There are conversations that need to happen.
There are people that need to be confronted.
There are people who need to know exactly how I feel about them, about the things that they’ve done.
There are people who need to stand in front of me while I fume and scream and rage in their motherfucking faces.
There are people who need to stand in front of me and look me in the motherfucking eyes while I scream at them.
There are people who need to listen to the things I have to say.

What I would really like actually, is to punch these people.
To hit them, to punch them in their stupid fucking faces. To rip them limb from limb to tear them fucking apart.
I want to make these people bleed people I want them to bleed and suffer and scream in pain
I want them to know exactly what they’ve done.
I would like to take these people’s skulls and smash them into the ground I would like to watch their brains spill all over the sidewalks.
I would like their blood and guts and gore to run into the gutters.

do you get it?

No I am not okay. No.
I will never be okay you keep fucking with me I will never be okay.

the time traveling doctor. 7a 20th november, 2020

Every time I have seen JJ since my husband’s death it’s all I can be reminded of. How long it’s been. I know I mention it every time I see him and I have found myself unable to stop doing so. I realize (every single time) that this is not conducive to doing more business, or good for his comfort, or for mine, in fact. His profession means that he’s going to have to deal with surviving spouses, possibly more than he thought. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep focusing on only that anytime I see him and I fear that I may have risked ever seeing him again because I can’t stop talking about it.

Listening to The New York Times Daily podcast this morning and an interview with a woman who was a medical examiner in rural Wisconsin, who explains that she understands that as a last responder, her presence is triggering for some people forever.

Do I think that I can rewrite my own code for this relationship? Do I think that I can rewire my brain to be thankful that one of my husband’s cardiologists is such a lovely, sweet, kind person instead of having the first and only reaction to him being one of the last attendants to my husband?

Yes. Yes of course I do.
My brain is nothing but elasticity and electricity and muscle and if the past 1,164 days have shown me nothing else it is this.

Most recently, I have been learning how love can help to reframe old photographs, to view memories through a different lens. To not make excuses for, but to understand motivation. To take this current love into the past and care for the people who were hurt. To let that healing wend its way forward into the future, to meet up with the realization I have now.

I wish you could see me now. I wish you could know me, now.

Conversations after midnight. 22 January, 2020

J came over last night. I don’t think I can see him anymore.

It was so good. Right up to the point where he told me about all the amazing things he’s seen, the art, the museums.
With the girlfriend who doesn’t know.

I had actually forgotten just how good he is. I made the mistake of saying that, too. That I had forgotten.

I really don’t think I can see him anymore. It’s just way too upsetting. And now he’s gone and I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. I asked him, right before he left, when will I see you again? “I don’t know.”

He’s never going to tell her. And why should he? He’s content with the way things are. He has two other partners who are willing to be with him and not worry about being a secret.

I cried. I told him that I wasn’t going to say that I was sorry. That I wasn’t going to apologize. That I wasn’t going to apologize for saying the things that I said. I will never not be truthful and it hurts.

I told him that I can’t give him any of the things that she gives him. I can’t give him any of those things. The museums, the trips, the fancy dinners. The introductions to people who are so special.

He said, you give me enough, more than enough. But obviously it isn’t. I wish I didn’t care. I told him that, too.

The tldr version is: I should have said no to him coming over.

Because now I feel gutted. I really don’t like feeling this way. Especially since it could have been avoided.

I asked him specifically to not talk about her because he cannot talk about me in front of her. So no, he didn’t say her name. But boy motherfucking howdy did he tell me all the wonderful things they did together.

Why would he do that, you ask?

He was excited to tell me about all of the art. And I was excited about all of the art. Until he told me where it was and why he was there.

And that’s when I started to cry.

I think he has mostly good intentions. I don’t think he sets out to hurt me. But he is an old dog and apparently is unable to learn a new trick. To not kiss and tell.

I asked him if she knew what she had with him. If she understood just exactly how lucky she was with him. No upside to that conversation and I already knew the answer because I knew how lucky I felt, had felt, when we were together.

She does know. She loves him very much.

And because he is charming and so very talented, people remember why they don’t say no to him. I’m not going to do it anymore.

I didn’t sign up for this, being a secret with him. I said that last night, too.

He said, “I know.”
I know. Not bloody helpful.