I Need A New Life.

August 13, 2023
So, I wrote him that last letter. Then, I wondered what to do. I don’t think I can contact this person telepathically anymore. I have to be feeling REALLY needy to do that; and also, lately I’m questioning whether that’s even the right thing to do. If he doesn’t want to be here, who am I to be constantly dragging him back? … away from the wife and family HE’S CHOSEN.
I’m also afraid if I tried it—like, if I really tried it? It wouldn’t work anymore and then I’d be really sad. I could click on a photo on Facebook one more time. But, then again, I just don’t feel like that’s at all appropriate anymore. I mean, if a person leaves and I have to BEG him to visit, and then he leaves again … Jesus Christ. Just let him be. Let him think for himself. Then I think: What if I pulled this guy out of his marriage and it was an UTTER DISASTER?? Because we have the transits for it to go either way. If it became an utter disaster, I wouldn’t know for a long, long time. Someone who doesn’t even realize for something like TEN YEARS that he doesn’t really like X activity and was only doing it for the kids, and THEN has to tell someone else about it other than his life partner … Jesus Fucking Christ. Things could go a long, l-o-n-g way down the wrong road before I ever know anything about it … and someone else is likely to hear about it before I do. I realize that part of the reason this happened in his marriage was the attitude of the spouse in this instance, but it wasn’t ONLY the attitude of the spouse in this instance. It was HIM. This person is so fucking codependent he just mind-melds into other people and their feelings are his feelings. Like, for TEN FUCKING YEARS. He just can’t bear for anyone to be unhappy, or for anyone to be unhappy with him. The trouble is, the thing that would make me the most unhappy is to find out ten years later that he didn’t trust me to tell the truth to me, because he didn’t trust me to CARE. That would be HORRIBLE. HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE. And I would have NO warning. This guy is such a consummate actor that if he doesn’t want someone to know something, they aren’t going to know it. I will be able to look at our charts and know I am at risk for something like this happening, and I will know when, BUT I will have no fucking clue what it’s about. Astrological transits aren’t that specific.
Worse, I will know when the time period is that I will find out about the deception, AND I know what horrors will happen to the relationship afterward. I love the guy, and I understand why he’s like this, but it’s a relationship ruiner and a life destroyer. NOBODY wants to live the aftermath of this shit … yet while he’s doing it he’s got himself convinced that he HAS to, and that it’s the right thing to do! And because I can ask a million times if everything is okay and this person can lie seamlessly, there’s nothing I can do to stop it or detect it. This scenario is terrifying. Makes me want to run for the hills! Since I am afraid to alert him to the presence of the letter, he probably will not come back and find it. Either way, whether he did or didn’t, the relationship is still over, since he will never speak to me anyway and he will never leave his wife. So, I’ve got to think about what will constitute any kind of life for me in the months and years ahead. My novel is bombing on Wattpad, Bomb-b-b-bomb, bomb, BOMB. I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t even make the short list this year, which would be pretty bad since even Duality made it the year I finished it, and that was the one my second writer’s group HATED. In any case, if you can’t write well enough to attract an audience, writing just isn’t going to happen for you. I’m fifty-five, tired of the whole thing, and about out of time. There’s only but so long you can go on putting the time and effort it takes to write a fucking NOVEL in and no one will even look. I can only conclude it just wasn’t meant to be in this life, and what I really need to do is put EVERYTHING from my thirties completely behind me and forget all, all about it. NOTHING from that time has stayed or worked out. NOTHING. Seriously. If the Universe really had meant for me to get somewhere, it had better show up with some real evidence pretty quick. I’m giving up. Because it looks from here as if all the Universe can say to me is no.
I have ordered two Jes MaHarry rings from the Sundance catalog. Silly, since I need to fund the cleanup from the Great Plumbing Disaster of 2023, and if I want some semblance of a vacation this year, spending room on the credit cards on jewelry isn’t the best of plans. But I love them. The one I’m wearing right now has these hand-drawn flower designs etched somehow into the sterling silver band. How the heck did they do this?? But it’s beautiful. It just does my heart good to take the ring off and look at them. I’d LOVE to be able to make my own jewelry like this. (And I sure as fuck wouldn’t overcharge for it like she does, either. One reason I bought the rings is they were on sale—one was more than half off—and the way her prices are rising, if I didn’t buy these now it’s very likely I would never be able to afford a ring of hers again. That, and she doesn’t seem to be making bands like this anymore.) So, I think, That could be a thing to want or do. Just to surround myself with beautiful things. I’m on the way to making this place as cute as I always wanted it, and now instead of writing and pining for this guy to come write with me, I can just put that all in the past and forget all about it, and take a class and learn to make my own jewelry. I wouldn’t need to reach an audience of millions for that, or even try to sell anything at all. I could just make things for myself and people I know, and that would be enough. Which would be an improvement over all my previous life’s goals, because I can’t even get arrested writing. Maybe I could attract some attention from the authorities if I made a death threat against one Donald J. Dump. Tell you what, it’s the only way I’d ever get any kind of notice for writing ANYthing, and that is for damn sure. Time will go on, and this guy will prove himself Gone For Good. I will finish this novel, and nothing whatsoever will happen, even though I consider it the best thing I’ve ever written. I won’t consider wasting time on writing worthwhile anymore, and I will quit, and this will be my life … fixing up my apartment, learning to make jewelry, and trying to find the energy to take care of myself and work, work, work. I think that’s a vision I can live with. It doesn’t require any kind of notice from anyone at all, which is a good thing since I will never receive any.
So, I will set my sights on that to be my life from now until something happens to my health and it’s time to climb into the grave or the nursing home. It will be okay. I can make myself happy with it. That’s all I can hope for now. “Okay.”