knew what he meant was: i wasn't pretty. i wonder if he knew about her.

remember the time you sent me the roses?

remember that horrible day in the garden?

i keep wondering which one was the real you.

the answer is both.

no wonder i'm confused.

i have so much to tell you.

. . . . . . .

Writing my way through the pain of betrayal. Because writing has always been the thing that saves me. Finding my way back to myself through this forest of words.

#1 in this series is here