Pissed Off

March 20, 2006

Michele I am so pissed off at you it isn't even funny. You stole my future, you stole my dreams of a life together with you, you stole everything that I had to live for. And you left me holding the bag. I'm out here in the cold, alone, lonesome, miserable, with no reason to continue. I simply exist now.

Fuck you for taking away everything. Fuck you for not having the courage to fight through your demons. I stood by you every single day of our relationship. I walked through fire for you again and again and again. Better than anyone else I know what you faced down and what you overcame to get this far. And better than anyone else I know the demons that still haunted you and plagued your life. In the end I respected your wishes and didn't force a medical solution on you. Your fear of doctors and of cancer were more than you could bear, so I understand the exit you chose for yourself. That doesn't change the misery it has left me with however.

Every day now I lose my temper and rage uncontrollable. Every day now I hurt in side to where it feels like I've been kicked by a mule. Every day now I have to grit my teeth and find a way to get through the next minute or hour. Just so I can repeat the process and do it again. My mother is dying. Her white blood cell count is so low that she can't withstand the treatments necessary to prolong her life. The doctor told her two months. That was a month ago. My father is talking about funeral plans. You abandoned me to face all of this by myself. I am so mad at you for this. I haven't let all my anger at you out because I was protecting you. You called it when ever you said I was protecting someone at my own expense. Well, I've been protecting you from me at my own expense and it is eating me alive.

Sure I've been going to group, three times a month. They are pathetic. Mopey and whimpering and wondering what the fuck the death of their loved one means. Group isn't giving me the outlet I need. I need to sit across from you with your feet in my lap and rage and talk and cry and explain and come to understand what all of this means. Only I can't do that can I? You're not here any more. You left me. I know you'll understand when I say, I hate you.

And I love you.

And I miss you.

And I am broken inside.

And I am so mad at you.

And I miss you.

And I can't make sense of this any more.

And I love you.

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Mark H. Nichols

I am a husband, cellist, code prole, nerd, technologist, and all around good guy living and working in fly-over country. You should follow me on Twitter.