We all make choices. And when you make the kind of choices that fuck up my life, what I want to say is that you don’t get to pick a baseless fight and expect me to forget the past and try to move on and build a relationship without resentment. But I don’t get to say that. And deep down I tell myself that there is always more value in compromise than there is in a fight. And I believe that. And I’m glad the fight is over. But now that it is, I can come back to this space and what I do get to say is this: Fuck you. Fuck you and what you've done.
Because some days I just need to talk. And while I really like you, I’d like to talk about me. Because when I’m happy, I want you to hear me laugh; and when I’m sad this may be where I cry; and when I’m hurt, well...we all need a place to bleed. Because I have a beautiful life, and I want to tell you about it. Because my life is just as f*cked up as yours is, and I want to tell you about it. Because I think it’s beyond fabulous that the incredible man wanted me to come see him. But that the best part was seeing him cuss a holy blue streak because I had a Notre Dame football hat on; and that the worst part was having to say goodbye and drive home, and that I cried for at least 90 miles.
Some things I may not want to tell you, but I have learned that I need to say them. I need to say that I may have today found myself in big shaking splashing tears. And locked myself in the bathroom to hide my sobbing from the world. I hate feeling the kind of suffocating pain a woman feels when she has to go through this. And I know that love should never be this goddamn hard. But these are the cards we've been dealt, and I'm going to deal with them.
So my life is gorgeous. And my life is also fucked. And sometimes writing is the only thing I know to do with such a beautiful wreck.