And Then…

She found another man… amidst the crisis of her ailing husband’s hospitalization. She found a new dude who told her something that got her to open her legs, and he entered her, over and over again, much to her delight. And so she fucked him as I laid myself down in my cold hospital room and sobbed myself to sleep, contemplating a deep regret, and acknowledging how badly I had hurt the ONE person I love (d) more than any I had ever cherished before. I held her in my soul, felt her pain, and cried… until sleep finally took me. Every night I was in there. And at the exact moment I dove deep into my lament, she let another man be in her.

Yep. She cheated on me, and shot our marriage right in the fucking head. This was probably not a good idea, in my opinion. My family alone is reason to stay married to a shiftless loser such as myself.

They (above) are so great. Solid, dependable, loving, kind… the list only gets deeper as I go. I adore my family. They have seen me burn my life down more than once, and been there to help me rebuild it. With love, even.

I was willing to have my existence extinguished forever. I was. Albeit, there was a lot of insane-juice pumping through my veins. I remember the police confrontation in hazy bits and fragmented memory-stained pieces. They shot me in the chest with a rocket-propelled beanbag. And it didn’t hurt at the time, because there was about 8 trillion milligrams pure hysterical-adrenaline running through my system. Hurts now, kinda… tender. But not because they shot me, but because my biggest love I ever had set fire to the remnants of my life, and made me alone again.


It looks like I am bleeding internally. And perhaps that is true in a metaphorical, euphemistic sense. My heart did just burst, finally, after all the time I spent trying to convince it that I would need to rebuild my life with her. That I had damn near burned everything down, but love would remain. Love would keep us together, because we VOWED to be MARRIED to each other for the rest of our lives. Through all the holyshitfuckdamn trials of life with mental illness. We would endure. I was SO FUCKING SURE she understood that my illness is no joke, that it is real, dangerous, scary, sad and IN DESPERATE NEED OF SOMEONE WHO WILL HOLD-THE-LINE IN A CRISIS.

Her coping mechanism was to find someone new to fuck. And who knows, maybe this will be the moment she becomes a huge success? I’m guessing she more than likely squandered her best chance at a happy life, when she let another man come insider her.

So, my heart is sick, and now gushing blood in all directions.

I’m so fucking sad. But that’s normal when someone utterly guts you, and reduces your (my) ambitious love to ruin.

She’s really gone, and for now, so am I.

*raises his chalice*

To good fortune, and better days ahead. I drink to your health, and mine as well.


Life is different, but then again, I guess I’m going to have to keep wading my way through it, regardless of obstacle or pain. Being alive is a great thing, even if it induces great suffering, and even if your heart is mashed to mush.

Jacqueline. I love you. And I will miss you terribly…

Because this is our final goodbye.

My Birdy…

You have finally flown away.

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