It all began on a summer’s eve

It all began on a summer’s eve in July 2017 when my husband told me that he had slept with my sister and that he was leaving me. Which news was worse is debatable. If his aim was to cut me deepest, he couldn’t have chosen better timing. I had recently been fired from my job because of excessive panic attacks which led to hospitalization at a local mental health institution. Additionally, I had been brutally raped about a month prior by a man he had introduced me to as a friend. Earlier that day, I had been informed by the states attorney’s office that there would be no prosecution for the crime – even though a handgun and a minor child had been involved. I already felt destroyed. His actions ensured I would stay that way for a long time.

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Changing the conversation

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Dear Richard,

We’ve recently welcomed a new year and today is your birthday, so it’s to be expected that you’re up late taking stock of the state of your life and I’m not surprised that you seem to be finding yourself unhappy. I can certainly relate to that sentiment.

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Family means nobody gets left behind

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What would you grab if your home was on fire? It’s a common enough question and a good one to consider should anyone find themselves presented with such a dire situation. I had the opportunity to know my answer to that question. Earlier this year when I was staying at the YWCA shelter, a fire alarm went off early one morning. No drill was scheduled, so I had to assume this was the real deal.

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Feminine Anger

I can feel her presence. She is always there, nibbling at the frayed edges of my mind. My most intimate and steadfast companion never leaving me behind. Rather, she is the one who jumps into play when others choose to abandon me. I would say she’s back – but truth be told, she never really left.

She exists for a reason and that reason is to protect me when it seems nobody else will. She has never failed me in that regard. Although her means are unorthodox and arguably unethical, she is always effective when it comes to protecting the fragility of my heart. She is not only allowed to feel anger, but she wields it as a warrior might carry a sword and shield.  By contrast, I am not culturally allowed to feel or express my rage myself.

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I was never your cure.

I was never your cure. I am your addiction.

You hurt me far too many times, I could mention

After it has all been done and said –

You thought you could leave, but I’m still in your head.

 

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I will not abandon you.

I’m not sure if you get my messages. You often say you will block my number. So I don’t know if they get through to you – either literally or metaphorically. But I know you check this website every day so I will tell it to you again here. I will not abandon you.

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Letter to my husband

Dear Richard,

You’ve always been a coward. I didn’t see it for so long because I loved you. Though I love you still, the rose-colored glasses have been removed and I see you for what you are.

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You are a coward. You were a coward before I met you. And you are a coward still. You told me yourself that you stayed on SSI/Disability long after you had any need of it – that staying on it was your “security blanket.” When I needed you most to speak for me, you stayed silent. When I needed you to notice me and the work I was doing, you ignored me. You belittled me. You marginalized me. And when I was struggling after running out of medication, you not only failed to notice – you left. You abandoned me in my most desperate hour. And you’ve abandoned me every day, every hour, every minute since then.

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Happy Anniversary Richard!

I would like to wish my husband a happy anniversary! It was one year ago today he revealed to me the lie that our marriage had been built upon.

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Nothing

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Art by Jill Battaglia

“He was supposed to protect me,” she thought with angry tears in her eyes as the rain fell hard against the windows of her car. That singular thought swirling over and over in her mind like creamer in coffee. “He was supposed to protect me.”

But he didn’t. He had left her. He abandoned her. And he gave no indication that he had any capacity left to care for her at all. In that moment, she couldn’t ever remember feeling so alone.

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Who is my Heisenberg?

May 20, 2017 @ 6:29 a.m.

Who is my Heisenberg?

I have a mental illness. This is not something I chose. This is not something of which I am proud. This is not something I want any more than Walter White wanted to have cancer. But our earnest desires couldn’t save either of us from the painful truth.

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