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2005-04-03 - 12:19 p.m.

Things are getting better. I feel less….raw. I’m still sick over what was lost, but I’m not thinking about it over and over in my head anymore, torn between tears and vomiting.

I drank a lot last week. Thank God for passing out. It stops me from damaging myself.

It’s really sad that when something happens that totally shakes my world out from under me, I immediately revert to coping mechanisms I taught myself half a lifetime ago.

Drinking and cutting.

Drink until the world spins, until the voice of reason in the back of your head can’t speak anymore…and then cut. Cut until the blood flows. Watch it in a detached state as it splashes on the sink, or the floor, or the ground. See how beautiful the ruby drops are, as they pour from your flesh to splash down. Seeing it all from somewhere outside of your body. Amazing that you can even hold the blade, because you’ve drunk so much your hands want to shake and your lips have gone numb. There is no pain. Not yet. That sweetness comes later, after you regain consciousness and push yourself up off of whatever floor you’ve passed out on. Then comes the pain. That sweet horrible pain that tells you you’re alive. The bloody smears on your arms that tell you the pain is ok. Emotional pain is unacceptable. No one can see it. No one can reassure you that it’s real. But pain with blood….that’s good. When there is blood, you know your pain is real from the grimaces on people’s faces. Everyone can see that you hurt. Except the irony is, you never show these wounds to anyone. No one but you ever sees the blood. You are the only witness to your pain. But at least now, you know it’s real. And now you know you’ve been punished for whatever it was that made you hurt, because it’s always your fault. Either you weren’t good enough in the first place, and caused the hurt directly, or you were too weak and felt the hurt, and therefore are to blame anyway.

Don’t worry. I didn’t cut myself. Not even once. Not even a paper cut.

I wanted to. The drinking would have made it sooooo easy. The pain was nearly overwhelming. And I wanted to cut. Almost needed to. But I didn’t. I haven’t cut myself in that way in over 13 years.

But today, I’m ok with being sober. I don’t want to cut myself. I’m happy that I can sit here at my desk and look down upon my clean, unmarked flesh. I’m stronger than I thought I was.

:::

I suppose I should clear some things up.

Yes. My husband did a very foolish thing, and hurt me a lot. Came very close to breaking my heart completely.

No. He did not “cheat” on me. He was careless with his words. He said things he never should have, to people he had no right saying them to. He shared secrets with people carelessly and then lied to me about it. He took advantage of the fact that I love him so much.

Yes. He apologizes to me every day. Every hour of every day. I can see the shame and pain in his eyes. I can see his regret. He is trying very hard to make amends. He is giving me all the time and space I need. He is being very considerate of my fragile emotions.

No. We are not breaking up, or separating, or getting a divorce. We really do love each other. More than can be put into words. I think maybe he just became so comfortable with the knowledge of our love, that he took it for granted and grew careless. But neither of us wants things to end. Especially not like that. Over a stupid mistake. We are both stronger than that.

Yes. I have forgiven him. I love him, how could I not? It’s the forgetting part I always have trouble with. And really, should we forget so easily? Are these not the things that mold our futures and make us who we are? Are these not the things that teach us and in turn make us stronger?

No. I don’t think I will forget. I just pray I never become bitter. I don’t want that on my soul.

:::

It seems to me lately, that all of my troubles right now are based on lies. Some little lies, some big, but all of them damaging. People may say that things are just little “white” lies. But really, does it matter how small they are? I think that if someone can so easily tell lies about things that don’t really matter, then what are the chances they are not lying about the things that do?

Each time I hear you tell a story, it gets bigger and bigger. I smile along with you, because you really are a natural born story teller. It’s ok. I know that’s who you are. But each story plants one more seed of doubt in my mind. Hardens my heart just a little more. I don’t like it. I don’t want my mind riddled with seeds of doubt until I no longer know what’s real and good. I do not want to harden my heart against future hurts. You are good to my son. You have him fooled…for now. He is not a stupid child. He sees your little lies too. He just doesn’t know about the big ones yet. Don’t do that to him. He wants so badly for you to be who you seem. And me. You soothe my wounds with your low voice, put your arm around me and call me “darlin’”. You make it so easy to fall into trusting you. You say all the right words, smile at all the right times, and for all the world it seems as if you respect me. But…there’s the little things. When I go to hang up your coat, I feel how heavy it is and I feel that there are two cans in your pocket. I didn’t look. I didn’t say anything to you about it. I honestly don’t know whether you had beer or pop cans in your pocket. Sometimes you come home and smell like alcohol. I know, you work in a liquor store. Bottles will break, beer cans blow up. It’s understandable. But sometimes, I think I smell it on days when you haven’t been to work. Sometimes, I am sure I smell it on your breath. When you go down to D’s house, and you stay all night, is it because you don’t want to come home smelling of whatever it is you’ve been doing? Because you know I’ll see it in your eyes, or smell it on your clothes or on your breath? Or is it really just as you say, that it’s too late to get the bus so you might as well just sleep on the couch? Don’t you know how badly I want to trust you? don’t you know what it means to me for you to be who you say you are?

I am not so naïve as to think everything is good and right with the world and that telling the truth is easy. I know that. But I am not a cynical person. I really do want to believe that people are being honest with me. My first reaction truly is to believe the best of people.

I’ve told you all this before. I MUST have truth. I cannot live with lies, being surrounded by doubts and mistrust. Don’t think, because I don’t confront you that I don’t know. There are so many lies I have heard…Every lie I catch you in, makes me love you just a little bit less. I am afraid that someday there will be so many lies…that I will hate you. And hating you would break my heart.

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