where are you now
my dear –
are you somewhere you
my cries? my thoughts?
i don’t know what
to do –
am i supposed to just
where are you now
my dear –
are you somewhere you
my cries? my thoughts?
i don’t know what
to do –
am i supposed to just
it’s wrong and it’s lame
cuz to you it was all just a game –
so how can I feel the same
way I did when I carved your name’s
first initial into my palm?
what is wrong in my brain,
in my heart – why does the pain
loiter and remain
drowning me – a hurricane
that possesses me, obsesses me?
i just keep telling myself those
christina perri lyrics…
I learned to live
half a life…
and who do you think you are,
runnin’ round leaving scars,
collecting your jar of hearts
and tearing love apart?
you’re gonna catch a cold
from the ice inside your soul…
so don’t come back for me
don’t come back at all.
and yet the thought of that
terrifies me more than anything…
and i STILL don’t know what i did wrong…
i wonder …
where you are
how you are
what you are
hope you’re happy
hope you’re not
wonder if you give a thought
to what once was
and what might have been
a place we will never see again…
I don’t deserve her,
But I thank God for her,
My Princess, My Lady.
Her smile thrills me
Her kisses still me
Her touch destroys me —
The love in her eyes
As nothing else can.
I’m the world’s biggest loser –
And yet, she loves me,
No matter what stupendously idiotic
Thing I do –
No matter how often I desert her,
Run away from her,
Blame her for all the ills in my life.
She sees inside me, to my core –
Her ability to do so terrifies me,
For from her alone I cannot hide – She
Knows I am weak and afraid,
A true coward and frighteningly cruel,
Untrustworthy and unreliable –
At least when it comes to her –
She cries at night, alone in her bed
And lives without me
For years at a time…
And yet, each time I call to her,
Each time I crawl to her on bended knee,
Each time I beg her forgiveness
And profess my love for her anew —
She doesn’t recoil.
Instead, she opens her arms to me,
Holds me and loves me with all that she is,
Builds me up – asking nothing in return –
And then silently fades away,
A trembling smile of encouragement on her face
To patiently wait for my next return.
No matter how long it takes.
I don’t deserve her at all —
And she certainly deserves better than me —
But I think I would die if she no longer loved me,
If I could not believe that she is out there,
Waiting for me still.
I am the biggest,
Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself on the roof of the barn, the sun shining, a warm wind blowing, her eyes seeking out Christopher. Nothing happened.
She could feel the wind, alright, but it was a chilly wind and there was no sun – or even the moon – to warm her. For a moment she wondered if she would ever be warm again. Violent tremors were wracking her body. Surely this could not be happening to her again.
What did Vezzini always say in The Princess Bride? Ah, that was it: Inconceivable! Apparently she didn’t know its meaning any better than he had, because it was, indeed, happening again.
She wanted to crawl out of her skin as Jeff’s hands groped her and his mouth bit her neck, kissed her face, moved to her breasts. She couldn’t stop the tears falling from her eyes or the frightened whimpers that escaped her mouth in between pitiful cries of, “no, please” and “stop”. Nothing moved him to cease his assault on her. In fact, her tears and pain seemed to encourage him to act even more boldly.
He pulled her shirt off her shoulders – please don’t ruin this shirt, she thought to herself. I got this shirt for my trip to see Christopher. I wore it when we went to the lake…Oh, Lord, where is he now???
Jeff’s hands pulled her bra straps off her shoulders. His mouth bit down on her breasts as his right hand slid down inside her pants. She tried to pull away, but he bit harder and pulled her closer to him with his left hand. She became still, stiff as a board, aware of nothing but his moaning and her whimpers…and the pain and degradation of what was happening.
How did this start? She asked herself, trying to focus on anything other than Jeff pushing her backwards, his hands and mouth everywhere on her body like some nightmare-world creature. We went to dinner. We talked, for the five millionth time, about the fact that this relationship – in any romantic sense – was over. I told him that it wasn’t working with us being friends, either. I told him he needed to choose someone else and just move on, that he deserved someone who would really love him and that I wasn’t it. I had tried to help him defeat his demons but it had been useless and he had simply abused me…for years. He had taken the whole conversation well, and I was quite pleased with the outcome. Until now. I brought him home. He got his things out of the car – his beer and his leftovers from dinner. I got out to check the passenger side headlight to see if it was actually out. It was, dammit. He’d asked me for a hug. Lulled into a false sense of security by the pleasant-ish tone of the evening, and the safety of the car idling beside me, I said yes. Ah, that was the mistake. He had hugged me for a moment then had begun kissing me, forcing his tongue into my mouth almost viciously. When I tried to pull away and asked him to stop, he increased the pressure of his arms and his lips. So, that’s how I ended up here with this asshole again….Will I never learn??
Jeff continued to move her slowly backwards, away from her car. At first she didn’t realize his objective, just kept crying, and begging, and looking for a moment to escape. At last he had maneuvered her behind the huge oak tree in his mother’s yard, and he tripped her so she fell to the ground, out of sight of the house. As her head hit the ground her face turned toward the left and she could just see her car, safe, warm, idling, waiting for her, just on the other side of the tree. She could hear it humming, could hear Boyce Avenue’s acoustic version of “Bleeding Love” floating toward her.
Christopher!!! She screamed in her head.
Just then Jeff jerked her shirt up and bit down hard on her right breast. She cried out, again asking him to stop – although there was a part of her brain that begged her to just shut up and get it over with so she could go home sooner. That part of her seemed to believe that if she was just still it would be over and she could forget it quicker. He put his hand down her pants again, attempting to stimulate her manually, but she was as dry as a bone; her whole body felt like it was shriveling up into a raisin.
Frustrated, Jeff pulled her pants down without unzipping them, nearly ripping the waistband. Again Rose begged him to stop. Again he did not. His mouth moved down to cover hers and she jerked her head away, slamming her face into the ground. He climbed on top of her, and began to dry hump her. It hurt. A lot.
Even angrier (was he angry? or was he just determined?), Jeff slid off her. He was flaccid. Leaning on her with his legs and groping her breast with one hand, he used his other hand to pull her hand to his penis. He placed her hand on his limp dick and barked at her, almost pleadingly, “Help me, dammit!”
Long years of abuse and stupidity caused her to obey him for about five seconds. Then she pulled her hand away and said through her tears, “Fuck you!”
With that he shoved his right hand inside of her. This hurt more than she thought possible, and she cried out, “Stop, please! That really hurts!”
In answer, he leaned over her and smiled, then growled savagely, before continuing on. Oh, shit. Why did he have to growl at me like that? How does he know that is my private joke with Christopher? I love it when he growls at me. Is Jeff going to ruin everything in my fucking life??
She cried out in pain again as his hand moved quicker and harder inside her. She realized that he was using his legs to hold her down, attempting to stimulate her with one horrible hand and masturbating with the other. Nothing was going as he wanted it to. Giving up on the dual stimulation, he pushed her flat down again and moved himself between her thighs. She covered her eyes and sobbed. He moved down her body and put his mouth on her vagina. With the first swipe of his tongue, Rose went over the edge of hysteria and screamed, “Nooooooo!!!” while simultaneously kicking him in his shoulder.
Suddenly, it was over. He looked like someone who had been slapped and had just awakened from a dream. Rose sagged with relief and cried even more, trying to slide herself along the grass and away from him.
Softly he said, “Wait, Rose.”
Almost lovingly and tenderly, he pulled her underpants and trousers toward her and tried to begin putting them back on her. She jerked away from him, saying, “Don’t fucking touch me! Just get away from me!!”
She scrambled up off the ground and pulled on her clothes. She hurried to her car, still idling, still waiting patiently for her; only by then “One Step Closer” by Linkin Park was playing on her cd player.
Too fucking right I’m about to break! she thought to herself.
Jeff followed her to the car, apologizing, saying he had wanted to make her hate him so that their separation would be easier on her. She looked at him, dumbfounded.
“You are a fucking idiot”, she told him. “I already hated you, could have gone my whole life without this shit. Dammit, I cannot believe you did this crap to me AGAIN! You got what you wanted: I hate you!”
Still crying, she threw the car into “drive” and peeled out of his driveway.
She didn’t look back.
Originally written on 1 January 2010
I apologized, and I thought that would help me let go of it all. And yet somehow it has changed nothing. I am inundated with feelings of self-loathing and idiocy. Cannot believe how ridiculous I must have seemed; throwing myself at him over and over and over — ad nauseum. How did I get so confused, so warped that I would think he could really love me, would choose me? How could I even have ever thought that he…no, how could I forget my own words to him: you aren’t in love with me, you are in love with the idea of me. Always he denied it and always I believed him. And then, when we saw each other…I believed even more. He was the one person to whom I could not lie – at least, not for long – and I suppose I so wanted to believe he loved me, to finally “live my dream”, that I ignored his hesitation. He explained that, though, and said I confused his fear with indifference. Told me I confused his love with me for pure lust.
The funny thing is, I didn’t. Not this time. This time I bought it all, hook, line and sinker. A part of me stood apart, afraid to believe, afraid to give everything to someone else, especially someone who had so much power over me, but really, I was in it. I was so deeply in it I couldn’t see anything else. I did everything I could to prove my love, loyalty and committment to him…Thought I had.
On Friday night, he’s on the phone with me discussing where we are going to arrange his books and his computer desk when he comes to live with me. He promises to call me back and doesn’t.
Saturday he calls me for a few minutes and tells me his brother is deathly ill — he didn’t die, though, because I checked their newspaper. He asks me, breathlessly, if I am okay. When I reply that I am, he nearly cries with relief and says,
He tells me he loves me and he’ll let me know about his brother.
He has never called me since.
On Monday morning, I go to the post office to send him a ring we chose together – one that has “I love you, Michael” (his choice of words) engraved inside. An hour fucking later, he sends me an email telling me it is over and he hasn’t even the courage to tell me in person. He asks me to respect his wishes.
I flip out. Cry. Call. Text. Write. Do it all some more. No answer. I attempt suicide – quite by accident. Really I just wanted the words to stop running through my head. End up in the ER. They patch me up and send me home. Everyone is on suicide watch. I am destroyed.
I write. I send a copy of a book with one of my poems published in it. No response. More wailing and crying. I end up spending a week in the psych ward because I almost jumped off the balcony of a twelfth story hotel room – one at which we had planned to meet.
Then two months later comes an email saying he never loved me. It was all a lie. A lie he felt he owed me for having loved him so long. Again, he hopes I will respect his wishes and that I will find someone who truly loves me and makes me happy. WTF?
I really flipped out. Took a picture of us in a beautiful golden frame (I was so proud when it was the very first thing I brought into my new home three weeks before he dumped me), and I beat it into the door frame of my home office — where his computer desk was supposed to go. I beat it until the frame broke and glass went everywhere. I really went all out. Screamed, fell to the floor, crawled to my room for meds, wailed all the way back to the kitchen. Opened a bottle of wine, opened the pills, took ten ativan, drank half the wine, took five more ativan, drank the rest of the wine. Stumbled back to the office, saw the hated words on my computer screen. Crumbled to the floor in shame, agony and despair. I fell into the glass from the picture. I looked over and the fucking picture was intact, out of the frame. That pissed me off so I took a large shard of glass and scraped out our smiling faces. Then I threw the picture away from me. It floated back, the bitch. I cried and cried and then slit my left wrist with the glass — yes, the long way, I’m not stupid. I scraped the glass across my tattoo – the one I also got just three fucking weeks before he dumped me. The one that says “Then Now Always”. Idiot! Fucking idiot! I knew when I got the tattoo that I had jinxed everything. I was right. Anyhow I passed out.
My mom found me on the floor, slapped me awake. I mumbled something; she called 911 but decided to take me to the hospital herself. We went. I couldn’t see. They stitched my wrist a bit — only two stitches, so I suppose I am not as brave as I always thought I was. Wimp. More therapy. Whatever.
And all this time, nothing from him. Nothing. I write a really rude poem called Liar to him. Nothing. He says nothing. Then I ask if he will perhaps, if he’s never going to use it again, return a cell phone I had given him so we could talk for free whenever…he sends it to my fucking mom. At Thanksgiving. With a note that says, “LEAVE ME ALONE”. And he returns our rings to me…
My mom hides it all from me until I am in her presence and then only gives me one thing at a time. I cannot believe he has sent these personal things to her, to…well, he knows.
She replied to him and asked him to send me a sentence to save my life, a sentence to give my loss purpose. Oddly enough, he answers HER. He sends it to me attached to my email about the phone. One sentence:
“Love built on the wreckage of innocent lives is not love.”
It changes nothing.
Again, WTF? And how could he answer her and not me?
This all reads like a really bad, really, really bad, Lifetime movie and I can’t figure out how I got here. I don’t know why I let myself believe any of it. Don’t know how to reconcile myself to the lie of it. Somehow I will figure it out, I have to because I cannot go on like this indefinitely. It is making me bitter and angry and crazy. That is not who I am – at least it wasn’t.
How do I put this behind me? How do I accept that he never loved me after all? That has been the only true constant belief in my life since I was thirteen years old. Without that belief, what am I??
WHO am I?
How do I also accept that I gave him everything I am and he threw it back in my face as if I am trash? Is that what it means? That I am nothing but his old trash?
Oh, good. That was helpful. Whatever.
A sad thing…My sister’s father abandoned us when she was a baby. My mom took her to England in hopes of seeing him, I think, but he replied that he had no desire to resurrect his past (and no, his name wasn’t Michael, it was Paul). My sister cried and told my mom she was going to kill herself. Mom just stood there and looked at her, tears falling from her own eyes until my sister said,
“He wouldn’t even care, would he?”
Mom shook her head no and they got back on a plane to the US. When I woke up in the hospital after the “it was a lie” email, she told me that same story. And she’s right. It would be pointless, because he wouldn’t care.
Question is, how do I begin to care again? About anything?
Hey, one other question: if they do make this into a really, really bad Lifetime movie, do you think we could get Drew Barrymore to play me? People always say we look alike.
Well, it could happen…
I HATE THAT YOU DID THIS TO ME!
HOW DID YOU TRAP ME?
HOW DO I GET OUT?
HOW DO I GET OUT??
HOW DO I FUCKING GET OUT???
THE PILLS AND THE LIQUOR
DON’T HELP MUCH AT ALL
WON’T STOP THE WHISPERS
THE SOFT, LOW CALL
OF THE RAZOR, THE KNIFE
THE TREE STANDING SILENTLY
ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD…
THE MESSAGE SHE ASKED YOU TO SEND ME
THAT YOU’LL LISTEN TO HER
THE ONE YOU KNOW HURT ME –
YOU DECIDED TO DESERT ME,
TO LEAVE ME WITH NOTHING
ALONE ONCE AGAIN
EXCEPT FOR THE DEATH-WISH,
THE SCARS AND THE PAIN.
I CAN’T QUIT SCREAMING
IS THIS REALLY THE END
OF LIFE AS I KNOW IT, LIFE AS IT WAS?
I WISH I COULD SLEEP ETERNALLY
AWAY FROM THE BUZZ OF THE SHADOWS,
YOUR VOICE AND THE DRONE
OF THE NEVERENDING SCREAMS
THAT WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE.
HOW DID YOU TRAP ME?
HOW DO I GET OUT?
HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?