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May 3, 2015 at 5:19 pm Enter your password to view comments.

Dear Ginger

I remember the day you entered my life. I remember studying you; the vest you wore,  the rings on your fingers. You were spritely then. Quick witted.

I was attracted to you the moment I saw you. I teased you about eating pancakes for breakfast.
“Sweets arent breakfast food!” I said.

We met the day or two following.  I remember the emails back and forth flirting on the type of operation I was running. Our Robot Chicken joke. We sat that day and talked for near on three hours. You returned the following day. It was the first time I saw your wounds and the first time you gave me that look. The one of shame and insecurity and self hatred.

You had me so fooled that we were connected.  I don’t even know why. Looking back, we had little in common. 
Looking back, it was just a sham.

I was so in love with you.  I stood there believing the sincerity of your words when you promised me you were leaving.  We had it all planned. 

At least, that is what I thought.

Do you remember the day, early in the piece, when I stood there before you, begging with my tears for you to be straight with me. To tell me now if I should walk away and let go of dream of us being together.

I think it’s the beginning of when you started to break my heart. Slow, hairline fractures or seemingly inconsequential chips.

Every time I’d end up in tears, you’d come running. You’d hold me, reassure me, promise me. Then I would calm and centre myself, and continue buying in to the charade.

I don’t know why I stayed.  Do you?

So many times I could have, should have, turned away and walked on. I honestly can’t tell you why I didn’t. I think at the time I was deeply in love with you.  For no good, sound reason.

But I must have loved you. 

It’s just that you hurt me over and over. Never intentionally.  Never deliberately. Never with malice. All just by-products of your illness, I suppose. Blaming it seems like an easy way out.

And for every hurt, I have a small token of you to remind me of how you’d buy little gifts, not even out of guilt, but just because.

I don’t know if you actually loved me. I don’t even know if you know what love is.  I can’t even tell anymore what was sincere and what was just words said to keep me adoring you.

You left me, you left life, long before you took your last breath.  I only remember the darkened, dead eyes.

I’m left with nothing but emptiness. You took all I had and didn’t even leave me the dignity of being considered your partner.  Maybe that is what hurts the most; that after 4 years and constant pain and hardwork, I’m noted as nothing in your life.

I try to remember that I wasn’t nothing. But battling your delusions wears me down. 

People who knew us as a couple tell me they knew you loved me. They try to reassure me that of course you loved me – they could see it.

So I’ll hold on to that day outside the Coffee Guy where you looked down at me and told me that you’d know when I was no longer in love with you because I wouldn’t stare up at you adoringly. 

It doesn’t feel like I’ll ever stare up at someone else the way I did to you that day.

But worse, I don’t know that I can trust the way someone stares back.

July 29, 2014 at 5:14 pm Leave a comment


I worry.

I don’t think I am doing a very good job as a parent.

Continue Reading June 15, 2009 at 1:31 pm 1 comment

Baby Factory

I joke with friends that I have an uber uterus, more powerful than you or I; that with just three clicks of the heels of my red ruby shoes, and uttering “I wish I pregnant. I wish I was pregnant. I wish I was pregnant.”… it is so.

Ok. Usually there is a penis involved. But sometimes only just.

Continue Reading March 9, 2009 at 3:18 pm Leave a comment


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