Back Again

Hello all. Now that the weeks have unfolded and the insurance company reacted favorably, I am ready to blog again!

The stress is there, will most likely always be there in some capacity, but spring is also in the air.

My wife, my best friend, had her boyfriend break up with her right after their one year anniversary. I’ve written a note on this before but his reactions really irk me. After a year together he told her he only stayed because she is a good person and he didn’t want to lose their friendship. He didn’t love her, had never and would never. Now, after months apart, he rears his ugly head again.

On a meet to reclaim her things from him, the subject was broached regarding a possible renewal of their relationship. Now, the man in question told my beautiful, affectionate, and still very much in love with him friend that he was willing to entertain the possibility. He wants to go to counseling to see if ‘a relationship would be a good idea.’

She will probably be angry at me for this, but I’ve expressed my opinion on this before. I don’t feel that this act constitutes any major steps forward. I don’t feel that this ridiculous man has put in any effort, not truly. My friend has asked me to support her, says she would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try again.

I agree with the second part. I do. I always tell people to go for it, to jump off that mountain because it’s better to try and fail than regret. The first part?

I love my friend, and I want to support her. But I don’t believe this is a good idea. I don’t really think that telling someone that you ‘don’t know if you want to try or not’ is the same as a willingness to grow and work.

I have since told her that I will support her. Her. Not the decision. I understand how she feels even when I don’t want to see her hurt again.


The poem below I wrote for myself during one of my romantic struggles. It applies to my beautiful friend as well.

That’s just what he does.

What I am.

His treasured game,

His favorite pastime.

He loves to hurt.

He knows just what to say, the perfect inflection

And the wittiest turn of phrase

To cleanly slice through my progress

And cut me to the quick.

It’s his hobby,

His diversion,

His most pleasurable distraction.

To say and do the things he knows

Will cause me the most pain.

He enjoys his digs and jabs,

Laps joyfully at my mental anguish.

Sops up my grief until I’m left a

Quivering mess.

That’s just what he does.

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