was there ever really love at all?
That moment when you’re drowning and reaching out for the very person you’d give your life for. They’re standing there. You’re crying out. They hear you. See you. But won’t save your life. I’ve lived that moment. I hate to think back on it, because the pain resurfaces. I’ll never forget. I swear I could feel my heart breaking into a million pieces. He refused to come to my rescue. He chose not to defend me, but rather to assault my character. It broke me. I’ve never felt so rejected. He was not the only one against me, but he was the only one that mattered. I still think about it. Still have images of him walking away as I drowned in turmoil. Ever been abandoned? I finally want to talk about it. I don’t care to conceal that truth anymore. Let me explain: My sweet daughter is no surprise to her biological father or me. We had relations on and off for nearly a decade. We shared an equally strong desire for one another. It was very sexual, yes, but there was also this conversation piece. We made love with words. We were both lovers of the pictures we could paint with them. The colors were extremely enticing. I loved him, and he knew it. I loved him more than anyone. He knew it. I loved him more than my ex-husband. They both knew it. Yes, my ex as well. I risked so much, because I loved him. The heart is deceiving. When I came out about my daughter belonging to him, I became his nemesis over night. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but I know I didn’t think that getting left to fend for myself was on the list of options.
I didn’t get it. Let me tell you something. That hurt. Badly.
I had him on one end painting me out to be some sort of gold digging groupie. On the other end, there was my soon to be ex-husband playing the woeful victim as if this was all so surprising to him. As if we hadn’t been seeing a therapist since within the first year of our marriage. As if I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t in love with him during that time. As if he didn’t know that I’d only stayed in the marriage because I couldn’t stand to break his heart.
I mean. That was a lot. I had fingers pointing from all directions.
Everything was my fault. Everything. No one else accepted any blame. It all felt unfair, but I mainly couldn’t get past the fact that the person who had actively participated in the act, the other half of the matter, had turned against me.
We’re all three in the courtroom together: two angry men and a crying woman. Wow. I was the murderer. They were the casualties.
They both presented the same argument: She acted alone.
I remember taking the stand. Their eyes glared through me, reflecting the pieces of my shattered heart.
I broke down. I couldn’t take being there like that. Where does love go? How does it so quickly disappear?
I don’t operate that way. If I’ve ever loved you, I’ll always love you. I don’t turn off just because things didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped. I don’t stop caring about someone just because they don’t turn out to be who I thought they were.
We’re only human. None of us perfect. None of us deserving to be left out in the cold. All of us needing acceptance. Forgiveness. All of us needing unconditional love. These men completely left me out to dry. It needs to be said that they were both cowards. They didn’t stand up as men and admit their role in any of it. I stood there, shameful, though I was, and admitted to my wrong doings. I put it all on the table, because I was brave enough to do so. I didn’t allow people’s perception of me to deter me from finding out if the truth could in fact set me free. And I refused to allow my frustration with them to destroy my integrity; I would not diminish them as human beings just for the sake of preserving my own good image.
I took it all. I NEVER once said a negative thing about either of them. I could have, but don’t have it in me. I wanted to at times, but I could never justify it. There was no gain for me. The most I’ll say is that they behaved as only a coward would. When you allow someone else to take the fall for you, that’s what you’re reduced to in my book.
Speaking of my book... it's getting there.
-just a little release. sometimes i still need to release parts of the experience.