The politics of blogging

On day 7 I learned that their fling was not over. So on that grievous day I cursed and hit him below the belt from 2,000 miles away and am not sorry for it. Instead of doing something venomously self destructive thereafter, I went to my friend Lisa`s house and cried in the kitchen while her and her husband pep talked me and the kids were in the other room playing Temple Run on my phone. She offered me beer which I eventually just got full off of rather than drunk and accepted the invitation to sleep over. I regardless needed to be there to babysit today, which happens to be day 8.

It’s still up in the air as to if letting him read my blog is a good idea (which I post from wordpress to my tumblr for him). I’d like him to come to me rather than it always being the other way around and part of me wants him to think I completely self destructed though there’s not much damage left to do at this point. He can rest the axe from his hands.

Lisa has been the most supportive friend with an open home and experience in where I am now. Her run in with the apocalypse was 7 years ago and she’s still got the scars from punching a concrete bathroom wall until her hand was the size of a baseball mitt. It didn’t get better for her for about a year and a half and I can see that being my story too but the bottom line is it did get better which I obviously know it will but feel like a year and a half would be getting out of this jail sentence early.

When I’m not sleeping I’m crying and when I am sleeping I’m in heaven. For the kids sake I tried to stay distracted by them which isn’t hard with a 5,3 and 1 year old calling my name and begging me to play with them, nap with them and feed them. It was during the quiet moments inbetween that thoughts started to creep in on me.

Regardless of what happens to Chris and I, the most important thing that Lisa and I agree on is eliminating the toxicity from our relationship. I don’t know how considering he’s literally poisoned me within an inch of my life with his friends with feelings and benefits stuff…but something has to change and I’d prefer it be him coming to me for starters.

I was telling Lisa after she took her oldest to kindergarten that all I want to do is talk to the man but have nothing pressing to say. I just want conversation to go about as normal, but I know things are far as can be from the kind of normal we shared, so there’s nothing conversationaly that could be shared that would satisfy my empty chest.

I take that back, my heart has been expelled from my body but the placenta it left behind is still attached to my ventricles. I wish I had it in me the way I did when I was younger to write songs. I’d be one hell of a folk punk artist especially considering it wouldn’t be hard to find a punk folk to play guitar for me.

At least after last night I was reminded the kids would be devastated if I died and it made me sad to think about them crying at my casket and helped ease myself out of the “I want to die” thing, though I really do.

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3 thoughts on “The politics of blogging

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