November 27, 2011

Fuck You


You know what, Dave. You’re a piece of shit.  Jay told me there were papers and boxes of your things in your mom's empty rental.  I went there yesterday to get them and see what was there. Your usual chaotic mess of receipts I probably asked you for 100 times, your tablets with small writing that made no sense, notes and lists that you probably never followed through on, and at the bottom mixed in with paperclips, dirty nickels and pennies and junk was a plastic baggie with a crushed up pill in it.  What is surprising and alarming about this is that all the stuff was from 2008.  You were doing that fucked up shit that long ago.  I can’t even imagine all the lies you told me.  All the stuff you hid from me.  How many times I asked you what was going on, begged you to be ok, prayed and wished for our marriage to be better, and all you ever did, it seems, was lie.  I hate you for being a liar.  And a coward.  You are so right….I do deserve better. I know I am a good person who always tries to do the right thing.    Everyone thinks I should be over this by now.   So many people act like nothing happened.  I’ll never be over it.  How does one get over this? There is no fucking way.  Driving up to this house and knowing right away you were dead was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me.  Knowing my kids saw you die, you fucked up piece of shit, you did this in front of them. I fucking hate you.  Loser loser loser.  I hope you are rotting in hell, for a little while anyway, you deserve it.  I’m sick of being sad.  Sick of being ruined by you.  All I ever wanted was happiness and peace and love.  There was never peace with you around. One can’t be at peace when their soul is full of lies.  One can’t be happy when their whole life is a lie.  And as for love, I don’t think you really know what it means. 

2 comments:

  1. My husband also committed suicide, but thank god he didn't do it in front of my son. I completely understand what you mean. I'll never be over it and it was 4 years ago. I could've written what you wrote......I'm also sick of being sad even after 4 fucking years!

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  2. Word for word, it's how I am feeling 2 weeks after Andre's death. Going through his things, finding empty pill bottles, reading journals, him checking out on us. ANGER! I just started journaling today. 2 weeks ago, I sat, paralyzed, on my living room floor, with my head in a stranger's lap, screaming, crying, in pain after finding him an hour earlier. I knew when he wasn't in the house that I would find him in the shed. I just knew. All I see is his sad face, slouched over and that FUCKING rope! Why didn't he talk to me? I could have helped him. I would NEVER leave him like that, no matter how fucked up shit got! Even if it was accidental, he didn't accidentally get fucked up, pick a fight, and lock himself in the shed. He didn't accidentally put a rope around his neck. Who cares if he just passed out. He still put the rope around his neck! I'm so angry! Thank you for venting and allowing me the same. I am headed out of the house to my first group session for my kid. I don't want to go, but I have to, for my son. So why couldn't he say, "I don't want to live, to make my family suffer, to be a burden, but I HAVE TO FOR MY WIFE AND KID!" Why did he get the easy way out? ASSHOLE!

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