I Know What Loving Someone Makes Of Me...
It's best we don't revisit that look, much like that summer I thought chunky heels did me justice.
I have told BMan this story several times. Every time I tell it, you can feel the air leave the room. I know how close I was to a very different ending.
My ex-husband, Corey, was a notorious whore. Much like Derek, the Fuckboy King, but way sneakier. Corey was a naturally quiet guy. He didn’t do anything in a loud way, so unless you were really paying attention it was pretty easy to miss a lot of the shit we now call flags.
However, I am a patient woman, and I believe very much in the “give them enough rope” premise. I don’t need to babysit your phone, or what time you get home, and if I feel a need to start doing so, I’m out. I don’t want that life. I know me. I know what I will do if there is something to be found, and I also know I don’t want to sit 7 to 15 in a Florida State Penitentiary.
Back when I was still with Corey, though, I still had enough of the me in my 20’s in me to keep shit shaken up. I was a much hotter hothead back then, and when I began to suspect he was not being faithful, I just sat back and watched him for a while. He gave himself away with his over the top behavior. It was very blatant on such a mellow man.
One day, I came home from work early on a Saturday. There is a strange car parked behind my garage. Important part of this story is this was also back when I drank. Heavily. Bacardi 151 Slurricane in my Bucs Tervis, always. So when I tell you I was already a couple Tervis’ into it, know that I went from WTF to “I’m going to murder everyone in my house today” in about 7.3 seconds.
I got out of my car with my Tervis in one hand, and my big Glock .40 in the other. I started to walk into the house, but I caught myself. At that moment, I knew if I walked through that door, it was over with. I know me, I know exactly how angry I get, and I don’t have the ability to take myself out of that kind of anger in the moment. It’s why my knuckles are scarred up. I have been in my share of barfights, and probably 3 or 4 other peoples share, too.
I did the only smart thing I could think of. I called my brother the cop. I said exactly what was happening, and exactly what I was going to do, and if Baby Jesus had a plan for me other than punching license plates for the rest of my life, he would get to my house in the 5 minutes smoking a cigarette and finishing this Tervis was going to take.
I heard him long before he got there, and I know factually that was him saying “please, for the love of God, don’t do it”. When I say that boy Bo Duked off into that freshly laid sod, I was so proud. Bitch, fuck your sod, and your bitch looks like she needs to be grazing on it, with your bum ass ho all on my good fucking throw in my living room.
I didn’t say all of that though. I couldn’t say anything. I was at that point. Once I started, it was going to go south so fast, and the end result would be me down at Alligator Alley trying to sink some industrial sized garbage bags. I was already wondering if my boy would take me on the airboat because I could put them somewhere in the swamp that the swamp couldn’t even find them.
I was afraid of myself that day. I knew. I knew if I said one word, if I went through that garage door into my kitchen, it’s all over but the crying. As BMan would say, “there was finna be some slow sangin and flower bringin”. I could literally picture me taking both of their lives, and it was already past that point in the thought process. I was all the way to the point of sinking bags of body parts and buying bleach around the city in cash only transactions. I was not going to fuck around with it.
So, when I hear stories of people snapping, women killing their husbands, and the like; I don’t wonder. I know. I know for a fact that I have it in me. I was 20 feet away from a drastically different outcome, and I will not ever allow that to happen again. I don’t ever want to love someone to the point that not being with them is reason enough to throw my life away.
I don’t want to love someone so much that their betrayal takes the very reason for breathing right out of my heart. I’ve done it, and it was almost my demise. I will not ever do it again. I’m not the kind of woman who smashes in your headlights. I’m the type of woman that smashes your head with a crowbar.
So, that being said, I think the real question is why in the hell would I ever try to give someone that kind of path directly to my sanity. What a stupid fucking move on my part. Relationships just aren’t a good fit for me. They make me much too human, and I don’t want that level of vulnerability ever again.
I feel this. While I lack the rage, I cannot handle the pain ever again. I do love being in love though...or I did. Time to love me! Can we get all the girls together and buy a homestead? #solidarity