Oh, beautiful princess,
How painful it was to not have you in chemistry every day. To look at and joke with. You were the only one that understood me. I remember staying up late and getting so high that we could hardly talk, but I still felt so comfortable and close to you. Your presence will be missed and just like it was every day that you didn’t come to school, which was quite often as the attendance office will readily admit. You’re stoked to be off and away next year to college and out of this. I’m jealous, but I’ll manage. I don’t think that we will let ourselves drift apart any more than we have in our quest for the Holy Grail has not yet even begun and the promiscuous Guinevere still has to be rescued from her wicked stepmother and taken off into the forest to trip and smoke and wait for her true Lancelot, whoever that may be? I’ll be sure to keep in touch this Summer unless the waves and the women in Costa Rica inhibit me from corresponding. When I return we will set out on our quest with a backpack of the necessities and only Jah knows what we will find.
I love you
I found this in my senior high school yearbook that fell out of my bookcase, onto the floor, and opened to this page. This fucking page. He was one of three people that signed it. I was not doing so good at the end of my senior year. I was shooting dope with my older brother and barely making it to school. They didn’t let me graduate with my class because of my unprecedented amount of absences. They sent letters home to my parents. They never opened them. Tommy was one of the good things from that year. He was good. He was my Lancelot.
25 years later and he is a sociopath that is fucking with my head, and I feel like I am working out some karmic shit that I can not control.
I know I am not alone in this experience.
That is why I feel compelled to tell this story. As horrific and demeaning as it is. I cringe as I write these posts. But something tells me, perhaps, perhaps, someone can benefit from knowing they are not alone, and it DOES get better.
But sometimes it gets worse first.
This week, after the Ojai debacle, where Tommy verbally harassed and abused me in front of my daughter, I vowed he would not see her again. That should have been a sign.
But I continued. To engage. I did. I did that.
I texted him coming home from yoga one night. He responded that he did not want to have sex with me anymore. I asked him why.
“Because I only want to hate fuck you and date rape you”
me: Can you talk?
him: I learned how to talk when I was two.
I called him.
He answered, and said, “WHAT DO YOU WANT!!??” and laughed maniacally.
I hung up and vowed never to speak to him again.