It’s been quite awhile since I wrote anything on this site. I’ve been processing some of the individual traumas I lived through with the help, of course, of my therapist.

The other thing was seeing my ex after 2 1/2 years for the first time. I had learned that he was unable to walk, play, guitar or use a computer because of some kind of stroke or other cerebral event. All the hard work I have done has allowed me to overcome anger and forgive him. I wanted to see him just long enough to have closure.

I was shocked when he rose from the chair he was in and walked towards me holding out his arms for an embrace.

Then I caught him by the arms at his elbows, holding him off. I told him what I just wrote, and that I had never stopped loving him. He asked for my phone number, which I gave him. Later I regretted that, but as I thought he would, he lost it, so I never heard from him until six weeks later, when he phoned my friends in Winnipeg looking for my phone number. I called him back and he proved how scrambled he is by asking me what I had been up to for the last couple of years.

In a very controlled voice I told him that I had lost almost everything I loved in the last couple of years. He said “Thank you for calling.”. I think I handled that well enough. It was unsettling to see him in person that one time, and more unsettling to have him calling Canada while I was there.

I have gotten over the anger I felt at his trivializing what happened to me before and after things came unglued four years ago. Something in me closed like a steel door when he asked me what I had been up to; I realized that I did not want to share my struggle to get over him and build a new life. I’ve been keeping an even keel (pretty much) since then.

The holidays are being subdued but enjoyable. Tonight was the first time I wept in over a month. I fight the urge to see my ex or talk to him. I worry about his happiness and his health. I never stopped loving him. But trying to have any kind of conversation with him at this point would be pointless as he just doesn’t see reality anymore except in short bursts and becomes paranoid and agitated and disassociated. The kindest thing I can do is stay away from him.

The person who helped arrange the visit had told me, “He couldn’t have hit you THAT hard.” when I spoke about some of the brain dysfunction I suffer. That kind of typifies the attitudes of  many of the people who know us both, and explains neatly why I don’t go in that circle any more.

My therapist was bang on when she told me that no one who knew us both would ever understand what I went through.

Monday I get to have an MRI to see how my brain tumor, etc. is doing. I wrote it a lullaby for it shortly after being diagnosed in September 2014. Its called My Little Tumor. I’ll post the words in here sometime.

And I promise to prepare a draft or two of my other writings as well.







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