Me

Me

            It’s always said that when telling a story, the start is the hardest part. That’s no lie. You see, I’ve been staring at a blank page on my computer screen all morning, not knowing how to start. I’d also been staring at it blankly because, well, I didn’t know what I wanted to write about. I’m still not sure I do, but I decided to just start typing and see what happens. Maybe if I talk about where I’m at in life right now it’ll spark something.

            Let’s see; I’m 30 years old, divorced, moved back in with my mother and I seem to have lost all motivation to write anymore. I’m depressed. There, I said it. I’m depressed. I hide it well, no one can tell unless they pay close enough attention and if anyone does notice, they don’t say a thing about it. So, I keep my mouth shut, and they keep their mouths shut. I don’t say anything because I don’t want to come off as complaining about my life. I know others have had it harder than I have, but the problem with thinking like that is that it doesn’t make what I personally deal with any easier.

            I know others have lost spouses due to death, but most of them never doubted the love their husband/wife had for them. Me, my wife wanted out because she couldn’t keep herself true to me. And she had the gall to say she couldn’t trust me? Why, because I tried getting out of a relationship that was unhealthy for both of us before it became a marriage? What a hypocrite! Selfish bitch had to control everything, right down to how the relationship would end!

            I have no outlet for my anger and depression because I know that if I say something and the wrong person saw it, it would get back to her and I’d be made out to be the bad guy again. You see, she had this way of playing the victim to gain pity. Hell, it was probably for attention. I really doubt she realized she was doing it, but she was so damn good with her words that she could convince a priest he was going to Hell. Not that she did that, but that’s just how good she was.

            And here I am, thinking about the last person on earth I want on my mind at all. Why? Because I still love her? Hell no! I can’t get her out of my head because she got her way once again. Yeah, ultimately I wanted out too, but like everything, it had to be on her terms.

            I just want to yell and scream at her about how she ruined the past two and half years of my life, and how it’s continuing without her even in the picture. I want to yell at her for ruining the last couple weeks of time I had left with my dad. How her bullshit has kept me from being able to mourn losing him. How it’s her fault I now have to rebuild love and trust with some of my family members. How I wish I’d never met her. I also want to yell at her because of how guilty those thoughts make me feel and that I hate that I feel guilty because I know I’m not wrong. The only thing I did wrong was let myself fall for her.

            At one time I had texted a friend with a line for a song I wanted to write. It said, “My quest was for the damsel, but I fell for the dragon.” That was more true to my life than I think I even realized at the time. I’d told my mom that my ex-wife had a serpent’s tongue. Fitting with that lyric I’d written. I’d originally written it about sin, but it was really about the woman I was in a relationship with. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from getting to know her. If there was one request I could make to God, it would be that. Because, I know if I could have stopped myself from making that mistake, many things would be different right now.