MAYBE NEXT TIME

Dear 2.10,
How is anyone expected to relax with no avenue to truth? You’ve taken my very last avenue away and left me with nothing; you have no desire nor do you think highly enough of us to prize truth, and have no clue as to how deeply insulting (and damaging) that is. So everything thereafter becomes difficult. I mean why waste time chatting about superficial stuff as if everything’s peachy while it’s known no credible foundation exists beneath?

I haven’t laughed or even genuinely smiled since before the 5th of May. I miss laughing. I miss being happy. I miss feeling a smile come up from inside. I miss being excited to wake up in the morning. I finally had that for a couple months leading up to the 5th of May. Finally. 5yrs coming. It was fantastic. It was amazing. I felt my old genuine self coming back. The real me. The upbeat, giving, gushing, ‘anything’s possible’ me. I liked and appreciated you more every day. The clouds were drawing away and I actually glimpsed possibilities and looked forward to things – and then - you schooled me on my delusional state; delusions built on bullshit, subscribed to by a ridiculous fool, me. I am so fucking stupid and I am so fucking broken, like someone took a baseball bat to my insides (and that was before surgery).

What a coincidence right, that my insides imploded a week later? I told you I couldn’t believe you were making me carry everything around for another 4 or 5 days or however long until you’d have a conversation and that I didn’t know if I could do it – and as we found out, I couldn’t. My body broke. The poison that betrayal and humiliation send coursing through our systems hunting for a weak spot found my abdomen. I got lucky, it wasn’t cancer. Maybe it will be next time. Or maybe in the midst of the next confrontation you set me up for, the accompanying arrhythmias will spawn an actual heart attack, or maybe a stroke. Yeh, maybe next time; now there’s something to look forward to, and a heck of a way to live.