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there are some cat toys in my house and slippers that I gave to my younger stepdaughter she never wore. My mother never took pictures yet wrote down every item from THE BOX sent by Andrew. She got it in February. He had mentioned sending it in November. I had thought xmas unopening. and I didn't want him to know my address. part of what I whine to you is that feeling of "was I loved" even though I profess to not love there.... there must be a part of me that loved Andrew. there must be. I said the words all the time. I think I could say I admired Andrew. I felt safe with Andrew. I trusted Andrew. I actually was with him more because I did NOT feel the "love" or whatever the fuck I called it because everything down that path had been nada.
So, I was contented to be the object of admiration. It quickly occurred to me that this was a sham. When we were first married, that first year, it was hella hard as the cali's say. that photo I put on Facebook, I guess that's the image of joy I wanted to project - almost always at the end of a bottle and monologue and talking at my partner. I soon realized he was completely bored by me, and I panicked. Luckily, I had been applying to graduate schools and a program from heaven appeared afore me - my company paying me to be a master of counseling from an accredited school. it was sort of like having a child - it occupied me big time and Andrew could veg.
so fast forward 8 years and he tells me there's a final box he's sending of the stuff of mine that got mixed with his.
let that hit.
I asked about the ring first of course. he said no.
and then four months later my mom texts they got home from the hospital after terry's pacemaker and there's a huge heavy box.
the hits just keep on coming.
there were so many things I lost that I treasure now - so many things that could be in the box. Of all the things, the Christmas ornaments were the only things I care about now having. it was heart breaking to know that nothing in that box was of value to me yet so much had gone missing.
it triggers me. I get upset thinking about it. the books he packed weren't Alexander and the magical mouse with my mother's handwritten note nor seals on wheels with my name on the inside cover...they were trash.
why do I keep expecting more.
acceptance
is
the
birthplace
of
change.
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