Saturday, March 28, 2009


Yes, I remember the threats: i would not be able to afford an apartment by myself and he might kill himself if I left.

less money, living alone or living with roommates didn't faze me.

But the suicide threat did hold me for a while

On this particular day though when i was tired, hungry, overworked and spent, i decided it was ok for him to kill himself.

After all the verbal abuse, it might be difficult to draw a tear

i was sorting my things at our apartment in fear that he would return although he promised not to.

i was afraid he would hit

me and then, i would have to kill him as my mother had instructed, should such an event happen

it would have been so ghetto

i imagined myself in prison,

trying my best to tailor the orange jumper to my figure

i would be like Sor Juana, writing poetry in a cell - maybe, i would teach a couple of classes too

except, after killing a man, no one would ask me to teach a life skills course and the how-to-handle-difficult-people class

would be out too.

I had approached him like a charity chase, a person whose childhood had created a roadmap from which he could find no


I had diagrams and maps and brilliant explanations to link each behavior with an occurence early in his life.

i took on this fixer-upper determined to make it work

maybe to be a good samaratin or to feel important.

i don't know

But suddenly, the strange fever of martyrdom broke

i gave up

i let go

i stopped giving a fuck

My pragmatism was not going to work in this instance.

I cut my losses like a gambler not wanting to risk absolutely everything

My intuition said the next stop might be a violent end.

The only friend with whom I had shared stories about this horrible situation didn’t do an analysis.

She didn’t tie an invisible string from a current action to a past experience and stand back nodding in an understanding


She said, “he’s an asshole.”

I was speechless.

She said what my wanting-to-be-Mother Teresa brain never dared uttered.

He is an asshole.

She had the clarity of a businessman

- something I needed at that moment because I was dealing with him from a poet’s perspective.

Plain-speak was effective and got to the root and tore it out

Her words were decisive and this was unusual for her.

God spoke through her – the tone firm and language curt

In four words, she summed it up.

Sometimes, the details don’t matter.

I learned to save

my energy





I don’t entertain people determined to kill themselves

they can go have tea and crumpets with someone else


I’m not haunted by this or him or his kind

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