While exiting the store today I saw a man that could have been you if he hadn’t been wearing the shoes of a homeless person, and if you weren’t entirely dead. He met my gaze and stared like he saw a ghost. He wasn’t as handsome as I remember you and I didn’t want to throw my arms around the neck of this man, which was always my first instinct whenever I have found myself in your presence. The last time I saw you, I rolled up behind you in the check-out line, same store, different city. The closer I got, the more lost I became in my thoughts, that looks like my beloved’s fleece, that looks like my beloved’s hair… It was at this point that I realized I was barreling toward you at a reckless pace and slid my cart, toting our daughter to a stop only a few feet behind you.
As I gazed at the angle of those shoulders I would wrap myself around, the ones you promised were strong enough to hold me, under your olive green fleece and the hair I buried my face in that made even the worst day ok. “Could it be?” Nothing mattered but knowing it was you. I walked around the front of the cart to look at your shoes, the soft, classy leather loafers I bought to grace the feet of my king. You couldn’t care less. You were too busy telling me about all your old girlfriends to notice how precious I thought you were, all the other girls did a better job than I, and you were determined to punish me no matter what I did. Rather than jumping into your arms and covering your face with kisses, I spun the cart around and hid, so that you couldn’t call the cops on me.
But this emotionless, hollow ghost of a man was going through the motions of making house with another fat, homely, tramp, the kind of victim you look for, someone with low self esteem because they are easier to grind down. They were buying pillows, like how you manipulate your new victims into buying new pillows in order for you to be willing to sleep in their bed, using subtle complaints and innuendo. But we know the truth is you can’t stand the thought that some other man’s head was on it before yours. You can’t handle that there are men who actually loved this woman and you are just marking used goods. I feel sorry for the chick that’s too stupid to recognize a predator that’s going to “burn her up and snuff her out like so many used cigarettes.” Isn’t that how you put it in that journal? The one and only notebook I ever found in all your possessions after you told me stories about how you wrote essays on existence suitable for publishing, (one of your girlfriends agreed, after all) before those women came in and ruined your life. It was left in your steam trunk which you claimed held your most significant mementos.
After you took all the money from the sale of 75% of my possessions, and left me stranded in a rental camper, pregnant, vehicle-less, and sick as a dog, and I moved our stuff into that little house, I finally found it in my possession long enough to pour over every last item. I somehow thought I would now understand the essence of “John” you always claimed I didn’t understand. You were right, and I admit I was disappointed to find that 90% of the contents were porn and comic books. I always had this bit of fear that you were really only that deep, yet even with the evidence before me, I loved you and hoped that the father of my child, the man I gave my heart and life to, would somehow choose to be more. After reading the couple letters you saved from the first girlfriend you put in the mental hospital, and the ones you composed and did not send to the second woman you put in the mental hospital, as well as your journal entries about how you convinced that hairdresser to have sex with you then told her there was no way she was pregnant with your kid because she was such a whore, so she got an abortion… it made me realize how I was just another woman, you planned to use up and snuff out. Suddenly, all those threats you made on my life began to sink in.
It was the fate you had planned for me when you screamed at me for 18 months about how you were going to kill me if you thought they didn’t look like you and if that didn’t provoke enough of a response, you would tell me how you would wreck me and take them from me. I have yet to meet another woman who has had to endure that sort of madness while they were pregnant. It is a miracle and testament of my love that our daughters are not completely retarded, and it is because of the love and time I invest in them that they thrive despite your attempts to destroy us while you spread rumors and lies about what I do with my time.
I remember your hateful diatribes. I am thankful that my memory is not entirely intact after what you put me through, because I do not want my head soiled with the filth you put in it. Yet I remember enough to know that you think you have a God given right to judge and punish women, and take anything you want from anyone. Insisting that you were redeeming them for being whores, your justification for believing this was because you always got away with it. This is why you liked to call me your “Judas” you were warned early on not to fuck with me, but you did anyway.
You run around throwing out the “f” word because you know that a good woman is looking for a man who wants to settle down and have a family, but what you don’t tell them is they have to accept that you get to have as many “families” as you want and you get to treat her as bad as you want and if she don’t like it, you take her shit and move on to the next victim. I always found it so ironic that you liked to call me a “filthy Mormon” because I joined that church at 17 and decided it was not what they made it out to be by 25, largely due to the way they practiced polygamy, because the early leaders were womanizers and they jumped from house to house abusing their “wives”.
How many women have you referred to as your “wife” besides me? The sugar mama you married in your 20’s then had annulled, your son’s mom, the woman you married while I was pregnant with our daughter then left when her grandma had a stroke so she couldn’t produce the money she promised, is your new victim your “wife” as well? Don’t you ever feel fake pretending to be the caring new boyfriend moving in and starting a new life together?
You just could never accept that I could see entirely through you. I loved and forgave you unconditionally for unspeakable atrocities you committed against our family. I gave you every opportunity to come clean and be real. I could accept that you were shallow, but I couldn’t accept that you are a liar and you would beat me up to defend your lies rather than be honest.
I’m sure you are as empty and dead as the couple in the store. I am sure your life is still nothing but hollow, hateful, misery and I’m happy to never have to suffer in it again. There is nothing worth loving left inside you just a fake, stupid, hateful, bully with an arsenal of lies and insults to torture anyone unfortunate enough to come in contact with you. A simple minded sociopath that won’t give up his satanic, childish ways and take responsibility for the children he created. All the good you ever were was the invention of my imagination and your ego projecting what you thought I wanted to see. I hope your conscience is tortured day and night knowing what you did to the family God gave you. You can run, you can hide, you can discredit me to cover up your foul behavior, change your appearance, and pretend you are someone you are not. But you know eventually, the light is going to reveal what a foul mouthed, lying, murderous beast you truly are.