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Dec. 30th, 2016



What's ridiculous to me is how many people expect me to just get over it.
I'm expected to just move on. Someone said to me last week that just think if it as your first marriage.
First marriage? It's my only marriage, and the only one I'll ever want. Fuck you.
There is no getting over it. I never believed in divorce. I won't get over it. People aren't disposal. You don't throw them away.
I'll never remarry. I only want what I lost. And every minute I'm awake my heart heaves and I wish for a speedy death.
It never leaves. It never stops. I wake from nightmares wishing for death. I live every moment choking back tears. I live in waking nightmare of my own creation, and I when I sleep I dream of the horror I lived all summer when I was too drugged up/ drunk to realize what was happening around me. And every time I came to my senses, it was a waking nightmare of abuse till I recanted and wilted back into the situation I had wrought.
I wanted to go back every day. He knew that. He literally beat me into submission, which became total once Dan threw up his hands and wouldn't even speak to me anymore. At that point it was complete, I had nowhere to go and no more resources. It was the perfect situation.
Now I live 600 miles away from my own husband, who won't acknowledge my existence. And I die every day.
Nothing gives me joy. Everything is a minefield of memory. I see dogs and I cry. I see children and I cry. I see food I once loved and I cry. Train stations. Buildings. Tv shows. A Yankees hat. Clothes and jewelry he bought me. Shoes set me off. An outfit he loved. Perfume that was a surprise gift. The two Coach handbags I no longer use. The coat I always wore when walking the dogs. Thousands of photos. The entirety of the South.
Music is dead to me. I found concert stubs I kept for years and threw them away.
5 years of my life, in a garbage bag. There is nothing left that is untouched.
I don't even have meds to suicide on, which right now is the greatest tragedy.
I want my life back. Without it, I want death. There is no in between, and there is no such thing as a "second marriage." There is no such second life. Just give me death and let me go.
We've progressed to nightmares now. Two in a row, technically on the same day. I woke this morning thinking I was still in Charlotte, still terrified and menaced by Mike. It hurts to type his name.
I dreamt Dan was trying to get me out, but we ran out of time (or he was early) and we hid, with Dsn eventually sneaking his way out and me being left behind. Oddly enough Mike's mother (whom I've never met nor spoken to) found me hidden and buried in the bed sheets. I pretended it was a big surprise, and spent the rest of the dream frantically trying to contact Dan to come back for me without his notice. By the end he had caught on. Of course he was screaming and pacing and slamming everything and stalking me thru the apt as I tried in vain to get away from him. Eventually I walked out with my phone in hand poised to call 911. I made it thru the door and almost to the staircase before I felt him come up behind me and grab my hair. That's when I woke up.
Fucked up thing is, every ounce of that dream save Dan's help is accurate.
I woke not knowing where I was, in a straight panic attack. It took several breaths to realize I was safe, and several states away.
There was another tonight after I came home from spending the day with Cait. I don't remember that one as well, but it jolted me the same way. Then the neighbors downstairs were fighting, and I heard the man slam something so hard my apartment rattled. Cue panic attack number two.
This is new and I don't like it. True I've been having some seriously dark and suicidal thoughts lately, but the nightmares are new. I'm recreating the events of the last few months. I know this is classic PTSD but that's not going to help me. My therapist thinks simply talking about these things while she nods sympathetically is going to fix it. All it does is make me sad and drained when I leave.
I wish Dan would just fucking talk to me. Something. Anything.
If it's scientifically possible to die of a broken heart I'm on track to prove it.
I'm now alienating all my friends here as well. A good friend I've been visiting once a week at his bar, just to get out of the house and socialize a bit, believes I'm showing up just to bang him and wants absolutely no part of that. Apparently I'm making him uncomfortable with my presence. That was particularly hard to hear because for weeks it's been the one thing I know I have to look forward to, plus I've been meeting some nice new people there. But I see no option except to stop going. It's fine whatever. I should stop drinking so much anyway.
I have no desire to date, no desire to let anyone near me. Another friend has started making hints, and now I have to have to awkward "it's not you, it's me" talk. At least it won't be a lie. I want only what I've lost.
Losing my comforts is just the lastest spin on this fucking disaster. If I can manage to sleep thru a night I'll consider it progress. If I don't wake it'll be a win.

Dec. 28th, 2016

Hi, this year I learned all about what really matters, but not soon enough to actually preserve any of it, and now I spend every moment of every day wanting to die. The end.

every living creature dies alone.

She gave her heart, to falling star
It was build through this tragedy
All it was when I ran around the world, she cries
As the tears from her eyes fall
No one understands, and no one will
All she has lost

If he’s not here, then where?
If he’s not here, then where?

What she found in there
In the cold, blue clear
The words distressed in unfamiliar
Where the feeling’s here
And emptiness had come
And in her chest she cried, she did
Reality settles, the memories race
Well on the screen he left
She teared, the selfishness has robbed you of the man you could’ve been
I wouldn’t change a thing about you
I love you till the end, my friend

If he’s not here, then where?
If he’s not here, then where?
I know, I’ve been searching for my whole life
If he’s not here, then where?
If he’s not here, then where?
My love, I’ve searching for my afterman


Brooklyn December. So. That's what I am. What this is.

Have I ever cried so hard, or been so touched?

Oh B. You ain't got nothing on this one.
so i saw him. and now i'm worse than before. sadder, more remorseful, tho i didnt think that was even possible at this point. we had a drink and walked to atlantic ave and i saw my baby frida who is no longer a baby at all. i went to best buy afterwards to look at phones and target and trained it home all in a fucking daze.

he's apparently doing as bad as i am. which should be some consolation, but it's not. maybe.

so we're both miserable. yay. everything is haunted, and strange, and wrong. we are both broken.

christ, will this ever go away.
It's 3:30 and I'm still here, at Kondi.

What do you do with a love so strong you can't fight it?
I had so much to say, and as usual lj ate it.

Whatever.

Aug. 8th, 2012

You know what fuck this. I finally decide to commit thought to virtual paper and first my phone fucks up and then the goddamn lj app only posts half of what I just spent an hour writing. I'm done here.

Jul. 12th, 2012

this is becoming too fucked up.

i need time, and space to think properly. i need to be able to get this shit out of my head, but without answering 20 questions too. so from this point on the majority of my writing will be private. i think at this point its just better that way.
Another airport, another plane. Another trip 3000 miles away from home. Another friend waiting for me. Another new place, and more friends to make.
This is good.

West Coast baby. Hell yeah.