Archive for betrayal

Pretty Pathetic, huh?

Posted in life story, Ramblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on 2016/02/24 by R L Burns

It is still so very weird to me that I actually believed all the things he said to me.  And even weirder that it sill bothers me so much nearly seven years later.  I feel utterly stupid that I didn’t get it that it was all a lie – but, you should know that it’s not ALL my fault; he was really good at the lie.  There’s a song by the band Seether in which the singer states:

You keep living in your own lie
                                                 Ever deceitful and ever unfaithful
                                                 Keep me guessing, keep me terrified
                                                 Take everything from my world

That pretty much sums up how I feel/felt/whatever.  Ridiculously, in retrospect, I thought I was much smarter than that; that no one could fool me so completely.  Well, now I know that I was wrong on that count, too.

You know, I guess it’s okay that it bothered – and bothers – me.  I mean, I believed he was the love of my life since I was a teenager.  In a way I only got involved with people who were, in a sense, disposable.  Not too flattering – for them or me.  I judged my feelings with everyone by my feelings for him, and their feelings for me by the way he had felt about me.  Comparing is never a good practice, I know, but I didn’t know I was doing it.  Well, I knew it, but I didn’t understand how MUCH I was doing it, nor how negatively it was impacting every romantic relationship of my entire life.  I can see it now, of course; I mean, don’t they say that hindsight is 20/20?  Yepper.  Definitely 20/20.

Even knowing all that now, though, I still don’t understand how I could be so taken in. Where were the signs that it was a lie?  Maybe…well, could’ve been the small amount of time he was able to carve out for me after I drove over one thousand miles to spend time with him.  Yeah, I guess that was a clue.  I’d be there a week and spend 80% of my time alone.  I guess that was a big sign, yes?  But when he was with me, he was WITH me.  Loving me, crying, begging…and when I was away from him, there were hundreds of phone calls, thousands of texts.  I mean, why would he do all of that if he was lying?  That’s what I couldn’t figure out.  Unless, maybe, he WAS just trying to be kind to me – in a weird-wrong-twisted kind of way.  He said later that he did it because he felt guilty that I had loved him so long.  I had loved him.  Hmmmm….and that he had not been in love with me since nearly fifteen years earlier when he wanted to be with me but I said no — he had a child and one on the way.  How could I break that up? I couldn’t, so I sent him back to her and the children, knowing that was the right thing to do – and knowing that he would, in the end, hate me if he left his family and then wasn’t close to them.  For a while I tried to believe that he was just saying all that about lying, that really he was a coward and just couldn’t pull the trigger.  But I suppose I was wrong, and he really didn’t love me any longer.  That is a horrible thing to accept…I kept others at arm’s length and never allowed myself to be happy because I was in love with him.  When I believed we finally had a real chance at the happily ever after we both claimed to have always wanted…well, I was deliriously happy.  And then I wasn’t.

And I am still not.

I still stand by my belief, though, that if he KNEW, the first time we saw each other again, that he didn’t feel the same about me, it would have been much kinder and much, much less disillusioning if he had thrown a pity fuck or two my way and then a tearful farewell. That, I would have held close to my heart with a tear and a smile.

Instead I am left with…nothing.

 

 

Advertisements

The Danger of Being a Good Teacher

Posted in Ramblings, Sharing with tags , , , , , , , on 2015/02/25 by R L Burns

i just watched a show called “Obsession:  Dark Desires”.  The episode revolved around a special education teacher and one of her students.  She taught in a high school and one of her students, named Todd, became obsessed with her.  He did not want anyone else to teach him.  He refused to leave her classroom.  He yelled at her. He harassed her at home through phone calls and threats.  Ultimately he decided she needed to die because she was no longer his teacher.  In the end, he drove his truck through her house, nearly killing her daughter and her dog.  it was very scary.

Over the twenty-one years i have been a special educator, I have had many close relationships with students – some of them have spent time at my home or accompanied me to special events.  I grew up watching “Welcome Back, Kotter”  and decided then that if I was ever a teacher, I wanted my students to be that comfortable with me.  My students were always welcome to have my cell phone number in case they needed to reach me – and I have had two students who have called me when they ran away, enabling me to go pick them up and take them home.  I had one family that would call me and ask me if i could come over to get the daughter out of bed so she would come to school.  I’ve had a student slash my tires.  Another two or three have threatened to kill me.  Primarily, though, my students have loved me and felt comfortable with me.  And I have always been proud of that.  This show, however, made me wonder if perhaps these are not the best policies…

As a teacher, you walk a fine line.  Your students need to feel respected by you if you want respect to be returned.  But how close is too close?  I will really have to think about that now.

Words

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , on 2010/11/11 by R L Burns

love and trust

friendship and glory

passion and lust –

once, the words

that painted the story

of us

of we

of you

of me

pain and doubt

betrayal and treason

apathy and malice –

now, the words

that end the season

of us

of we

of you

of me


It’s My Story Now (Part Two)

Posted in Loss of Hope, Ramblings with tags , , , , , on 2009/11/12 by R L Burns

“Oopsie!” she giggled to herself.  “I got more blood on the carpet…”  An old cartoon flashed incongruously through her mind, and she said out loud, “I’m a baaaaddd little boy!” 

More little giggles escaped from her mouth.  She put her hand up to stop them, feeling, somehow, that perhaps this wasn’t a giggling moment.  She glanced again at the paper on the floor.  Reaching out, she turned it over. And remembered.  She threw the paper as far from herself as she could, but somehow, in that crummy way that always seems to happen, the breeze from the ceiling fan caught it up and brought it right back to her lap.  She cringed, trying to escape its touch, and it landed harmlessly on the floor next to her right foot.  Well, maybe not harmlessly, since it landed face up.  She tried to look away but could not.  It was a picture.  Of them together.  Her favorite picture of them together.  Only now the faces were scratched out and she could no longer see the happy, smiling faces.  Tears began to fall from her eyes and she glanced up from her place on the floor to her desk, where her computer sat.  A wave of nausea went through her as she saw the glowing monitor.  It was there.  It was real.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, counted to ten, then slowly, carefully, opened them again, hoping the computer screen would be different.  It wasn’t. 

Her sobs filled the room and she curled up in a rocking ball on the floor, heedless of the glass shards sticking to her skin, her clothes, her hair.  For several minutes the crying, the moaning, went on, until she could no longer breathe.  Gasping for air, she tried to get up but could not.  Glancing into the dining room she saw the empty bottle of wine and an emptied bottle of tranquilizers lying on its side.  Oh, yeah, that’s why I can’t get up, she thought. 

So she crawled toward the refectory table that served as her computer desk.  Crawled, slowly, across the glass-strewn floor.  Remembering, as she did so, how she had fallen to the floor in a crumpled heap when she had read the letter.  Remembered crawling to her bedroom, on the other side of the house, crying and screaming, to get her pills.  Remembered pulling herself up by the post of her bed and staggering back to the kitchen with the little brown bottle.  Remembered wanting the screaming to stop, needing it to stop, and taking all but one of the little pills to make it stop; washing them down, in two huge gulps with the entire bottle of wine – or is that whine?  Within a few moments, the screams had lessened and she could breathe almost normally.  She had staggered back to the computer and read the letter again.  She called her mom and read it to her.  Her mother begged her not to hang up, but Robin hung up on her anyway.  Then she had glanced to the left of her computer and seen that picture.  The one in the beautiful gold frame.  The one containing a picture of those two, beautiful people, so obviously in love – NOT!  She had been, yes, but according to the letter, he was a big, fat, fucking liar!  She had picked up the frame and smashed it to bits on the door jamb to the office; beaten it against the corner until it broke into bits, glass flying everywhere, the picture flying out, the wood cutting into her hand.  Once it was done, she had felt better, a bit, until she looked down and saw that the fucking picture was still intact.  She screamed at it and fell to her knees on the floor.  She snatched up a triangle of glass and scratched their faces out, screaming the whole time.  Then she had passed out.

Well, I could have gone the rest of my life without remembering all of that, Robin thought.  Pulling herself up into her office chair, she forced herself to look at the screen, forced herself to read those hateful words again, hating herself for sobbing throughout…not noticing the blood continuing to drip everywhere…

Robin,

I no longer have a cell phone or a Myspace account. I did this because, as you know, I am a coward. I am doing this now because I owe you the truth. I did not feel what you felt when we first saw each other again. I lied to you because I could not bear seeing the hurt in your eyes. You guessed my thoughts and I made up the elaborate story of how I turned inward because I was afraid. I really did want to say good bye to you before it was too late.

More and more as time went on I thought of what I owed you for loving me so long and I tried to make you happy, even to the point of deluding myself into believing I could ever leave my wife and kids.

I had to get away from you long enough to figure out what I truly wanted and I know now I was never in love with you after Paducah. I was trying to say goodbye; I owed you that.

I owe you a lifetime of making you happy and taking care of you, but I can’t even take care of myself. I am trying to figure out why I can’t seem to feel anything anymore. All I know to do is behave myself and try to live out my days looking after my family. I have betrayed everyone who ever cared about me and I don’t want to feel ever again the self loathing I feel now. Please respect that. I pray you find someone who truly loves you and makes you happy. I am more sorry for the damage I’ve done than I know how to say.

Michael
“You mother fucking, fucking, mother fucking liar!” She screamed at the words.  “You lied to make me happy?? Well, that worked out REALLY FUCKING WELL, didn’t it?  Look how fucking happy I am!!!!!!! I cannot believe you have done this.  Said this. I can’t believe you MEAN THIS!!!!!!!!!  You really  ARE the asshole everyone was afraid you were???  You fucking told me I was everything to you – and it was all just a lie?  You must have been really and truly fucking bored to go to such lengths, mother fucker!!  Oh My GOD!!!”  She could barely breathe and her eyes were burning from the tears, and the last, tiny little bit of her heart snapped in two.

“You could have made me happy, you ass, with a couple of love letters and a pity fuck or two.  Instead you have to put on a whole fucking production??  Who the hell do you think you are – Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber????  And on top of all that, I asked you, no I begged you:  IF IT WAS A LIE, PLEASE DO NOT TELL ME!!  LET ME KEEP MY NEARLY LIFELONG BELIEF THAT WE ARE JUST STAR-CROSSED LOVERS NEVER MEANT TO BE!!!  But, NO!  You couldn’t fucking do that, could you??  Couldn’t leave me with anything but a fucked up life and a fucking TATTOO!!  Oh, Goddammit, I hate you!  I cannot believe I have….that I…”  She struggled for breath, struggled to keep screaming at him, at those horrible words. “I FUCKING BELIEVED YOU!!!” She yelled as loud as she could.

Sobbing uncontrollably now, and feeling dizzy, Robin put her head on her arms on the desk and just…fell apart.  Totally.  Her whole body shook as she cried, near hysteria.  (Near?  I think she was there…) She whispered out loud, “You are a coward…you really fooled me, though, Michael.  Instead of making me a princess, the princess…you always….said I truly was…instead of protecting me…after I told you everything that had happened – Gramp, Jeff, everything…after you held me and promised…promised that you would never let anyone hurt me again…you…YOU” – the sobs overtook her for a moment – “You fucking hurt me the most.  YOU! The only person in the world I ever fucking trusted…the one person I believed would never, ever do anything to hurt me!!…Fuck!…You turned me into a whore…and a homewrecker-would-be…you…you left me alone. Again!  I  shouldn’t have ever answered your email.  You dumb, fucking, mother fucking liar…you ass…I hate you…I hate you!…I…hate…” She paused and tried to breathe.  “I want to hate you.  I should hate you.  But I’m an idiot and I don’t.  I love you. Damn me to hell, but I love you!”

Robin sat up then and knocked over the computer monitor.  She got up from the chair, headed toward the kitchen for something else to drink. But she only made it two steps before she collapsed to the floor, unconscious – whether from the pills and wine or from the loss of blood, who knows? 

She was still lying there when her mother arrived twenty minutes later.

to be continued

You Wonder…

Posted in Ramblings with tags , , , on 2009/11/08 by R L Burns

Magritte-The_False_Mirrorwhy you can’t feel anything at all anymore?  You really don’t know?  Look in the mirror, my friend.  Look hard.  Look deeply into your eyes.  What do you see? 

You can feel nothing anymore because you are a martyr to your self-pity.  You will continue to walk the path of self-hatred and self- flagellation that you set out upon all those years ago…

You have betrayed everyone who ever cared about you?  That is true, you have, but are you even aware of what it is that you have done to betray them, hurt them, disappoint them?  No?  Well, allow me to enlighten you.  You have laid waste to all of those you were given to protect and love by doing one thing:  YOU BETRAYED YOURSELF.  You have never been true to anyone because you have lied to yourself most of all.  Then you blame all of us when you are unhappy.  Physician, heal thyself.

You once said I was your salvation.  You were right – because only I understand you and care enough about you to push you to have/be whatever it is you want (even when that hasn’t meant me – as has always been the case, apparently), to be the best man you can be…Yes, I was your salvation, but like a good little heathen you have refused to step into the light.  Despite your protestations to the contrary, you apparently prefer the company of shadows.

Enjoy hell.

It’s My Story Now… (Part One)

Posted in Ramblings with tags , , , , on 2009/11/06 by R L Burns

new hair2 resize white roseTo my way of thinking, this is my story now, so I can tell it in any way I choose, without considering the desires of others…I am tired of lying about it.  Somehow that makes it all seem so…common.  So vulgar.  So cheap.  To you, it may seem all of those things — and then some.  But I no longer care, care only that the truth be known somewhere, by someone other than me.  I refuse to keep the secret anymore…have to let it out if there is any hope for me to move on. 

In the not too distant past I wrote for HIM; for my “audience of one”, as I so fancifully called him.  I still write for an audience of one, but now the one for whom I write is ME.

                                                  *************************

The shards of glass were strewn all over the floor, some underneath her, others caught in her hair; still others had mysteriously made their way into the dining room.  Robin lay in their midst, unconscious, a large triangle of glass still clutched tightly in her right hand.  She couldn’t see the blood stain that was slowly growing larger under her left wrist; and had she seen it, she wouldn’t have cared, would most likely have scraped her wrist with the glass some more, in hope of making the stain even larger.  Her right arm was bleeding, too, but only a little.  She had taken the glass to her tattoo as well, imagining that she could scratch it out, along with the memory of the man for whom she had labeled herself:  Michael.  She moaned, her body curling in upon itself like a fetus in the womb, knees close to her chest.  The change in position caused the glass in her hand to cut into her palm, which brought her painfully awake.

“What the hell?” she mumbled, looking around in confusion.  She was surprised to see the glass in her hand.  She shook her head groggily and dropped the glass to the carpet.  She brought her right palm close to her face and tried to figure out why it hurt.  As she did so a few drops of blood dripped onto her face:  Plop! Plop! Plop!, they went, although the sound was much slower than it looks on paper here.  She shrugged and let her hand drop down to the carpet, deciding she didn’t care why her hand hurt.  Didn’t care why she could barely keep her eyes open, could barely think.

She passed out again – maybe for only a minute or two, who knows?  When she opened her eyes again it was in response to screaming, incredibly loud, incredibly deep wailing.  She tried to focus on the sound to determine its origin and was surprised to realize that not only was the sound IN her head it was coming OUT of her mouth as well.  Slamming her palm across her mouth silenced the external sound to some degree, but the internal siren going off refused to be silenced. 

“Dammit!  Shut the fuck up, Robin.  Just shut the fuck up,” she moaned, hands now over her ears, her head rolling from side to side on the floor.  Glass bits poking into her cheeks made her still the movement of her head, and she tried to pull herself up into a sitting position.  It wasn’t an easy task, but she did it.

Once she had managed it, she looked around the room stupidly, trying to recall what had happened, how she had ended up on the floor. About nine inches from her head lay a golden picture frame, broken into three or four pieces.  Robin looked at it stupidly, still not remembering.  She looked to her left and saw an odd looking piece of paper lying on the floor.  Reaching for it slowly – honestly it felt like she was moving through water – she saw, for the first time, the blood seeping from her wrist.

“Huh!  There’s quite a lot of blood here…I wonder….” her upper body began to sway a little, so she put her right hand down on the floor to steady herself.   Pressing her hand onto the carpet was a mistake, and she snatched it back up off the floor quickly, shaking it to cool it, as if it had been burned.  Drops of blood splattered around the room.

“Oopsie!” she giggled to herself.  “I got more blood on the carpet now…”  An old cartoon flashed incongruously through her mind, and she said out loud, “I’m a baaaaddd little boy!” 

to be continued

My Lie With You

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on 2009/10/29 by R L Burns

200811_Movies-to-Lie-aboutthey took away my

pills, gin and knife,

then took everything else

that represented my life

with you –

 

the letters, the books,

the pictures

and clothes –

i hid one piece

and no one knows i still have

the harley shirt

tucked in my bed

at night when i sleep

it holds me – instead

of your arms that once felt so safe

for once in my life

i believed in a place

where i was a princess

a loved one, your dream

now all that is gone

leaving only the scream

that never relents,

 no matter what –

i’d take my life if i could, but…

 

they took away my

pills, gin and knife

then took everything else

that represented my LIE –

with you.