A Letter to A Sperm Donor

Dear Biological Father to My Child:

            You vowed to eat me. You challenged me to bring my army, and I did, but I expected you to bring your pack, small as it is. You brought no one and stood alone, the true mark of a sickly wolf cub, unlike the “wolf” you call yourself. I walked into the room of battle fully prepared and equipped to handle any questions lobbed at me by the Judge, by you, or by anyone else for that matter. And I didn’t need any of it. I was so shocked, I forgot to ask the Judge to order you to pay back the money you stole from my daughter’s savings account.

            Of course, you’ll say you didn’t steal it, and you’ll have some excuse, some story to tell me about what that account is “really for,” as if you think I would have forgotten. But that gives you too much credit for forethought, I’ve come to realize. So I suppose I should take a step back and go through my perspective in its completion.

            I didn’t like you when I met you, but I saw some kind of goodness in you that I allowed to take root, and I chose to believe in you with my whole heart. Your coworkers and your NCOs told me that you couldn’t do anything right, that you broke everything you touched, that you were incompetent and refused to ask questions about how to do the job right. When I mentioned these things to you, your response was that you had gone through your career development courses faster than anybody else and that you had memorized them completely because you read each one more than once. I believed you; what reason had I not to do? I defended you against your coworkers and I talked to your NCOs on your behalf, urging them to get your paperwork in order, but they weren’t the ones failing on some front. I know this because you weren’t the only Airman I knew in your shop. You were neither the first nor the last newbie I met in your shop and I knew a little bit about how things ran there.

            And so, when the base mental health clinic gave your diagnosis and started your medication, I held my faith in you and I kept my belief. I decided that your lack of performance was due to the diagnosis and I kept talking to you. But you didn’t talk to me. You opened your mouth and words came out; you spoke, but you did not communicate.

            And you burnt bacon. Who burns bacon? I tell my friends this story to this day and every single time, the reaction is complete shock and horror. Who burns bacon?! Every time. But that wasn’t the real problem, after all; communication was.

            Some of your favourite things to say were bad things about your family, especially after we visited them for some holidays. We went home, and you held a grudge against everyone, especially your mother. Multiple times, over the course of years, I encouraged you to forgive your mother and re-establish contact. You refused, every time. But then you would suggest we separate; you said I should take our daughter and stay with my grandparents for a while; you suggested I go stay with my grandparents for a while on my own; you suggested that you find a hotel and stay in one alone for a couple of weeks. I always said that was not the solution; that we needed to work together. But you never wanted to work together with me, and over the last two years of our marriage, you said no less than three times to me: “If you just want to divorce me, get it over with.” The first two times, I said I never wanted that. The third time, I finally agreed that separation may be best for both of us.

            I talked to many people over the course of our marriage. I watched you deliberately act against my desires as a wife and as a mother. I told you how I wanted things to be and you failed to perform. The same thing happened when we were together in the house my grandparents own. My friends told me that what you did was deliberate, that you were an asshole. They were right on one count and wrong on the other.

            You are an asshole. But I do not think everything you do is deliberate. You posted online that you were prepared for trial. You acted really tough and you really made it out like I’m some villain and you’re a poor, wounded animal who has been kicked while he’s been down. You called me vindictive and spiteful. You claimed I was hateful against you, and when I was angry and hurt, I was quite hateful. I was quite spiteful. But I have not once been vindictive, and I have not once said a single untrue thing about you or your behaviour.

            When we were in the courthouse, you said you didn’t know who I am. It struck me strongly as the truest statement you had made in a whole five years. You certainly lied when you told me you’ve died. You certainly lied when you said I was your soulmate, that you had been searching the cosmos for my energy. You are a liar of pathological tendencies, sperm donor, and I am here to tell you what I see. I already know that if you read this, you won’t make a change, because you don’t really know what you’re doing. You demonstrated that in the room of battle.

            “I am prepared,” your status read. But when the Judge addressed you, you stuttered and stumbled over your words. You outright stated you did not know what your requests were. You vindictively demanded that I pay bills that you chose to take care of on your own volition. You cannot have realized how all of your actions leading up to that day were working against you, but I think your mother noticed it since she didn’t come to your defence. Or did you tell her to stay home? Regardless, I was better prepared. My paperwork was all together and my requests were simple. And the Judge ruled in my favour more completely than I had dared to hope.

            I overestimated you the way you have underestimated me for ages. I had thought, perhaps, you walked in thinking you would razzle dazzle me, throw me for a loop and win your way with sheer presence. But I realize now that gives you far too much credit, because you are a sick, sick man. I do not believe your initial diagnosis from the base mental health clinic was complete. If you do have that personality disorder, then I think you have a second or even third personality disorder, as well, among them Narcissistic Personality Disorder. A tall claim, perhaps, but characterized and standing out from regular narcissistic traits by a Narcissist’s absolute refusal to communicate.

            I expected you to have at least one witness. I expected you to come in with a residential plan requesting that our daughter live with you for part of the year, but rather than doing something so thoughtful and likely to succeed, you instead went in with a vindictive residential plan that asked the Judge to uproot the child from her life and withhold her from me for all but two weeks a year. I was shocked; how could you be so stupid? I expected you to have your paperwork together better. I thought you would demand that I pay for the World Books, and I thought you would have a better-organized case to plead wherein you would claim that I am abusive and horrible. But you didn’t. The Judge didn’t want to see your Facebook evidence and I didn’t offer mine, because social media was irrelevant to this case—except for the part where you threatened me in a status and your mother joined in.

            It’s adorable that your mother thinks I should be committed, because really, the one who should be committed and monitored closely is you. You claim to love your daughter, but you don’t show it.

            You send a message once or twice a week to ask “how she’s doing.” I have shared with you her school schedule and yet you send these messages while she is at school and you never ask any deeper questions. You show no interest in her development, in school or at home, and you show no interest whatsoever in my ability to care for her. I wouldn’t expect you to care about me at all, but I am the mother of your child and as such I deserve a minimal amount of consideration since I am the custodial parent and I have full control over her development—development that has accelerated significantly and is going so well, I wonder how I managed to let you hold us back for so long.

            I would give you a list of questions you should ask about your child, but they’re really common sense for fathers who want to be dads to their kids, a role you have repeatedly demonstrated a lack of interest in filling. I will not spoon-feed common sense to you when you have previously indicated a lack of ability to digest it.

            I look forward to this summer break, to see if you follow the court’s order for visitations. I look forward to our weekly video calls, because my daughter doesn’t want to hear you talk and she doesn’t want to see your bullshit. She doesn’t care what you’re doing, she just likes that she can boss you around and do what she wants when you’re around. This is demonstrated by our video calls lasting less than two minutes every time. This happens at home and in public, as I have tested multiple times now.

            When I was overwhelmed with emotion upon our separation, I thought perhaps I would always hold love for you. I can see now that such is not the case.

            Goodbye.

-A

The Queen and the Wolf

THE BEGINNING

Once, there was a young Queen who had struck out on her own, far away from her kingdom.  In her kingdom, she had felt as though she didn’t truly belong.  In the foreign land to which her nation sent her, she felt much more at home, but only when she mingled with the locals and visited the neighbouring lands.

            The young Queen sought a young King and found a Knight.  The Knight was mild-mannered, fun-loving, and all-American.  The Queen could feel her secular, Euro-centric values cringe around him, but she largely enjoyed his company and found herself fall in love with who he was.  Eventually, though, she realized that the Knight was not interested in sharing things with her the way she did with him.  He complained a lot about things that could easily have been fixed, and the Queen felt herself drained of investing time and energy into the relationship.

            One day, the Queen met a sickly wolf cub wearing a mask.  The mask was lopsided and dishevelled, and the Queen’s heart was struck with sympathy upon looking at the poor creature.  With pity for the cub in her heart, the Queen spent time with him, getting to know him and letting him know her.  The longer the Queen spent with the cub, the more he looked like a grown wolf, as if the mask he had worn when she met him had straightened out and become his being.  The Queen was fooled, and the cub’s Glamour caught the Queen under its spell.

            The time came for the Queen to move to another land.  Terrified of losing the cub who had appeared to treat her so well, the Queen held a ceremony to bind herself and the cub together. In so doing, she remained in the foreign land for another year.  It was not an ideal situation, thought the Queen, but she thought she would be happy with her Wolf.

THE CREATION OF A FAMILY

            The day came when the Queen realized she would be having a baby.  By this time, she had begun to notice that the wolf did not behave as a wolf should.  He had no pack, only a mother in a far-away place.  He was unclean, and any task he took on in the home the Queen had chosen for them to share was accomplished without completion and without propriety.  Clothes to be washed shrank in the doing; dishes to be cleaned came out crusted and oily.  The Queen had been depressed from the subconscious realization of the wolf’s inability to function as an adult, but hadn’t wanted to recognize it.  Once pregnant, it was unavoidable, but the Queen had a great deal of fear.

            A baby was a terrifying concept to the Queen, who had thought she would live out her days barren, forever a maiden.  The idea of raising the baby alone so terrified her that she left the foreign land and returned to her kingdom, with plans for the wolf to join her there.  She knew, with the support of her family, a retired King and Queen, she would find the strength and serenity to adjust to such a major change in her life.  And she believed that the sickly wolf would benefit from the same.

            The Queen’s family welcomed her back with love and support, outlining expectations for the Queen’s behaviour during her stay in the family home, in addition to expectations for the wolf upon his arrival.

            The wolf was to find work.  He was to move forward in such a way as to support the Queen and the new-born babe.  He was to keep his money and put it away in order to find a castle for himself and the Queen, in which to raise the precious infant. The wolf did none of these things.

            Instead of looking for work, the wolf slept throughout the day.  Instead of putting any monies aside for a castle for the Queen to whom he had been bound, the wolf spent his money each time he left the family home, waking up too late to engage in breakfast and going out during dinner times.  Even when leaving the house, the wolf was in a state of partial undress.  The old, retired King spoke to the wolf and informed him that he needed to demonstrate modesty and remain clothed in their home.  The wolf refused, and instead walked about the Queen’s family home as though it were rightfully his, his clothing largely missing or in a dishevelled state of disorganization.  Additionally, the wolf decided to stay up every night and remove the new-born baby from the Queen’s care, feeding the babe artificial nutrients behind the Queen’s back and undermining the Queen’s nursing schedule with the infant.  By so doing, the wolf knew that he was sabotaging the bond between the mother Queen and the new-born princess, a deliberate act the wolf perpetrated to gain control over the infant.

THE DECLINE OF HEALTH

            The Black Queen caught the wolf in the lie.  She confronted him about feeding her princess artificial materials and was quite ready to throw the wolf—the sickly cub that he was—out of her family’s home and out of her life and the life of her princess.  But the retired Queen told her that perhaps, just maybe, the wolf truly did act in this way with her best interests at heart, and so the young Queen found her heart softened yet again, and she stayed.  She allowed the wolf cub to stay, and he poisoned her mind against the retired King and Queen, so that they left the family home much too soon.

            Years passed, and chaos abounded.  The Queen engaged with her tiny princess every chance she had, preparing activities for the baby as she grew that would help her learn what she needed to know to grow into a queen of her own. Still, the Queen fell into severe depression as the wolf exercised his covert control methods over her and the baby princess.  With every activity the Queen commenced, the wolf would take the baby away.  He held the infant child away from the Queen, poisoning the princess against her mother.  The Queen tried everything—she encouraged the wolf to find work, but when he did, he didn’t hold the position for any significant amount of time.  The Queen and the wolf each attended school, though the Queen had much difficulty due to the wolf’s behaviour at home.  The Queen made multiple attempts to find work around her, but all failed due to the stresses she faced while dealing with the sickly wolf to which she had bound herself.

            In the beginning of the chaos, the Queen and the wolf took the princess to visit the wolf’s homeland.  So it was that the Queen first laid eyes upon the domain of the wolf’s mother, a wolf who kept her pack close yet was nearly as sick as her son.  The visit was disastrous, and the sickly wolf disowned his mother upon their exit from the land.  As time went on, the Queen encouraged him to forgive, for this was his mother.  The sickly wolf refused.

            “She told me I’m a bad father,” the wolf cried.  “I cannot forgive her. I’m not ready.”  And when the Queen brought guests to the home, the wolf would tell them, “My mother is a two-faced bitch.  I hate her.”  And he would tell them about how she had screamed at him, and at the Queen, during their visit to his homeland.  How she had screamed in front of the new-born princess and thrown the Queen out of the wolves’ den, unprotected and distraught.

THE RECOGNITION

            In the midst of this chaos, the Queen met a Priestess.  The Priestess was powerful and kind, and the Queen felt an immediate warmth within her heart upon meeting the spiritual leader.  But the wolf was not so keen.  The wolf growled at the Priestess and snapped at her, doing everything in his power to keep her away from the baby princess while the wolf continued to hinder the tiny child’s development.  The wolf’s behaviour caused the baby princess to cry for him when he was not near her.  He carried her everywhere, insisting she be on his back when she was able to walk and not once teaching her any of the things a new princess ought to know in order to deal with the world around her.  The Queen hired the Priestess to keep an eye on the princess, to help teach and guide the little girl so that she could have a normal childhood and grow up to be strong, independent, intelligent, and wise.  But what the Priestess witnessed in the house the Queen shared with the sickly wolf so disturbed the Priestess that she could not continue in her position with the small child.  And so, the Queen was at a loss yet again.

            It took longer for the Queen to realize just how sick the wolf truly was.  She did not want to believe she had made such a grave mistake in binding herself to him.  She did not want to believe that the wolf would deliberately sabotage her relationship with the princess, or that he would deliberately infuriate her and do things wrong on purpose.  The Queen and the wolf were set to leave another home prematurely, when the Queen saw the Priestess for what she thought would be the last time.  The Priestess knew something was very wrong and looked the Queen in the eye.

            “The wolf is not grown, my dear, he is merely a cub.  And he is very sick.  Notice how he has found no pack to join while you two have lived in this land.  Notice how little contact he has with his pack in his own land.  These are bad signs for a wolf, for wolves are pack animals.  There is nothing wrong with loving a wolf, but if you do not let this one go, he will corrupt and poison your whole life.  He will poison your relationships and corrupt your mind further than he already has.  You must leave him, and take your princess with you, for he can do no good for her.”  The Priestess was insistent and passionate, holding the Queen’s hands in her powerful palms and fixing her amazing gaze upon the Queen.

            When the Queen returned to the home she and the wolf had shared and were now leaving, she presented him with her thoughts.  She said, “I do not wish to leave this land again,” and even as the words passed her lips they surprised her, for she had once wanted nothing more than to be free of her own kingdom.  Now, she found, she needed to establish her place within it and rule where she fit best.  The wolf had nothing of substance to offer, instead doing everything he could to turn conversation around so that he could use his words to fool the Queen again.  He wished for nothing more than to give her any words that she wanted to hear, just so he could think she felt better and wouldn’t pester him again.  But the Queen knew what to look for, this time, and she noticed the sickly wolf’s desire to say nothing of true substance and answer no questions legitimately.

            She considered the affair the wolf had had, in her own bed, in the home they shared.  She considered the wolf’s mother, telling her prior to his arrival in her land that he had had an affair with someone in his own kingdom.  The Queen sat quietly and looked with sadness at the wolf, seeing his Glamour falling away and yet still wishing she could make him better.  But she now knew that she did not have the antidote for whatever ailed him, and she knew that it was best for herself and her princess to let the sickly wolf go.  This was further confirmed when the wolf said:

            “If you’d be done with me, then be done with me.”

            With sadness, the Queen gazed at the wolf and replied, “I have never said I wished to be done with you… yet this is not the first time you have said such a thing.  You’ve said things like this many times in these years, and I think it is time to explore the option and for us to go our separate ways for some time.”  The Queen was filled with sorrow as she gazed at the sickly wolf, his face emotionless and his body language guarded.  It had always been guarded, she realized.

THE SEPARATION

            The Queen returned to her family home, broken and distraught, with her young princess.  The wolf fled the land, first running to a foreign land to visit distant acquaintances, then speeding back to his homeland, where his pack licked his wounds while he dismissed their unyielding tolerance, support, and coddling of his actions.

            The Queen watched as the sickly wolf’s mother defended his egregious behaviour.  The mother wolf accused the Queen of lies she had never told.  The mother wolf accused the Queen of slandering her sickly cub, and she made veiled threats against the Queen from the safety of her homeland and the surety she found in having her cub back in her den.  The Queen learned much in her observations.

            Among the lessons, the Queen found her power, the power she had vested into the sickly wolf and now could take back for herself.  She learned how to deal with the pain of her mistakes and move forward, and forward she moved.  She was finally able to create a bond with her wonderful princess, and she even found school for the little girl as she, the Queen, resumed her own education with much greater focus and determination.

            So it was that the Queen grew into her power and became the Black Queen.  With the support of the Priestess and the retired King and Queen, the Black Queen moved to sever the tie she had created with the sickly wolf.  There were doubts, and the Black Queen thought she should take it as far as she could and remove all right the wolf could have had to seeing the princess.  But she knew that it would not stand, not for lack of justice but for lack of evidence, and so the Black Queen ultimately came to settle upon simply ensuring that she would always have her Princess in sight and care.  The princess had a right to know the wolf, and so the Black Queen would do nothing to hinder that, despite her own knowledge and reservations concerning the sickly cub.  She persevered, trudging through the judicial system, juggling the case with her classes and caring for the little princess.  All of this was in the face of veiled threats made by the sickly wolf and his mother, the two of them overestimating their abilities against a Queen with an army.

THE WAR

            The Black Queen took the sickly wolf to trial.  The wolf made every attempt to beguile the Queen, flashing his Glamour to the best of his ability, but the Queen was far above such trickery, now.  She had seen the signs, she had recognized the sickness within the wolf.  She now knew that no wolf who walked alone was a healthy one, and she knew what she needed to do to ensure her princess’s safety and well-being.

            The wolf’s trickery nearly worked when the Black Queen attended a pre-trial conference.  The mediator, who existed only to determine whether an agreement could be reached between the wolf and the Queen, warned the Black Queen that the Judge could rule more favourably for the wolf than desired.  Worry set in the heart of the Queen and she returned to her home, the home she established with her princess, and she prepared for battle.  The wolf had dared her to bring her army, and the Black Queen was happy to oblige.

            So, the Black Queen assembled her army, an army she wasn’t quite sure she had.  She called upon the powerful Priestess, the retired Queen, and the Duchess, the Harlequin, the harlot, and the bard.  She had six people at her side when the Black Queen walked into the Judge’s domain to face the wolf, and when she laid eyes upon him, she realized how truly sickly he was.

            The wolf sat alone with poor posture.  As the Black Queen strode into the room, he informed the Judge’s assistant that he had no one with him, no witnesses to support his claims or requests.  The Black Queen felt her heart swell with relief while her eyes widened in surprise at just how truly alone this wolf was.  Despite his pack in his homeland, none had shown with him to help him fight this battle.

THE FINAL BATTLE

            After some time, the wolf and the Black Queen were finally before the Judge.  No one was present in the room but the Queen, the wolf, the Judge, and the Judge’s assistants.  The Black Queen’s army waited outside, prepared to fight for her.  The sickly wolf sat alone, as he had.  The Judge first directed her questions at the Black Queen—the process was not quite what the Queen had prepared for, but that did not mean she was unprepared. And so, her response to the Judge was as follows:

            “This case is about the custody and care of the young princess.  She has lived with me since the wolf and I parted ways and she is thriving.  The princess is a wonderful, sweet little girl who is speaking much more clearly now and attends preschool full time.  She sees the retired King and Queen twice a week, as needed for my school schedule, and we really have a good support system here.”  The Black Queen spoke with her head high, her words clear and concise and well prepared for this fight.  She would ensure with every fibre in her being that the princess remained safe and maintained her developmental momentum.  She would fight against the uprooting of the princess from the life she had built.

            But the Black Queen never had to raise a sword.  Not a single soldier was called to the stand for the Queen.  The Judge directed her questions to the sickly wolf, who fumbled and fell short.

            The wolf stumbled over his words, stuttering over his requests and alleged demands.  He presented paperwork to the Judge that requested the princess be uprooted from the life to which she had become accustomed.  The papers suggested limiting the Black Queen to two weeks out of a year in which to see the princess, and further papers claimed the Queen owed the wolf monies for bills that had been paid without her knowledge. The Judge looked the wolf in his face.

            “It seems to me you’re being vindictive in these requests.”  The Judge asked the Black Queen about the debts presented by the wolf, and while she had been unprepared for such allegations, she responded clearly and without hesitation that those bills were solely the wolf’s responsibility due to the circumstances under which they were paid.  The Judge agreed.

            “The princess will remain with the Black Queen.  You, wolf, will return to this land three times each year to visit the princess.  These visitations will be during the daytime only, and they will be supervised.  The Black Queen will approve of the visitation location, provide for transportation of the princess, and determine who supervises the visitations.”  And with a swish of her black robe, the Judge was gone, and it was so ordered.

THE VICTORY

            With relief filling her being, the Black Queen accompanied the sickly wolf to the clerks who finalized the paperwork, her entourage trailing along.  She could feel the wolf’s self-pity, his indignation at the justice carried out.  The Black Queen could feel that the wolf felt as though he were surrounded, ganged up on, and she couldn’t help but wonder why this poor, pathetic creature would dare challenge the Black Queen to bring her army only to face it alone.  She realized, without weight on her heart this time, that the wolf did not realize the extent of his sickness.  This wolf thought it normal to walk alone, without his pack.  And the Black Queen thought of how, in an earlier age, she would have pitied the wolf.  But now, she thought only of how foolish he was to have issued a challenge he couldn’t have hoped to prevail over.

            The wolf left the courthouse prematurely, the final paperwork yet to be printed.  He flew back to his homeland, to the sickly pack that did not properly care for him, licking his wounds all the way and whining of injustice.  The Black Queen sat alone and graciously accepted the finalized papers, still warm and smelling of toner from the press.  And so the Black Queen made her exit from the Judge’s domain and from the courthouse, and shared her victory with all who had arrived to support her for the battle that was won without a weapon.

New Year's Eve, 2017-2018

            It is amazing how much can change in the span of a year, or even six months. This time last year, I thought the house I was in would be the house in which I would stay for at least two years, if not longer. By the time my birthday came around, I knew that would not be the case and I was not happy about it, but I remained hopeful and optimistic that everything would work out with the family I thought I was creating.    

            Now, 2018 looms on the morrow’s horizon and everything is different. Everything has changed.

            I entered 2017 as optimistically as I have entered the past few years—with hopes, telling myself that this would be my year. Nothing would stop me, nothing would come in my way, this would be my year to get my shit together, figure out my life, and move the fuck forward with real goals and real progress.

            When I made that resolution, I had no idea what it would take for it to come true. When they say, “Be careful what you wish for or you just might get it,” they are not kidding. I have come to the idea that when someone makes a wish—an earnest, true wish—it is released to the Universe and the Universe will grant that wish. The catch is that the wish will never be granted the way you imagine it to be. Never.

            As it turned out, 2017 was difficult, but ultimately I have met much of what I wanted to do. My blog has not remained as active as I had set out to make it, but given my limited audience, I’m not really hurt about that. I know that as I take my time getting all of my ducks in a row, blogging will fall into the pattern of routine. I have been journaling again, nearly every night, before bed. I write down my innermost thoughts and feelings, those intrusive things that come unbidden to my mind and would linger, festering, if not for the release of ink into paper.

            The year draws to a close and as the end, and a new beginning, draw nearer, I find myself reflecting on my own thoughts yet again. I did not imagine I would be in another apartment, nor did I think I would still be renting. I never dreamed that I would be alone with my beautiful daughter. I know a handful of people who have managed to purchase homes, moving forward with life in that typical way that our society deems normal and acceptable. People with whom I went to high school are getting married, having babies, and purchasing houses as if we still lived in the Golden Age of American Financing (also known as the years during which income taxes on the highest income bracket were over 90%). When I compare myself to them, I think I am somehow coming up short on my potential, that somehow I am not living in the timeline I was meant to and instead I am in many ways retarded—lacking in some crucial fashion that others are not.

“People with whom I went to high school are getting married, having babies, and purchasing houses as if we still lived in the Golden Age of American Financing.”

            As 2017 ends and 2018 begins, I find the futility in making such comparisons. It does not do to compare myself to my peers in this way, for my journey in life has been nothing like theirs. These people lived in nuclear households, having both parents and full siblings with whom they lived stable lives and learned how they belong in this world.

            While my peers had stability, love, support, and the sense of belonging no matter what, I had other issues to face. My parents were never together; they were never married and they never lived under the same roof. My mother had four children, each with a different father, and my own dad fathered his second child when I was 20 years old. My family is wrought with mental illnesses, including depression, anxiety, and dementia (in old age). Those who were my peers and suffered similarly became people I called friends, but even then, I felt as though I didn’t belong.

            Ultimately, realizing the differences between myself and my peers in terms of what has led each of us to this point in our lives helps me to realize that I cannot compare myself to them, nor can they do so to me. I have a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment at a lower monthly rental rate than any other apartment complex or house within 100 miles. I am located conveniently close to my school (I can ride my bicycle to class), with my daughter’s new preschool within walking distance of our new home. The mall is within walking distance of our new home, and my best friend lives a mere 5-minute drive away.

            So, I am in an apartment. I have less square footage to maintain than my peers with full-size houses of their own. I do not need to worry about paying for my own garbage disposal, water usage, or sewage service. I have no HOA fees to pay, nor property taxes. I may be a single mother now, but I have friends who come to see me and I have friends who invite me out to do things. My daughter is developing much better than she was, six months ago. Her speech has vastly improved, and it has become clearer even in the mere month during which we’ve lived in our new place.

Happy New Year!

A Poem: Call for Help

I put my heart into the wrong container,

expecting it to be healing and warm.

Instead, what I found was a complainer

whose affection hit me like chloroform.

In those years, every time I would wake

and work to fix the situation at hand,

instead I would find a man like a snake,

all too ready to lie and misunderstand.

My inner strength was sapped away,

stolen in pieces, he’d ruin it, bit by bit.

A kick or punch is so much clearer by day

than the words upon which he would sit.

How I was so blind, I ask myself daily,

wondering how I could be so broken.

If only he’d hit me, punching as gayly

as his words and dismissal were spoken.

Now, I find myself in a vice-grip by fear,

its cold, dead fingers attached like a leech.

My first instinct is to run away, steer clear

of any affection—anxiety makes me screech.

Please, I implore, help me pick up the pieces

of what is left in the aftermath of this fall.

Alone, impossible, but with help, it ceases

to be something for which I feel I cannot call.

A Letter to Self

Dear Ally,

This may be the longest letter I ever write. You are worth every word, every moment of effort put into this, just so you can see the words for yourself, from me. It's time to start seeing yourself as worthy of love, acceptance, and kindness.

It's okay not to be okay. It's okay to hurt and it's okay to be unsure and it's okay not to know what's going to happen next, how long a chapter in your life will last, or when something will transition into a better thing. It's okay to be kind and loving to everyone, even those who are abusive, and it is okay to tell the truth, even if others do not like it or agree.

"If I encounter evil and I am not ready, I can still win if I do not compete." (Unknown.)

Now that you've processed and released your feelings towards him for what happened, it's time to recognize yourself. You've caught your reflection as you've written letter after letter to various individuals and personalities in your life. Now it's time I spoke to you.

The Gut may be overrated, but it is also underused by many. Many people have subscribed to "Head over Heart" thinking and have lost touch with their intuition and natural guidance in life. Darkness is attracted to those who lose touch with reality, and I watched you lose touch with yourself and sight of what's important to you. I watched you compromise your core values for him. Don't do that again.

You cannot sit back and wait for another person to read your mind. You cannot expect someone to know what you want all of the time. You were born in the United States of America, one country of many in the Americas whose culture is that of the low-context variety, meaning the assumption is that the person next to you differs in thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and values. Yet, you operated as though you were brought up in a high-context culture, as though the people around you are supposed to share your thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and values, and you sat back as though in such a culture and expected people to read your mind. You're not in that kind of culture, and you don't have the power to change the culture in which you were raised, by yourself.

It takes action to change habits. Consistency is the only key and the only way to improve. Your emotions are powerful and you've allowed them to govern your actions. This is not acceptable; it never has been, nor will it ever be. There is merit to "Head over Heart" thinking, when used correctly. Keep improving your response, rather than trying to tailor your reaction. Forward thinking, planning, and prevention are the things that will get you the furthest in life. Lack of proper planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on part of another. Feel your emotions and allow them to course through you. Start using your head based on what you feel in your heart, and use your heart to know what's right when making forward-thinking decisions.

It's easier to see the ways you can improve now that you have a planner that outlines it for you. How convenient for you to have your journal right next to it in your bag. Every day has the most potential to be successful. Perhaps I don't need to point out your areas for improvement or tell you you're slacking. You've always been so quick to pick up your own shortcomings; this is something those around you seem to fail to notice, more often than not. You look at yourself more than others through this mirror I hold... and you know, although you are quite attentive to what really matters, you've been slacking here and there.

Bad habits die hard, especially when they've been reinforced. But it doesn't matter what you say or what anyone else says. Your expectations for the relationships you've had have been ridiculous, at times. You were certainly convinced he was "the one," that he was perfect for you. Although you've burned away the negativity and taken back the ill will in the form of guilt and shame, still you're hurt. What matters now is what you've done these past two months. You've been constructive, positive, and happy, and your daughter is picking it up. She's doing much better now, with you, than she was doing before.

It's okay to hurt. And it's okay to love yourself. You've given so much of yourself, you've forgotten who you are. You've compromised so much of yourself to change who you are to try pleasing someone else. What if he did that, too, to an extent? You believed in him wholeheartedly. You were on his team when everyone else told you things that put him in a bad light. You defended him against all of your friends. You believed he could be better, if only you could find the way to reach him and communicate effectively. Yes, he lied to you, but what if he truly believed he had good intentions? It's not about blame, at this point. It's about forgiveness and love. The love is still there, and it may always be. It's okay to still have love for him. Without that love, the relationship would not have begun in the first place. Without that love, your daughter wouldn't be here.

It does not do to let go of love. Instead, let go of the pain, the fear, the anger, the darkness. You've been so attracted to darkness for so long. Darkness can be beautiful and it can be useful, but think of your namesake, Ally. Think of the meaning behind your first name, derived from Alice: "Of a noble kind; noble; honorable." Next, think of your middle names' meanings; Virginia: "The maiden; virgin," and Marie: "Sea of bitterness/sorrow; rebellion; wished-for child; Mistress or Lady of the sea." Darkness is in your very name, preceded by light and innocence. There's a lot of light out there to be shared; we do not need others to feel our darkness. They are just as aware of it, through their own experiences.

I love you. Usually, I've said it to you more as a joke. I've sarcastically laughed and said, "I kill myself!" as a euphemism for laughing at your jokes for finding you hilarious. Briefly, in those moments, your confidence is greatly bolstered, and I shine for you. But then you retreat, almost as quickly as you came to surface. Back into whatever troubles you, whatever it is you've desperately been trying to make others see.

Do what you like to do, love. You enjoy cooking; you enjoy having a clean home. Even mundane chores are fun to you, when you've got the right groove going. Now, you've found people who help you into your groove. Hold on to them. Love them. Allow my daughter to love them. Love is never the problem, fear is. You have a lot of both, yet you've allowed fear to govern you for too long.

You're afraid of love. It's terrible, yet it's true. You're afraid to hear me tell you, earnestly, that I love you, yet here I am. I do. You're at your best when you accept me, and it's time. You can trust me. I will not lead you astray, and if I do, you already know I'll make it right immediately--or as immediately as possible.

If they dance with demons, let them have them. Those are not your demons; you needn't accept them into your life. Let others fall for the Glamour before their eyes; it is not your concern if you cannot enlighten them or open their eyes with kindness or good intentions. Go with love in all that you do and remember the Celtic blessing from the stranger on the street:

"Let those who love us, love us. For those who do not love us, may God turn their hearts so that they love us. For those who do not love us, whose hearts God cannot turn, then may God turn their ankles so we may know them by their limping." -Celtic Blessing (Unknown)

Love,
You

A Letter to My Former Husband

Dear Heartbreaker,

You don't deserve my thoughts or my emotions, yet you provoke me just enough to elicit repsonse. You know you do this because you're a Narcissist and everything you do is deliberate.

You told me you loved me. You told me you needed me. Then, without so much as wind of warning, you left me high and dry, wondering why we couldn't have gone to counseling to work through our issues. I was blessed to have our daughter with me.

You're a liar. Nothing you ever told me was true unless it was easily disproven, like your age, hometown, and other shallow information that only penetrates the peripheral layers of your self. Everything else was fabrication, deception, and manipulation.

I tried so hard to work with you. I did everything in my power to communicate effectively. Nothing was ever enough. You wouldn't stick to things you agreed to. You constantly told me things were "taken care of," but the moment we separated it was as though doors had opened and I was buried under the lies in the form of bills you'd left unpaid.

I worked up the courage to have you served. I thought to myself, "He told me he wanted to marry me all over again. This can be his opportunity to prove it." But, just like with bills, you proved that you're a liar, because you've never once asked me how I'm doing. You haven't once asked what I'm up to. When you first left, you ignored all of my posts about our daughter and our well-being. Now, you end every interaction you start with, "Deuces," and you spell it wrong.

My heart is broken, but I don't want your excuses anymore. I'm putting the pieces back together all by myself. You never once tried to help me put the pieces of my heart together in the first place; I simply had them taped in a group to try keeping the whole thing together in one place. Still, I think you took a piece or two when you went.

You can say whatever you want. You can give me the flimsy excuse that you "didn't have time," but I know that's a lie. All you do is lie and create bullshit excuses for your inappropriate behavior. I know what's real and what's not, since you've been gone, and you will never know how often my face leaks or doesn't over what I thought was supposed to be with you.

We were supposed to have a family. We were supposed to be an unstoppable force of love that would push forward and take the world by storm. Instead, you're a lazy piece of shit who wants to make excuses, lie on his ass, collect money he doesn't deserve, and spin tales of success that never happened.

I offered couples counseling multiple times. When I suggested it while we were together, you failed to follow through, just like you refused to drive me to my follow-up appointment after surgery and I totaled my car. Your response was less than sympathetic and I should have known then, like I should have known when you went behind my back to get formula for our newborn, that you do not care for me. You have no love for me. You have no respect for me.

Well, I have none of those things for you, either, anymore. Karma will find her way to you. I know you do a lot of innocuous tasks to keep her at bay, but she'll find you. She has her ways.

Sincerely,
The Woman Who Loved You Most.