Day One: Post Apocalypse
a·poc·a·lypse
[əˈpäkəˌlips]
noun
Apocalypse (noun) · the Apocalypse (noun) · apocalypse (noun) · apocalypses (plural noun)
- (the Apocalypse)the complete final destruction of the world, as described in the biblical book of Revelation. See also Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”the bell’s ringing is supposed to usher in the Apocalypse”
- (the Apocalypse)(especially in the Vulgate Bible) the book of Revelation.
- an event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale:”a stock market apocalypse” · “an era of ecological apocalypse”
I woke up angry. At you. I did not have an ounce of grace to offer you this morning and I’m truly sorry for that, J. I opened this blank page and started writing to you because I had a lot to say and I wanted to make sure I got it all out. The release of the words in my brain, the hurt in my heart, and the anger in my bones felt so cathartic.
I was really letting you have it.
And whoever this new person is that has replaced me?
Oh, she was getting it too. Real good.
Neither of you were safe from this storm raging inside me.
I imagined the two of you, gleeful and dancing with joy at the realization that you had finally managed to shuck me from your life.
FINALLY.
You to her: “Bring on the guilt free fucking, babe! Would you mind stopping by the store on your way home and grabbing some of that popcorn I love and go ahead and get some ice cream while you’re at it. Tonight is our night, babe. Gone, gone, the bitch is gone, the bitch is as good as dead! Did you know I have been in love with you since our souls collided in another lifetime? But lets not talk about that right now. We’ll save it for later after we have finished our Cumming Together Freedom Ceremony.”
Her to you: “Yes, lover! I’m so proud of you. I know this has been weighing on your mind and heart but you did the right thing, she was just bringing you down. BTW, I stopped by the lingerie store and I got something special for our Cumming Together Freedom Ceremony, henceforth known as CTFC. I hope you don’t mind but I also picked up some candles and some cleansing sage so we can rid every last crevice of your heart where her memory might still reside. I don’t want to start our new journey of love with her scent lingering over us. This is our season now, baby! ILYSM!!”
Obviously, I know this is a gross exaggeration of how the conversation between you probably went but it feels good to imagine that she is a total douchewhore and I do find some comic relief in writing these scenarios down because then I can feel somewhat just okay for a split second.
I absolutely hate her.
I shouldn’t but I don’t care.
I hope she is insufferable and has adult onset acne and is lactose intolerant and farts during sex and I hope it smells like shit and your boner deflates faster than a helium balloon when you suck all the air out of it. I hope she burps the alphabet and the birthday song.
**Disclaimer: Sometimes grief and anger make you revert to a more primitive version of yourself and these feelings are absolutely ok and normal and you shouldn’t feel bad for feeling them (even though you do and you will and that is why you’re inserting this disclaimer here so that when you revisit this someday after you are healed, you will remember that you were right smack dab in the middle of some intense emotions and you need to go easy on your former self, sister love).**
I absolutely love you.
I shouldn’t but I don’t care.
I hope you are happy and don’t mind her insufferable ways and love all her imperfections and apply her acne ointment for her when her hands are aching and only buy dairy free ice cream so that her farts are silent and unsmelly during sex and your boner keeps on boning. I hope you record her burping the alphabet and the birthday song and show your kids someday.
I hope you find someone to love.
I hope she loves you with her whole heart.
I am too tired to hate, too spent for anger, too brokedown for spite.
See, the thing about what I just typed up there just now is that it’s constantly changing, like every few minutes. Grief comes in waves and sometimes those waves bring hatred and vitriol and sometimes they bring sadness and tears and sometimes they bring reflection and understanding.
And sometimes I feel like I am just writing this to you and I am not being completely truthful with myself because I want you to read this and come back to me
but you are gone.
So far gone.
You have been gone long before you broke the news to me yesterday.
FML for realz, yo.
Can I getta AMEN???
This is so hard. I don’t understand how you don’t feel any of this. I thought you loved me. How is it so easy for you to move on to someone else? I can’t even imagine another man’s hand touching me. It makes me want to vomit.
Did you know that a garden needs more than just water to grow?
It’s true.
It needs
space
light
air
nourishment
the right temperature
Did you know love needs the same things? I think that’s really beautiful and poetic. I was thinking of this earlier today while sitting in my car in the school pick-up line. I was feeling down-down and I thought about how we used to tend to each other’s garden. A garden, like love, will try to keep growing with only a little bit of nourishment but it will eventually die. Maybe a few foolhardy sprouts will remain, but it will mostly turn back into just the earth. And no one will ever know it once existed.
I am sorry we stopped tending to each other’s garden.
Why did you want to be free of me?
Free of the burden of Me
Free of the Burden of Me
FREE OF THE BURDEN OF ME
You know what? Fuck that noise. I didn’t stop tending to your garden. You stopped tending to mine. You took your hoe and your watering pail, and your enriched soil and you started tending to her garden. And when you did that, she came alive, and gave you what you were missing from me. But you took it from me! You took it away from me. How dare you! You didn’t even give me a choice. You just started working your magic on her and sprinkling your miracle-gro all over her and she bathed in it and she mirrored all of that back to you. You left me here to wither and die and then had the real nerve to wonder why you weren’t’ getting your needs met anymore from me. This new person was blooming under your care, and I was withering away from your neglect.
You asshole
Fuck you
I love you
And also. ME? Me, a BURDEN? Hahahahahaha. Yeah right. I am not a burden to anyone except maybe myself. I gave you all the space and all the time and I didn’t ask for more than you had always given me. Except I didn’t know at the time you were just giving it to someone else. I don’t know much but I do know that I am no one’s burden and I’ll be goddamned if I carry that cross.
You sent me a text this afternoon about some job you applied for and this is what I wanted to send back to you:
GRATZ. You should let your emotional support person know so ya’ll can celebrate and she can give you a blowie later
I typed that out in my notes folder on my phone and then sent it to my mom and asked her if it was ok to send to you and she said no.
So I didn’t.
I just sat here and waited for my heart to stop racing and for the heaviness in my chest to subside and then I sent you this:
Congrats <hand clap emoji>
You haven’t responded.
I shouldn’t have responded either.
I wish you would have responded.
I suddenly just feel sad now.
Like soul-crushing, fisting my shirt into a knot and screaming into it, throwing all the rocks against the window panes of my heart to break in and stop the flow of absolute love I have for this man who somehow cannot love himself enough to understand that he is worthy of the kind of beauty and grace that looks like
stumble-fall down-knock you on your ass grass stains on your white linen pants and tomato sauce on your necktie right before a huge presentation and you feel like shit and wanna puke up all the nerves and anxious worry that comes from wanting to do your best at all times and you don’t like to fall down in front of a crowd or in front of anybody really but your lover is there and she sees you and she brought the magic stain eraser and the paper bag for you to puke in and when you fall down she falls down harder so everyone will look at her instead and all the ladies in the audience will grab their Kleenex and weep at your chivalry as you help her to her feet and smooth her dress for her
I feel you so deep in my bones and in my heart and I love you more than I can even understand of myself and I want you to slow down.
Stop running.
Just slow down a little bit, please… stroll like you have all the time in the world to get to where you’re going and you don’t have to run anymore because the person who is going to love you will understand that you had to take your time to get to her. And when you get there, just let her hold you and don’t say a word but don’t leave either. Just stay. For once in your life, just stay.
I really don’t know how to not love you.
In Between Days 