He called me crazy. Now, I couldn’t agree more.

I let myself tremble at the thought of him with someone else. Following eleven months (and counting) of devastating struggle and distance, I figured that my temporary insanity has been quite a sane response.

He called me crazy. Now, I couldn’t agree more.

Because fear is the heart of love, betrayal – even just the slightest thought of it – has been so threatening. Distance has been so consuming. Paranoia, absolutely life-altering.

Did he actively try to avoid speaking to me online? Did I just sense the nervousness from his voice as he scrambled for every possible excuse as to why he can’t provide me with the time I go beyond for to give? Am I not worth the sacrifice of a lifestyle he isn’t really supposed to be living in the first place? Does his friends really matter more?

It’s all wrong. I started to feel embarrassed for letting this one person get away with disrespecting me so fully. I got angry at myself for constantly letting it happen – that giving of so much of power to someone who won’t seem to take me seriously or see me worthy of his attention and understanding.

My willingness to put up with more than I normally would when I’m not emotionally invested and involved has been stunning. It seemed never-ending until I found myself unknowingly able to twist the game of perspective, transforming it from my worst enemy to my most favorable ally.

How did I actually do it? Well, I didn’t – I got exhausted. One time, for reals.

Imagine putting up with resentment day in and day out for eleven months. It took a toll on both my body and soul – so tough on my health and rough on my spirit. Anger, paranoia, betrayal, and resentment imprisoned me from real joy in every aspect of my life that I withdrew myself from what seems to have been killing me.

The withdrawal occurred in phases he would not have failed to notice (had he really been in love with me). When the final straw has been drawn, it hit me hard. It shook my world that I’ve grown stronger, strong enough that saw what a waste I have been!

My mistake or the rain’s, I thank the heavens for now I know. I only have one go-around.


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Dear Daddy

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When I was five, I believed you were a superhero and the best in everything you did. You had my world revolving around gaining every single bit of attention I could get from the awesome you. Damn, I was punned.

You were the best musician-bass guitar player, amazing badass tattoos, wonderful singing voice. A rock star! Hey, you were a good cook, too. To top it off, you were the best driver and car salesman in the world. Everybody said you looked good and were so young to father a child – you had them all believing you had me at eighteen when you did when Mom was seventeen and you, well, twenty-two (or three?).

See, you got to be proud your baby grew up pretty smart and figured things in a different light. I saw and followed the beam called reality that is beyond your fantasy world. You took me to your beer-drinking sessions when I was barely four. You hopped from job to job because of negligence and-see, the real adults, they call it laziness and irresponsibility.


Daddy, three-y/o me, and glass of beer

I used to feel horrible for having been born out of wedlock and to be coming from a broken family, with my parents so young and separated. I perfectly recall each of them girls you brought home to Grandmama’s house (because you never really had your own place). At least three of them’s a Cathy – but, I specifically recall the bitchiest Cathy with whom you did drugs with. I was seven at the time she was your chic and when I called to say I missed you, you said to me:

Honey, listen. Never call this house again.

“Why, Daddy?”

Because I said so.

Wow. I am not being emotional or remorseful – please don’t get me wrong. Those words broke the seven-year-old girl, sure. But, they also made the woman I am today. Thanks to you, I grew up tough and brave.

I have to say great choice on my Mommy, though. While she never emphasized, I grew up to recognize she was beautiful, strong, and just naive when you had her. She learned, too. We both did and we both fought.

These days, you call me a lot and as I am not to upset Mommy. I pick up, be polite as she taught me. But, Daddy, I got to admit it felt terrific when we last talked –

Baby, I miss you. Will you meet me, at least?

“I am sorry, Daddy. I am terribly busy.”

Forgive me if I was a jerk or if I have never been a good father.

“Wow. You knew that? Holy macaroni. I need a drink. Will you buy me a beer?”


Me and Daddy, 2016. In good terms. What does one get out of anger?