(Originally Written February 4, 2009 in the Journal)
Habitaciones chapter 5
Random thoughts: you can't find salvation in a woman... pass me that bottle there.
Joseph woke from his dream, feeble yet refreshed.
*I apologize to my future typist self for the handwriting...moving bus.
A letter never meant to be mailed
Dearest Angela,
They put a photograph of you in the main gathering place. You don't look too pleased in it. You have a contrived, half smile in it. You look very sad and angry in it, that look you get when something didn't go as you had planned. I know that look well, you gave me it for months as our marriage was falling apart.
I wonder what you are doing these days. Occasionally, though not as frequently as I once did, I check up on you. Facebook and blogs are such anonymous ways of emotional sharing. It is safe and dangerous all at once. I took you off mine (as I'm sure you're well aware of) - I just wanted to say I didn't do so because I was angry or hate you, but because this knowledge is too much for me to bear.
When you left me I felt relieved at first. This giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders. No more threats, no more suspicions or doubts. Only one reality, albeit one monstrously ugly, universe crushing fact: you no longer love me and I am alone. I guess I'll take this reality over doubt though.
It took time for me to fully realize this. I moved from a sense of relief to a sentiment of happiness. The more I ponder on this feeling the more I realize it was just emotional and spiritual shock at the life just hemorrhaging out of my soul. My head spun a lot and I searched for ways to reassert my individuality. I lost all sense of individualness in our relationship. Whether that was from you stealing it from me or me forfeiting it, or a combination thereof I still don't know, nor do I think it matters much at this point.
While reconfiguring myself as an individual entity again I realized how many things of my own personhood I hated. There is my neurosis, my lethargy, my existential crisis at the face of my loneliness, my obsessive nature when it comes to just about everything I pour myself into, as well as a host of other things. Most of all I especially hate my insomnia.
Back when we were together my insomnia wasn't any better, it was the same. Maybe even worse. That said, it was easier to cope with because you were next to me. For hours on end I would just look at you, memorizing your breathing patterns, studying the curves of your body, watching your lips curl into half-smiles or frowns. Eventually I could gauge your morning's mood by observing your subconscious moments. Now when I wake I lie in an empty bed and fully comprehend the meaning of loneliness.
It hasn't been all bad though. You know as well as I do (or better) I always paint the landscape a more sinister shade than nature has. I don't know maybe this time I'm accurate. The world contrives to spin but I sink deeper into this hole you dug for me - so deep I can't seem to climb out or even find the motivation to do so. I HATE YOU!
(Joseph steps away for a bit)
I don't hate you. I'm sorry. It's been so long since we've been together but I haven't dealt with it. I've brushed off everything with humor. My jokes and quips have become ever more self-deprecating in the past few moths.
I still battle alcohol. I can't go into a bar anymore because I never know what will happen. The last time I went into a bar I drank until I blacked out. The next morning, or rather afternoon, I realized I had bought a plane ticket to Santiago. I figured, what the hell, why not go? So here I am sitting on the beach trying to overcome a deep sense of loss and a clinical case of writer's block. All I can think is to write is love letters to you. It's all very depressing.
I replay our divorce proceedings over and over in my head. We signed papers, had them notarized and parted with cordial goodbyes. As I walked away I said, "I'll always still love you". Choking back the tears I walked away. In my fantasies though I either express my true thoughts or you reply more favorably. You blurt back, "I'll always still love you"!
Turning around, dramatically slow I peer into your face with sadness. I sigh deeply. "Angela", I say, "you have never loved me. You used me to achieve a certain set of needs, when your needs changed you discarded me. You don't understand the meaning of love. I don't fault you for it and I forgiv3e everything. I never want to see you again - not because I don't love you, but because I love you. I would fall back into your arms again and again only to be discarded at will. I can't go through this again."
At this point in my fantasies one of two things happen. The first is you realize the errors of your ways and we come out stronger in the end. The second, and more likely scenario if I had said what I just wrote is that you spit in my face and walk away. I then leave.
So here is my letter to you. I've written hundreds of them. I never save them. I fold them, put them in an addressed envelope and drive or walk to the post office (you remember walking from the campus to the post office how we would always grab pops at the gas station and we'd always carry exact change and then that one time the price had gone up? We could only get one that time. I couldn't get my Diet Coke if you got your Pepsi and you couldn't get your Pepsi if I got my Diet Coke. We got Dr. Pepper and split it with two straws. I guess you got tired of Dr. Pepper and splitting things huh? Once I get to the post office though I can't follow through. I go back home, with a quick stop for a Diet Coke, and burn the letters in the kitchen sink.
I'll always still love you,
Joseph
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