Wake up to the Facebook reminder.
Six years of saying, “I love you. Happy Wedding Day Anniversary! You are my Everlong.” I even made a wedding video a few years back featuring all the songs played during our wedding ceremony. I included pictures and love quotes. I watched it this morning on the Facebook. Then I said, “Fuck you, Facebook. I hate you.” I closed the app and walked away.
And the mighty fall…
I’ve fallen. Hard. Fast. I don’t want to pick my body off the concrete. Not today.
He asks if I want to go to dinner to celebrate.
How we fucked it all up?
How we go see a marriage counselor and argue in front of a stranger every Monday?
How I don’t believe in love, or trust, or anything anymore?
How everyone keeps telling me to get over it?
And yet I still have to fight.
I forgave four of them. No, I’ll decide when and if I forgive #5.
I never signed up for this. Not this.
On every other Thursday, I have to go and face the fact my own father didn’t want or love me. And I come home and I try to talk. Because we’re digging deep and it fucking hurts. Cleaning out the past, an infected wound which has been laying on my soul since I was five years-old.
Six years ago today, I stood in front of my family and my friends wearing my prettiest dress. Had my hair done and covered with a veil. The veil held in place by a pearl rhinestone decorated comb. Merle Norman painted my face and I glowed. I smiled all evening. When the Reverend presented us, I shouted a loud and hearty “thank you” at him. Gratitude. I once was grateful. I’m not today. Not for this marriage. Not for the pain I walk around with.
Rejection. This is all I know about love.
It’s a heavy weight on my chest, stinging burning holding tears back in my eyes. Its a soul shattering gut punch in the stomach. It is constant. It seems never-ending. I can’t numb it. I can’t hide from it. I can’t runaway. I just walk around knowing I’ve never been wanted.
Every man I’ve relied on and loved has kept one constant in my life:
They never fail to disappoint me.
They don’t care to watch me slink down crying in the floor as I mean nothing. I am nothing. They laugh at my pain. The hurt they’ve caused. The turmoil they’ve created because fun times with strangers are more appealing.
The doctors have given me drugs to sleep again. I’ve gained 37 pounds since April because of these drugs. But I sleep. I sleep through the night. There’s even a pill for nightmares. I don’t have to relive the trauma when I close my eyes now.
When I wake up the pain is still present. It’s a dull, jagged knife perpetually stuck in the heart.
No one loves you. You aren’t wanted. You’ve never been wanted. The wedding I paid for was only a stupid mirage in what I believed to be my happily-ever-after. Happy doesn’t exist. Not for me. Just get by. Make the money. Pay the bills. And pray.
God, don’t let my son grow up to be an asshole. Let him love well. Amen.
Happy I wasted thousands of dollars to be made into a fool.
Happy Ha-Ha Loyal Sucker Day.
Happy take those fat inducing sleep pills Day.
July 29th is a day I made one grave misguided mistake.
I gave a man a loyal heart. He stomped it into the ground, spat on it, mocked it, and then asked to take it out to dinner.