Letter to Man-Friend, 12/6/07

Dear Man-Friend,

I have to tell you that I take issue with the fact that you feel the need to tell me to stop drinking. That you call me selfish and irresponsible for it. I have to tell you that it really makes me want to tell you to go fuck off for even daring to tell me how to deal with this situation that you've put me in.

And while we're at it, how dare you come into my life, prancing around with all your fancy suits and flowers and Big Macs? How dare you wiggle your way into my heart and Jacquai's heart without even giving us any warning? How dare you make me love you and not even tell me what was happening until it was too late for me to stop it?

And then to leave. How dare you pick up and leave like that, out of the blue, just one day, get up and go and take my heart with you? And then tell me you miss me. Well guess what? I miss me too. I miss the woman who enjoyed getting up in the morning, the one who was laughing all the time, the one who would sigh whenever she heard your name. That woman was something. She was going places, she was going to make it. And now, right now, I can't seem to find her. Hopefully she'll be back soon but for now, it appears that she left right along with you and forgot to leave any forwarding address.

And now I wake up every morning in tears with you on my mind, plagued with the dreams of you I had all night. Whether they're good or bad, whether you're the whole dream or you're just there walking besides me, you're always, every night, there. And I wake up and have to accept that it was just a dream and you're not really here. And I have to drag myself out of bed and crawl across that floor and pull myself up every morning and just try to breathe.

And life goes on. Sure it does. My world keeps turning, my kid keeps laughing, work keeps coming. But every day I go around with this little cloud hanging over my head and my god, if it won't stop raining on me! And I know it'll all be okay and I'll get through this. But right now I'm just waiting. Waiting for something, for anything. Waiting for the night time, hoping maybe you'll call. But you don't call. And then I lay my head down on that pillow and cry. And sometimes, sometimes when it's all just too much, sometimes I have a drink. And then I close my eyes and dream of you all over again.

So fuck you for feeling like you need to lecture me and to come here and tell me that I need to stop drinking because this is not how I should be dealing with the situation. Fuck you for laying in my brand new sheets and comforter and leaving them smelling like you. Fuck you for hugging me and holding my hand. But most of all, fuck you for leaving. And for making me have to let you go all over again.