Did you ever see those Game shows? YOu know Door number 1, Door number 2 and Door number 3? And what's behind them? One has a check for 50 grand, one has a jar of turtlewax and the other a blender?
Well, I knew what I was getting when I chose my best friend. I knew what was going on with him, most of his challenges- at least the big ones, the good, the bad, the indifferent.
I still know and I am not at all sorry for my choice. I love my choice and I am happy that I picked him and that he is in my life.
But things for him are rough in some ways and improving in others.
One thing that has been happening is our communication - not working the way it used to.
I had to resort to a letter to tell him what's going on. Sometimes I think that writing a letter is a good thing. Sometimes I don't.
I write all the time. Not necessarily on this blog. I have a private blog where I write my letters to God. So my writing is improving just because I exercize it regularly.
My letter was proofread by one of my most trusted and best friends. She had me remove 6 words out of the two pages. She believed that it was a good letter because there was no blame, no anger though anger is referenced, it was not written in anger. Mostly the content is a plea for us to talk, to communicate, and to let him know just how much I love him and worry about him.
The fact is, months ago my priest referred to me as a doormat. Well not anymore. that letter clearly shows that I am not a doormat. And here's why.
I could continue along the path that we are one and see what happens, but then I wouldn't be taking care of me. By writing that letter, I am standing up for myself.
When he spoke to me last night, I knew he had read it, but he didn't seem angry. He was trying to keep conversation normal between us. This is actually a good thing. It was a roll of the dice really and I hoped that I had conveyed my major point. He isn't one to hide it when he's angry. However, we didn't discuss it - not on the phone while I was driving at any rate. I think he needs some space but leaving me like this is killing me.
I cry all the time. I worry about him. Mostly I want to blow up the whore's home with her in it ( not really but the imagery makes me feel better) for hurting him so badly.
Funnily enough, I remember him going through this when his wife left him many years ago. I wanted to blow her up to. I hadn't met her either. I no longer want to blow her up. Thank her, yes. But not blow her up. We wouldn't be where we are now, for better or for worse, if she hadn't left him.
I want him to come home. I want to talk this through. I am really exercizing some seriously enormous restraint! For those of you who actually know me - this is unreal.
Of course - to be fair and honest. I haven't eaten since yesterday. Not succesfully at any rate. And I don't miss it either.
So as a good consumer, I do not complain about my choice. It wass fully researched, not without its flaws, but the joys it gives and potential for joy that it will give will pay dividends for years to come.
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