I am writing this post fresh. Freshly angry. Apologies in advance for a lack of editing and shitty structure.
You’ll surely recall he (Tony) fucked me on Christmas eve, in the midst of family-oriented errands. He was fully ensconced in family time for Christmas and days afterwards. So naturally, he didn’t reach out. I am not part of that part of his life.
Which honestly down to my core was just fine – because it helped me put more nails in the coffin of what was left of our relationship.
I can’t even recall exactly when first contact was made with Tony. I had several weeks of silence, which was good for me. Strangely perhaps, the subsequent contact didn’t pull me back in but instead, helped me move on.
It’s been a long journey to get to this point. Tony’s duplicity is no surprise, nor is his ability to obfuscate and avoid conversations that reveal too much truth. He’s an expert.
So I’m not in any way going to suggest surprise at any of those things.
It was three weeks ago tomorrow when I broke my leg, and I’ve left my house only twice since. Once to go to a holiday concert at my son’s school (the day after I came home from the hospital; still not sure how I managed), and once to go to my Mom’s for Christmas eve and morning.
It feels like a blur. I can hardly believe it’s been three weeks; it seems like a long weekend. But the hospital stay, after-effects of surgery, taking Oxycontin as a painkiller, and the monotony of laying on my couch every single day and watching TV or movies probably have something to do with that.
I’m writing this from the balcony of our hotel room. Ann St. Vincent is in Jamaica with my boyfriend Tony and I don’t regret my choice one bit. More about why in an upcoming post. Apologies in advance for typos or lack of my usual editing.
When Tony first told me about going out for dinner with his wife that night, I was stunned. I was conflicted in wanting to talk about it and also just wanting to get off the phone. My son Liam was in the next room and I wanted to be measured somewhat in my response to Tony.
But he could hear the sobs in my voice, just under the surface, and wanted to talk to me. It’s not worth recounting the entire thirty minute conversation, but he talked about how the guy who inviting him wasn’t someone he told anything personal to, the invitation went to Mary’s house, he cared about me so much, etcetera. I’m NOT for one moment excusing the decision. Continue reading →