Warning- This post contains the actual, horrible, shocking truth about me, and I how I am feeling right now. Please, if you know me In Real Life and this is going to piss you off, don’t read it. Seriously. I will not be held responsible for any emotions this post generates in you.
Easter Egg, my geeky Net friends…?
OK. Given that I am a crumpled ball of hate and rage at the moment, it’s really not surprising that a few things piss me off.
My own blogging is one of them.
Why? Because there is something I’m not saying. This place has gone from my haven, where I write what I like and show off a bit and disconnect from the Real World; to somewhere where I’m a bit apprehensive about being me. Where I feel, just that tiny bit, that I have to play the grieving widow. For the people In Real Life, the anonymous commenters, that are reading.
Fuck that. I am grieving, all day, every day. And I loved Tony pieces.
We’ll start with those basics.
And then we’ll throw in a ‘but’ (I hate that word, at the moment, it’s everywhere I turn.)
Marriage vows explicitly state, “Till death do us part”. Ours did, anyway.
So, if Tony chose death, then he chose to end our marriage. I had nothing to freaking do with it, I was loving him all the while…
I’m no angel, we’ve already covered that.
But he chose to leave, and what do I owe him now?
Not a damn thing. Not a thing, except, perhaps, to raise his children in the way he would have wanted, to be good people.
But he’s not here. So even some of those ideals will bend, and break, and go by the wayside… that’s life. I have a lifetime left, of raising these children, on my own, without Tony.
And, sometimes, I’ll do and say what I need to, to survive.
Because that’s the crux of it. Survival. I’ll do what I need to do to get up every day, to not think, every second, how delicious dieing would be.
I don’t owe anyone, anything. All these people, all Tony’s mates, who seem to think I owe them something- I owe you nothing. And to top that off, as we all already know, I’m not from around here. There are very few ties, only a handful of people I’ll actually miss, to keep me here.
And, given the ‘support’ I’ve been given from all of you, why the hell would I stay? So you can ignore me and my kids for the next few years?
I owe none of you, anything. Nothing at all. Tony chose this, not me.
And before the gangland chorus of “You drove him to it” starts up, I’m not taking responsibility for Tony’s death, either. As I keep saying- I am no fucking angel, we know that. But I didn’t tie the noose that apparentley had been sitting in the shed for months. I didn’t put it around his neck.
I was there the whole time, remember? Screaming at him not to.
Sad as it is, as much as it fucks me over to admit it- Tony had been thinking about this for a while, abstractly at least. I don’t think he actually planned to die…
But he tied a noose, put it around his neck, and jumped off a chair.
That makes him suicidal, no matter which way you slice it. That makes him mentally unstable. That makes him a temporarily- but also, unfortunately, permanently- selfish prick.
Not matter what I did, no matter what I said… divorce is always an option. The back gate was ten feet away. I was telling him to leave.
He could’ve walked at any time.
I’ve been saying for weeks now, I’m not afraid of anything anymore. What a blatant lie. Everything is terrifying, from the tiniest tasks to the most monumental. Selling my house, to stopping for petrol. Moving away from my Purple Life, to putting the kid’s shoes on.
The thought of packing up and moving from this house… I wish it had happened yesterday. But at the same time, walking out this front door will be almost the equivalent to walking away from Tony’s still-ventilated body, his still-warm tattoos.
My daughter was born here.
Every time I walk outside, I see my husband hanging from a beam.
There are things here I will miss. But, (that word again), I won’t really be missing the place. I never even knew this tiny suburban pocket of the world existed much, before I met Tony.
I’ll just be missing my sunshine-y, Purple life, that I was so innocently happy with.
Walking out of this house, means it really the end of it. It’s not coming back, never in that shade of purple, with that sparkly tint of sunlight and the kids and Tony outside in the spa… that’s never coming back, and staying here, it just reminds me of that, every day.
So.. I’m out of here. I have my mates, who I love… but from Tony’s side of my life, with the obvious exception of his family… there are very few people who I want anything to do with.
Put it this way- if you’re local, and you haven’t called me, or come round here, since the weekend after Tony’s funeral- don’t bother. Doors closed.
OK. With all that out of the way- wake up, those in the back, it gets interesting again here- here’s the Sordid Truth. (Remembering, one more time, if this is going to piss you off, use the little x in top right hand corner now. Thankyouverymuch.)
I just want somebody, somebody else, to love me.
I know, no biggie, right, we’ve discussed that before? As an abstract concept, with the disclaimer that I don’t think I’d actually be able to do that.
What if I’ve had a taste of the reality of that, and it was such a comfort, it bores at my brain with the insistence to find it again?
I don’t want a ‘relationship’. I don’t someone to pay my bills, squash spiders for me or mow my lawn. I don’t want a father figure for my children, they’ll be just fine with what they’ve got, thanks.
I just want someone for me. To love me.
To sit beside me, while I heal.
Not to heal me- if I was being philosophical, I’d say the only person who can heal me is myself. If I’m being honest, then I don’t know how healed I’ll ever really be. Time is all it will take, I know….
But why is it fair, that I have to wait? I didn’t do this, I did nothing wrong here…
I know, I know. Because it’s what we’re meant to do. Give ourselves time to heal. Avoid making huge decisions.
That is so fucking unfair.
As I said, all I want right now is someone to love me. Someone to stroke my hair. Someone to kiss me. Someone to call me, and tell me they love me.
And I know, I shouldn’t be ready for that. And I should say I’m not. But I don’t care. Why is this such a difficult thing… I know this is fucked up. But is it really that painful, to be in my presence?
Would someone, someone for me, someone to love me… would that really be such a bad thing, for me, right now?
No. It’s what I want. As I said, someone to sit near me while I heal. Someone to be patient, and understanding, and tolerant.
Don’t I deserve that?
A flashback, of Tony saying the same thing, comparing me to his ex-girlfriends, calling me “clean” and “pure”, and didn’t he deserve that? He did, and he got it. And he chose to leave me, and I just want to throw myself on the ground and cry and kick and scream and sob until someone, someone male, comes and scoops me up and tells me I’m worth something.
Let’s not even get started on how my self worth is connected to people loving me. Everyone’s is. Especially in this situation, and don’t you dare judge that unless you’ve been here.
The ultimate rejection, from my husban
d… and every tiny one that follows rubs salt into my wound.
All this longing, all this wanting… what does this bring us back to?
The flip side of my truth.
How it looks from the outside, from the perspective of others looking in.
Let’s start with two children under four years old. No matter how much I say, no pressure, no expectations.. we are a package deal, we three, and that’s the end of the story, really. And when my children are so very young, and so very needy, and I’m still so very needy myself…?
And that’s more the point, more than anything, right now.
I seem to feel like I’m draining everyone, of everything they’ve got. Depleting their resources, when the one thing I really want, the one thing that has bought me any peace since this happened… I can’t have that.
It feels like I plug into people, and suck their patience, their strength, their happiness. I’ve been told, by someone I love and trust to tell me the truth, that keeping company with me at the moment is exhausting, that I am a difficult, painful person to be around.
I know that.
I can’t help it.
I can only imagine how difficult it would be to love me right now, to be with me.
I’m irritable and short tempered. I’m fragile, and I get offended easily. The tiniest things are massive problems, the slightest unkind word can bring tears to my eyes.
I’m timid, in social situations where I’m not simply grinding on with day to day business. New people are now terrifying to me in a way they never have been, and I hate that about myself.
Give me a room full of people at the moment… and I’d be the one in the corner, curled up in the fetal position, quite possibly weeping.
Just wanting someone to hold me and kiss it better and tell me they love me.
It’s too difficult, for everyone, I know that. Even the people closest to me have difficulty being with me, how could I ever expect someone else to take me, broken and bruised and traumatised as I am?
Some days, I feel like I am unlovable, that no one will ever want me again.
And that sucks.
Because, as I said… I really just want someone to wrap me up, love me, tell me I’m beautiful, and kiss it better…. why is that so much to ask for…?
Don’t I deserve that…?
The best answer my head can give me is- I had, for myself, someone special enough that he did deserve that, most of the time. And he hated me enough that the hung himself in front of me.
It just feels so very cruel.. The person who I loved so much, the only person who ever loved me enough to want to be with me all the time, he left.
And he did it in such a way that I don’t think I’ll ever be lovable again. Too damaged, too broken.
Too raw. And too impatient, to wait for the wound to close on it’s own.