I feel freezing cold inside as I look around this place. Time seems to pass so quickly nowadays. I feel as though I’m looking through a veil, much like the one I wore on my wedding day. It was beautiful, and offered the slightest blur, making everything appear a bit askew and dreamy.
I much prefer the muted reality of veiled eyes, to the stark realities that have come to visit recently. The grief I thought was over now rushes over me, daily, and I am exhausted from fighting it. I know that I’m one in millions of the Nameless Faceless, who also struggle not to drown in a sea of pain that never gets its fill.
I’m thinking of taking his picture off the wall. It’s too hard…his smiling face looking down at me, no matter the hour. I tend to remember him fondly, forgetting the pain between us. Sometimes, I remember that smile, amongst other things, was shared with a parade of other women over the last three decades. As I’ve said a hundred times, it never bothered me; I never took it personally. They were just a bunch of whores who would sleep with a man who was married, with children, at that. Lately, it has come to bother me. It’s a feeling that’s been creeping in over the last fourteen months since he died. I think it was the message from a particularly vicious female that planted this seed. Her name is Jenny. It caused me to wonder if the others hated me like she did. Then, I started questioning myself…trying to pin down exactly why he cheated. The only reason I can come up with is the same one I always came up with: Bennie had a character flaw that had nothing to do with me. It was just sex, except for two times, but those…incidents…were shut down quickly. He didn’t live long enough for Jenny to be an issue. What does it even matter now? It shouldn’t matter at all. Goddamn it. Just…nothing. Nothing.
Well, I’m going to run to town. When I return, I’m moving his picture, taking his favorite tee shirt off of the pillow I hold while I’m sleeping, and I’ll be taking all other reminders of him and doing away with them. He almost broke me when he lived. I’ll be damned if I let memories of him and his pathetic side bitches take up another second of my time.
In the words of Godsmack:
“And I wonder as I tear away my skin
It’s taken me so long to stitch
These wounds from where I’ve been...”
I’m not up for opening old wounds. I simply don’t have the emotional reserves to waste. Adios, Jenny…and every other bitch who fucked, blew, or gave a hand job to my husband. Today, you all get sent off to the Cloud! Happy travels!