Monday, February 15, 2016

Entering Year Four: The Worm Has Most Definitely Turned

I was not going to write anything about Dane tomorrow. I was trying to write something because I felt I should, but nothing came. 

Me. At a loss for words. #StopTheFuckingPresses. 

But it turns out I do have words. Maybe no one wants to hear them, or they will be offensive, or maybe we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead.

If you fall into any of those categories, look away now. If you harbor sweet and tender feelings for Dane, keep them to yourself.

This is not about that.

Year One was its own special kind of hell, Year Two was a whirlwind of movement, and Year Three seemed to feature us working on settling in to a new life in Charm City. As we enter Year Four, it seems to be the Year Of The Anger.

So on this anniversary, tomorrow, fuck you, Dane Kolbeck. Fuck you for leaving your child behind. Fuck you for being so selfish and self-involved. And fuck you for once again making me clean up your fucking mess. 

I haven't written anything to, for, or about you in almost a year. It's because I have been so focused on ignoring everything about the narcissistic manner in which you chose to leave this earth. And busy mopping your child off the floor of her room when she is overwhelmed with grief because you cared more for yourself than for her.

I can only heal her so much. You will be a permanent scar that I will never be able to heal for her and that will re-open with every milestone in her life. 

And for that, FUCK YOU.

I am not celebrating your life tomorrow. I doubt I will even attempt to speak fondly of you. I will nod and smile and listen to the child, but I am done glossing over what you have wrought in our lives. 

If we have picked up the pieces it is only with the love and support of every other person you left behind. If we have thrived it is because I have clawed and scratched my way back to life after your colossal act of betrayal. I have recreated myself in three years, but now there is always going to be a piece of me that will never trust anyone to come home.  There will always be that tree. There will always be that car.

As with your child, you have managed to break a fundamental piece of me that will always be broken. Damaged. 

And for that, FUCK YOU.

For all of the damage and destruction you have left in your careless, awful wake, FUCK YOU.

1 comment:

  1. and for that, suzannah, thank you.
    well stated, easily digested.
    the naked truth, stripped of any decoration, is the origin of virtue.