What I intend to do is to write here whenever I wish I could talk to either of them. On Day 1-- today-- , this gives me the idea I will never leave off writing posts.
The first day in some years I have not woken to a small note from Patte. I've lost my best friend.
I miss the love from both of them, of course I do. But it is those missing small messages which are making my hands shake this morning.
I am shaking. My waist is sleepy and slow. There is hysteria coiled in the back of my throat like a golf ball. My breathing is tied in knots.
I wrote Patte yesterday to tell him I was going no contact, defriending him on Facebook and suggesting a story to tell his wife to explain our break. After several whiskeys, the email turned into a laundry list of all the the things I love about him and things I will miss.
A better living example of why there should be no contact has never been found than this email. So it goes.
I brought this on myself, of course I did. No pity required.
(There is no need to announce No Contact to my husband. His only reaction would be relief. Somewhere-- Wendy the Wine Girl spreads her velvet 30-something thighs.
And neither leg cares a fig for me. )
I need to care about me. Right? Right???
The first day in some years I have not woken to a small note from Patte. I've lost my best friend.
I miss the love from both of them, of course I do. But it is those missing small messages which are making my hands shake this morning.
I am shaking. My waist is sleepy and slow. There is hysteria coiled in the back of my throat like a golf ball. My breathing is tied in knots.
***
I wrote Patte yesterday to tell him I was going no contact, defriending him on Facebook and suggesting a story to tell his wife to explain our break. After several whiskeys, the email turned into a laundry list of all the the things I love about him and things I will miss.
A better living example of why there should be no contact has never been found than this email. So it goes.
I brought this on myself, of course I did. No pity required.
(There is no need to announce No Contact to my husband. His only reaction would be relief. Somewhere-- Wendy the Wine Girl spreads her velvet 30-something thighs.
And neither leg cares a fig for me. )
***
I need to care about me. Right? Right???
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