ummm, no.

Sometimes I swear my ability to email should just be taken away. Especially late at night. (Note to self, make the math on google goggles a little harder.) LH has been on my mind a lot lately. In part because of all the writing I’ve been doing about him, but also because of some very strong associations with the current production at my theater.

Something was nagging at me and I felt it needed to be said. The thing about LH and I is that if you put our marital issues aside, we made a really good professional team. So I emailed him. Not expecting a response. But oh, did I get one. And because I can, I’m reprinting the whole exchange with some minor editing for the sake of an illusion of privacy. I left his typos in tact.

~~

LH,

I just wanted to drop you a note because you’ve been on my mind lately. We’re opening the XXXXXX season with a production of Romeo & Juliet. Familiar set up, X, X, X. You often cross my mind when I’m up at the theater because I know that this is the kind of work you always talked about doing. But this production has had stronger associations.

While it’s true that this cast is more well rounded and our cutting is slightly different, there are so many similarities to your interpretation. And there are individual performances from the XXXX production that differ in slight nuance, but in terms of quality, are on par with the equity actors gracing XXXXXXs’ stage. Specifically X, X, X, and X. X blows our Juliet completely out of the water.

For what it’s worth I just wanted you to know that your work on that production was dead on. And it could absolutely stand toe to toe with what I’m seeing come out of rehearsals and previews.

M

~~

Misty,

Thank you for the kind words.  There was a lot of heart in everything our XXXX family put on that stage.  There were glimmers of great talent, but most importantly a spirit that I might never experience in another theatre.  That was a production that I will always cherish, if just for the rehearsal process.  I still wish I would have had the guts to cast X as Romeo.  Would have turned that production in ways that could have blown people away.

You’ve also been on my mind a lot lately.  There are so many things I’ve wanted to talk to you about, but I’ve been reluctant to intrude with an unwanted connection.  I’ve always felt that some day we’d get to a point where we could be good friends again, but it’s difficult to take those first steps.  Thank you for doing that.  Please let me know if it would be ok to explore new posibilities from changed perspectives.

I look forward to hearing from you.  I hope you and your family are well.  I miss you guys.

LH

~~

LH-
I appreciate the sentiment but I was not seeking to rekindle a friendship with you, I simply wanted to compliment your work after the fact.

M

~~

Misty,

I respect your honesty.  Even if it isn’t reciprocated, I hope that some day we can heal some of the damaged friendship that was lost in our relationship.  Thank you again, for the kind words.  I also have great respect for your work at XXXX.

LH

~~

Yeah. Fuck you. No you don’t. You’re just saying this so you can pretend that you’re the better man and that you left a door open and I’m the one that slammed it shut. And you like to have the last word. Some things never change. And then I got the next email.

~~

Misty,

There’s one other thing I’ve really wanted to tell you for some time.  I was always aware that I didn’t contribute enough to the upkeep of the house.  When you told me how much that hurt you, I didn’t really understand the impact my actions had on you, emotionally.  Now I do.  I’m not a clean freak, but living with X and her kids has put me on the other side of that situation.  At times, I’ve just broken down crying.  It isn’t just that they’re messy, it’s that there is no remorse for continuing to ”destroy” the house and it’s order, then just sitting back and watching me struggle to keep up with maintaining a level of order that doesn’t keep up with their destruction.  I don’t think any of them are aware of how deeply and personally that hurts me.  I’m ashamed when I think that I did that to you.  There’s no doubt in my mind that God has put me in this situation to help me understand how deeply I hurt you.  I know it’s too little, too late, but for what it’s worth, I am very sorry that I did that to you.  Just last weekend X said that “Misty would be amazed if she could see how much you’ve changed in that area.”  He actually said my change has made him take note of the fact that he needs to be more helpful in his household.  Anyway, I only have one motive for telling you this.  I just want you to know how sorry I am that I hurt you in this way.

LH

~~

Seriously? I mean, surely he jests. After all this time, I get some half assed apology (cloaked in poor me, but at least I’m inspiring others) for not scrubbing enough toilets?

Wow. Dude. Yes, this was an issue for us, it’s true. For example the time I got sick with food poisoning and didn’t quite make it to the toilet before throwing up, instead it landed in the tub. He lit a scented candle, closed the bathroom door, and went off to play video games while I laid on the guest bed curled into a ball. The mess was still there for me to deal with the next day when I’d recovered. Not to mention the day to day cleaning up after him.

But really?

Of all the things he did, THIS is what he decides he needs to apologize for? So much so that he felt COMPELLED to send me an email about it?

I’m not sure if I should be feeling sorry for him or laughing my ass off. Karma is indeed a bitch.

finis

It’s done. I finished the chronicle of my relationship with LH tonight. It took 11 chapters and 25,556 words to do it. It was painful. But I needed to do it. I’m glad that I did. When you get right down to it there’s nothing extraordinary about that relationship. Our issues were common. Maybe that will sink in a little now and it will cease to be a stumbling block in my relationships.

Here’s hoping anyway.

crazy train

I’m screaming inside my head right now. I’ve started writing out my story for PF. All of the sordid details. A chronicle of my marriage. And it has become my obsession. It’s in the back of my head all the time. All of those memories. The loss of innocence. The sad truth of what we were. I hate writing it as much as I know that I need to do it.

There’s just so much coming to the surface. There was before I started this, but it seems worse now. Issues with marriage and fidelity. Repeated mistakes in relationships. Compounded  by the passing of what would have been my wedding anniversary, the birth of Aaron’s child, by shifting feelings where Aaron is concerned, ethical conflict about PF himself. And the show we’re doing at the theater. There are some very strong associations with it. Because of the last time I worked on a production of this piece. It’s like this great big relationship perfect storm.

On one hand it’s helping to be writing it all out. I’m seeing patterns of my own behavior. I’m seeing the very clear triggers for certain behaviors. I think that remembering the good and the bad will ultimately be a productive thing,

But I need to get through it. And part of me can’t help feeling like it’s some big test for PF. Like I’m saying, look, here it is. All the ways I’m fucked up and all the reasons why. Like maybe if I throw it all out there in the rawest form I know, and he doesn’t go running for the hills, then maybe I’ll be able to trust him. To really, really trust him.

But that’s not fair to him. And so then I worry that this won’t, in fact, be of any use to anyone. What if I’m just picking at old wounds for sport. When I thought they’d finally healed over, why go ripping into them.

Except that I’ve started it. And I have to finish it. There’s no going back now.

my story

I have been avoiding the writing of this post all night long. I’ve had this tab open for hours. Instead I have spent my time browsing on other sites. I lingered in the kitchen cooking dinner. I soaked in the tub. I’ve sat and stared at an empty screen. The whiteness of the blank screen mocking me.

There is a story I haven’t told. Not from start to finish. Not in entirety. And I think I need to tell it. I think it’s the only way I’m going to ever get past it. It has been tugging at me for days now. It needs to be told. But I’m not exactly sure how or why or to whom.

I know there’s someone that I want to hear it. But I don’t know if I am strong enough for that. Because I know it will be just as difficult for him to hear as for me to tell. I don’t know what purpose it would serve to put it all out in the open. Except that a part of me needs him to know. Needs him to understand.

And I know that part of it is for me. Because this is how I deal with things. Head on. And maybe part of me thinks that if I sit in the dark and spin the web that is my sordid past, that I’ll be able to let it go instead of letting it continue to gnaw at my insides. Maybe if I take the time to write it all down it will truly become a chapter in a book. And I’ll simply be able to turn the page.

Maybe if I write it all down. If I put it in black and white. I’ll be able to see that his problems are no longer mine. That his problems never were. Maybe I’ll see the courage that others speak of. The strength and the resolve. The resurrection and ascension. Maybe I’ll see the girl I once was. And be amazed at how much like her I still am. And maybe I’ll finally stop seeing myself as only broken.

And become whole again.

reminders

I intended to write about work. About side projects. About how you throw something out to the universe and it will always come back to you.

But it’s late. And I needed to sit here for a minute and collect my thoughts. And while doing so, I got distracted. I’m fresh from the shower. Scrubbed clean. Lotioned. Completely free of clothing and jewelry.

Which is probably why I noticed my left hand. My left ring finger to be exact. I can still see the imprint of my wedding ring. It has faded, true. I don’t know if anyone else would notice it unless I held my hand just so the shadows were visible. But to me it is as clear as day.

Generally I wear a ring to cover it up. The same one I bought the day I had my wedding ring cut off. I didn’t want to have to look at that finger and see it bare. I kept wearing that ring because I didn’t want to have to look at that finger and see the impression of what once was.

It was his birthday today. 34. This Sunday would have been anniversary #13. On these days when I can’t help but be reminded of him, I wonder if there’s anything he misses about me. I wonder if he misses the chicken fried steak, biscuits, and gravy I would have cooked him for his birthday dinner. If he misses the chocolate chip cookies or the way I made macaroni and cheese. I wonder if there are days that he can’t help but be reminded of me.  I wonder if he ever calls our dog and remembers our vacation to a beach town in Italy that inspired her name.

I wonder if he calls her angel. The woman who replaced me.

The divorce has been final for 3 years and 3 months, almost to the day. You’d think memories would have faded some. You’d think that the impression of a ring would be gone. Oh how wrong you’d be.