~Sick

I left "home" in '98. It was one of the bigger mistakes in my life, but it was unavoidable. I was playing in traffic trying to kill myself... sick with the brain stuff, and sick with the pesky little cocaine habit I picked up. Moving helped with the cocaine problem, but didn't fix the brain. It was one of those "all I have to do is really try" things. In, I think it was, the end of '98, I moved, got a good job, tried to get off disability. Lasted until, I think it was, April of '99. Had to stop working at the "good job"... tried doing some construction work for a while. That didn't work out either. Couldn't stop the head.

I ended up in the burbs, in October of 2000 (another long story). My definition of "hell". I stayed with a friend and her family until May of 2002, when I got a place. I had housing assistance, but it was still in the burbs. I can't drive. Getting anywhere was rather difficult. There were no sidewalks where there should have been. I was tired all the time. I couldn't stop the head.

I left the burbs this past October, lured out to MT by a psychotic, manipulative, abusive, cunt. My bad... I guess. Honestly, I was planning on offing myself on the train out there. I didn't know what I was doing, only that if this wasn't happily ever after, I was done, and I'd suspected it wasn't happily ever after for months. Once I put the notice in to my apartment complex... once there was no turning back... she started showing her true colors, but I was pretty stuck. I had to go. I had nowhere else to live. I thought I could tough it out... thought I could manage to become what she decided I should be. The second I stepped off the train, I knew that wasn't going to be possible though... and it only got worse from there. I only got worse from there. The stress pushed my little MS brain over the edge, and I ended up losing my sight in my right eye.

So, I got the diagnosis, finally. I tried not to panic when the doc said "I've never seen a brain like this." I tried not to panic through all of it. No matter what, never complain around the cunt. The cunt is the only one allowed to complain. When I told her the diagnosis, she got angry with me. Odd how both her and the cunt I came out of had the same response. Not Freudian at all.

So, there I was, in bumfuck MT, trapped with a psycho and her kids. There were only two ways out of there. Either go out in a body bag, or beg one of the friends I'd been required to dick over to beg her mom to house me. I begged.

The last couple of weeks there were hell. I somehow had to get (what was left of) my belongings and myself to MA. My half brother got me a train ticket. (I'll be paying him back forever.) I just tried to hang in there... to not say the wrong thing... to not push any of the psycho buttons. I had to get to the train station.

I almost went across the street to the Mormon church to beg them for a ride.

I made it. I talked to my friend, my brother, and my old therapist on the phone, until I had to give the phone up. I stayed in bed as much as I could... staring at the ceiling. I went outside and smoked and paced, when I could. Above all, I kept my trap shut. No matter what I wanted to say, I kept it shut. When I said anything, I tapped into the part of myself that loved her... the part that forgave her... the part who still blames myself for all of this.

She blew everything, at the train station. That little part of me, who still loved her, was pushed over the edge.

The last thing she said to me, before I got on the train, was "Tell me you don't love her."

After all of that... after destroying my entire life (even going so far as to return or destroy thousands of pages of writing and hundreds of photos, because she threatened to either destroy them, fight with me over them, or throw them in my face) in order to be with her... after having to prove to her over and over again that I loved her.. after all of it, it all came down to her wanting more reassurance. It all came down to it being all about poor her. After all of it, she still couldn't even trust that I'd rather be with her, romantically, than be with one of my friends.

When I got to MA, my head was still spinning. It took a few days before I had any desire to go near a computer... and quite honestly, it's really fucking rude to immediately jump online in that sort of situation.

When I finally did, there were multiple e-mails from her, each one more obnoxious than the last.

That's when she became "the cunt".

In the first few weeks, I left her phone messages... I made sure she had my number when I got a phone, being that I didn't know what might come in the mail there. I told her happy birthday, as I thought it might be the right thing to do... but that was it. Even her responses to the phone messages were obnoxious.

So, "The Cunt" stuck.

...and I'm still homesick.