Letter To My Ex: I Know Who You Are

Dear Ex,

Because you live your life pretending to be someone you’re not,  you think that I’ll suddenly forget what you’ve done and who you really are.

Because you pretend to be a good father, you think I’ll forget that you left your beautiful children to live with a woman you met on a fetish website. You didn’t bother to tell anyone where you were. You also think I’ll forget that you were largely absent in your children’s lives from the beginning, showing up only for the good stuff, the celebrations, the photo ops. All while pretending to be father of the year.

Because you pretend to have a job and live a normal life now, you think I’ll forget that you haven’t done an honest day’s work in decades. You think I’ll forget the 2,000 pages, in your own words, describing a scandalous and sordid double life–words you wrote compulsively during work hours while you lost clients and and sent your firm spiraling downwards until it collapsed altogether.

Because you speak of your latest girlfriend in such glowing terms, you think I’ll forget that you found the previous ones on Craigslist Casual Encounters, and that they are a bunch of broken and dangerous misfits who should never come near any children.

Because you act like you’re successful, you think I’ll forget that you stole money from me and my family for years. Because you drive around with fancy school stickers on your car, you think I’ll forget that my parents pay for our children to attend these schools.

Because you pretend you have no mental  health issues or a history of untreated addiction and dangerous sexual behavior, you think I’ll forget and think it’s okay when you want to talk to our children about sex and morals.

Because you pretend you did nothing wrong and that I somehow fooled several attorneys, two judges, and an experienced and respected pro-father child custody evaluator about you, you think I’ll forget that I have proof that you are a serial cheater, a compulsive liar, a pervert, an addict, a neglectful parent, a horrible role model, and an abuser who threw me across the room twice, once while I was pregnant.

Because you pretend to be a good guy, you think I’ll forget that you are a sociopath and have no empathy and no soul. But I will not forget. I know who you are.

 

 

 

 

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Forgiving Yourself for Marrying a Man Who Cracked Up

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What would I say to a friend?

You were young. You didn’t know. You couldn’t possibly predict the future. Yes, there were signs, but you were also hoodwinked by a pro. You had noble and honest intentions. You thought it would work out. You tried your hardest. You never gave up until you needed to walk away. You worked so hard.

It’s okay. It really is. 

You are moving forward. His power is diminished.

It will be even more okay. It really will.

Expired

All the spices in my cupboard expired in 2012. I learned this tonight as I started to pack up my kitchen for my move.

I bought all my spices in 2011, the last time I thought my life was normal.

I toss every single bottle: cumin and coriander, Hungarian paprika, hot chili flakes, cinnamon and nutmeg, curry, basil and mustard powder, rosemary and thyme, marjoram and parsley, cloves and turmeric, sea salt and black peppercorns.

My hands smell like faraway places and possibilities.