My Final Words To You

Dad,

While I wish I could right the wrongs that you have served upon others in your life, I cannot. However, I find it necessary for you to know that one day you will receive the brunt of these deeds upon yourself if you continue upon your selfish, greedy path. If nothing else, you will end up being extremely lonely, if you aren’t already. In your life thus far:

  • You have damaged each and every man, woman, and child that has walked across your path.
  • You have stolen every little bit of money you could lay your hands upon.
  • You have treated women as objects with no worth outside of sex and your limited perception of beauty.
  • You have projected all of your insecurities upon every individual outside of yourself.
  • You have squandered endless amounts of money on poor investments and items you deemed necessary to please yourself.
  • You have never understood love or friendship.
  • You are unworthy of those who have shown you love as you never return it.

I realize that it is not for me to judge, but I do not believe it is fair for you to continue upon this path unwittingly. For the good of your wife and yourself, I recommend you spend some time considering the life you have led and the ones you have crossed before it all catches up to you, as it most certainly will.

I continue to spend an enormous amount of time altering the screwed up beliefs you painstakingly dished out as fact. It is taking everything I have to learn to value myself and live a life of contentment and enough rather than competing or seeking more.

I have never been a loser. Nor has my brother, my mother, my step-mom. We have all made mistakes, of course, as we are human.

I continue to make and learn from my mistakes. I work hard for what I have and am finally learning the importance of both humility and confidence as they go hand in hand. I have gone to great lengths to put and keep my life on track.

Your advice has served me poorly.

Every time I have done as you have asked, there has been a lack of recognition of my efforts, let alone thanks. The same is true for your wives and your “friends.”

All I ever wanted was for you to love me. But you never did and never will. Maybe you don’t know how.

May you mend your ways or forever pay the price the universe may have in store for you.

You have said more than enough to me and I hope you find peace.

Morrigan

Editing

I am now editing everything that is on here, gearing up to write the narrative frame, including every single pair of boots I’ve owned, every psychiatric diagnosis, and every little thing I did to keep myself alive and on track to become the woman I am today.

Love.

Sugar Pie

I spin stories with molasses –

Disguising the bitterness, the

Pungent hostility.

I make myself palatable;

Bland for mass consumption.

 

Suited in black and neutral tones

I assure you of my conservative mindset –

I promise not to speak

 

Lest you recognize me

Through the subtle sarcasm,

The slight tremble in my vanilla voice and crafted words,

Not saying anything at all.

 

I am packaged, branded appropriately,

Overtly, not overly enticing,

Edible, delectable, honey smooth

With arsenic mixed in.

Disowned

The second week of April 2012 was a good week. I was in a good place mentally. I’d quit drinking for the time being and was effectively medicated. And, I’d restarted the divorce process. Since I’d short sold the condo, it was a whole lot easier to manage. Aside from that, the courthouse in Butte County was friendly and easier to handle than the Los Angeles courthouse. To ease the pain, I put on my giant bunny ears. I always found it harder to be upset with them on. I still cried, but it did help.

I made it to the courthouse, took the bunny ears off and went in. I smiled at the clerk.

“Divorce.”

“Yes.”

And she looked over my paperwork, accepted my check and let me know the next steps.

“I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Just get that next bit of paperwork out, if he doesn’t respond, the divorce proceeds.”

This was outstanding news. The previous attempt I’d made the papers had been rejected because the financials were a mess. And, my ex, Dick, had never signed the pre-nup. Trying to explain that the condo was all mine and divide it up somehow with the courts was a lot more than I could handle. It was hard enough facing the reality that my marriage had failed.

After I walked out of the courthouse, I called Dick right away to tell him that he didn’t need to do anything other than accept service. It was a huge relief.

“Thank you so much, Morrigan. You know, the years I spent with you were the happiest of my life.”

“Dick, I can’t have this conversation with you. I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“We’ll have it all behind us soon.”

I put the bunny ears back on for my drive back to Chico, tears streaming down my face.

And then I saw your number pop up on my cell phone, but didn’t pick it up.  I hadn’t spoken with you since I left you sitting, gin soaked, at the Palms in West Hollywood. But, I had good news to share with you. I’d short sold the condo as you’d told me and finally gotten the divorce process started again.

After work, I called you. And the conversation went well, really well.

“I noticed you short sold your condo.”

“Yeah, I did. It went really quickly.”

“Good. I found out when I went to take out a line of credit to purchase gold futures.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“It’s okay. It’s nothing compared to what you had to go through, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Morrigan. Hang in there. Things will get better.”

And it felt so good to hear those words from you. I wanted so much to believe that you loved me. I was skeptical, but excited. Excited enough that I posted on facebook: “Morrigan is happy her dad loves her again. She hopes it lasts a little while.”

And it did last a little while. Seven days. And then you came clean with me.

“You needed to let me know you were short selling the condo.”

“I did.”

“Yeah, but I was on the loan.”

“I know. I told you.”

“But I should have been involved.”

“You were. You asked me to sell the condo and I did.”

“Well, see, I didn’t mean that. On paper, the IRS thinks I’m not worth very much. But the sale of the condo screws that up. I could lose everything.”

“Ok. Well what was I supposed to do? What can I do now?”

“Nothing.”

And that was it. Your tax guy called me the next week to let me know you might get over it in a few years but to leave you alone. He told me you’d love me again.

I was upset, but I saw the silver lining in this.

I had inadvertently hit you in your softest spot. I had no idea you’d been cooking your books like that. I didn’t know that short selling the condo would destroy the façade you’d built with the IRS. How was I supposed to know that? Meanwhile, my credit was fucked and it was highly unlikely I’d ever be in the market to buy again.

On the other hand, I was free. Maybe temporarily stuck in Chico, but not held down as I had been by a mortgage, a marriage, and, especially, you.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it felt really good to have finally gotten to you in the only way you ever understood: your money.

I saw it as an opportunity to let you go forever and started writing again.

With you officially out of my life, I thought maybe I could finally recover from you. Have a chance to become the person I wanted to be. It was time. I would be better off without you.

Morning

Waking up, my cheek pressed up against your

chest, sunlight pushing its way through the blinds,

silence between the sounds of cars and your

alarm, squeaky springs; bodies intertwined.

Through my lips I pour myself into you.

The smell, the taste of your skin envelops

me, and I forget to be afraid. You

linger. Stretched out across my body, drops

of sweat and saliva glisten upon

you, the rhythm of heavy breaths and sighs

slows, collapsing into me you rest on

my stomach. Wrapping you up in my thighs

I hold you close, pull you inside me;

covered, safe in the warmth of your body.

Hold Me

i feel depressed confused LOST in between words in between images

spinning not stopping faster and faster falling swinging between extremes

unbalanced sick wordless caught trapped at the point that isn’t no shape no

outline my body has no form THERE ARE NO PICTURES THE SIZE OF MY

STOMACH my thighs i don’t see i don’t know what I look like I see a STRANGER look

back at me in photographs in the mirror and i am always EXTREME

fat or thin good bad

judgments reign me in tie me

it’s overwhelming the importance of the imaginary body i keep in reserve for myself

no worth NOT FITTING the image has distinct BOUNDARIES where my stomach my

mind my thoughts my words should end

except that I DON’T END

anywhere but stretch out across and through space my stomach fills the mirror i feel

like an enormous expanse of flesh

i’m not fat i don’t end

i am FORMLESS

faceless even though I know some people can see the outline of my body my

words thoughts with ends

but I can never bring those boundaries in to

HOLD ME in place so I stay out of balance

AFRAID OF THE HAZY SPACE IN BETWEEN

the picture of me I want is defined one sided at one end away from center and

NEVER small enough

that is the ideal me the one that i hold onto but

can never slow down enough to touch always spinning around and further away

seeing myself in the mirror at the OTHER side

LARGE NOISY INTRUSIVE

seeing through to the fantasy of being so small so defined held in place

I UNRAVEL wrap my words around myself