Sometimes shit is hard to handle....

So she's been reading my blog again, even though she said she wouldn't anymore. It feels like the only time she contacts me is when she feels slighted by what I write in here. Any other time, she doesn't want to talk. She says all my perceptions are fallacy, but doesn't tell me where I'm wrong. She doesn't want to beat a dead horse.

Then why respond?

She knows I was going to see my buddy's band tonight and that I was feeling better about myself and a little more able to get free of the hurt, and she tries to drag it up. Guerilla tactics, strike then fade into the brush. She won't talk on the phone and get things settled or sorted. She tries to leave me in pain, just to return the favor. She's still so hurt and angry about the emotional abuse and anger, I don't think she'll ever forgive me.

I was a bastard for the longest time. I didn't appreciate her or give her the proper respect she really deserved. I was a drunk. I am no longer these things, but it is no use, she will never see it. I have worked for a year to change my life and made great strides. She'll never get to appreciate it. She's moved on to another man, but doesn't want me to be okay by myself. She tells me she doesn't love me, but yet she continues to take shots.

If you're involved with someone else, why are you worried about what I write? Do you really care? Or is it unresolved anger? I am trying to follow your path, to move on with my life and get back to some sense of normalcy. Why can't I have that? Why can't I have the hard earned rewards of my labor? Is my penance not paid?

I never quit.  Until this week, I couldn't accept the fact that she had. 

Why tear at the people who show support just because they don't live in my zipcode? I've spent more time in conversation with many of these people in a month than I've spent with you all year. I know more about the daily goings-on of these kind folks than my own wife. Leave my friends alone.

I went to my buddy's show and had a great time. I didn't allow her mean hearted games to affect me. Maybe if I'd heard her voice instead of a nasty email, I'd be in worse shape.

As it is, I was able to own my own shit successfully. Barely, but I did it.

Ain't nothin' to a G.