This Is Not a Good Side of Me

I'm tired. I am so tired. I sit. I decompose.

I am distracted. I am unsure. I am lonely. This will be my first Christmas without you in six years and all I can think about is some boy I let in.

I don't know if this is progression or regression or if this is just life. If this is how people live.

I feel a deep and penetrating sadness that is not related to any man but to me. It is connected to me, rooted inside of me. I feel like I can't escape and like I am on the run.

I feel that I will never get to rest. There is no rest for the wicked. And I feel wicked.

I Don't Care

If you have a girlfriend. How many children you have. How much money you make.

I don't care.

I just want you to bite me. I want to feel your skin against mine. I want our teeth to gnash against each other.

Just So You Know

I dream about you. Sometimes they are filthy and other times I only touch your hand. But they are undoubtedly sexy dreams. I don't know what they mean, except that maybe I am moving right along. I don't know where I'll end up. Neither do you. But I hope that I end up in a compromising position with you.

Just So You Know

I am so tired of doing the right thing.

People Say I've Done All Right For A Girl

Good things don't come to those who wait, or work. Good things are dispersed randomly by the wind and any asshole can catch them if they are in the right place or climate.

Being good doesn't earn you good things. And being good won't comfort you when you are broken. What is comforting is damage, and not caring, and doing bad things. Bad bad bad. Being good will never inspire the people around you to be good. You will just be a souvenir, or something adorable to show off to their friends or parents. It will never matter that you are good. It will never matter that you are bad. Nothing will matter, actually. Your life will turn out how it is supposed to. You can work and be patient and be such a good good girl. You will not make a difference and you will not earn yourself a place in the hearts of others. You will earn yourself heartache, an abundance of heartache.

All these of years of holding, and withholding, and helping and patience. It was for nothing.

The Thing About That Is, Is That You're Wrong

I accept that my marriage is over.

I was always a very supportive spouse, and that has not changed. That will not change until the day I get my name back, because I am very serious about the vows I took. I will honor my husband, even during the dissolution of our marriage. This is not easy, but it is very important to me.

I asked him to leave, because seeing him in our place and hearing him leave for work without kissing me goodbye was incredibly painful. It was very difficult not to kiss him, hold his hand, make sure everything was okay with him. So, I asked him to leave. And he did. Begrudgingly and with a really shitty look on his face, but he did.

I collect his mail. I make sure he gets his paycheck. I have not destroyed any of his belongings, even the $50 Eels LP that I bought for him. I fantasize about running a lighter down just one side of the record, rendering it COMPLETELY FUCKING USELESS. But I'm not going to do that, because our marriage meant more to me than that and I am a lady.

I encourage him to see his therapist, his doctor. Ask if he needs gas money. I help him pick out a new cellphone.

All of this to say: why do you have to be such a dick when I am giving you what you want? You want a fucking divorce, you are getting one. I have given you everything you ever wanted and I hate to say this, but you're acting a little ungrateful. Just leave me alone and divorce me. I don't want to fight with you. I know that you hate me, because you keep saying I HATE YOU and trust me, I got it. You fucking hate me. You tell me you hate me, you tell our friends you hate me. It's beginning to get awkward, and here's why: You keep telling everyone I'm a monster, but you are looking more and more like a monster everyday. So people are confused, you know? What are they to think?

You have chosen to share the intimate details of our marriage with your friends and family. I have chosen to, um, not do that. I'm not trying to hide any of my transgressions or make myself seem any better than I am. I'm fantastic. I'm also a very private person and I don't think it's anyone's business what our marriage was, or wasn't. In fact, no one will ever know what we had except for you and me. And that's the name of that tune.

Just remember this, darling husband of mine. You broke your last promise to me. And that is shameful.

And In The End, We Were Taken By Surprise

One time you punched me in the face once as I was driving down the highway because you didn't like what I had said to you, or what you thought I was about to say.

You called me fat, told me I looked like a man, made me ashamed of my hunger and my body. I brought out a dress I wore one of those days and it was impossibly tiny. So small compared to the body I live in now. I cried and cried, and spent so much time apologizing to you for being something I wasn't. And now I am, and you are gone.

You made fun of me for idolizing my father, for always calling him first when I was in trouble. But I never could count on you to be there, answer your phone, be sober, care enough, know what to do.

The night I got in that car accident coming to see you, I was scared and drugged, and I begged you to stay with me. As soon as I feel asleep, you crept out and I woke up alone and disoriented.

You never cared enough.