Ok, this title seems a little hyperbolic.  I’m not literally sitting here wishing anyone would die.  Sure, there are plenty of people I feel like the world would be better without, but like Gandalf says : “Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends”

If I could snap my fingers and kills someone would I?  I like to think I wouldn’t, but having never had that power I don’t know.  Also, I can’t snap my fingers, it is a skill that has long eluded me. I stick to clapping.   

If I’m not talking about wishing someone would die what am I prattling on about?  I guess it’s all about possible communication. Simply put when someone is dead you can’t communicate with them,  and therefore over time, you stop wanting to communicate with the deceased. Unless you are goth as fuck.

This past weekend is when this thought occurred to me.  I saw a neat country craft sort of art at a donut shop in Dillard GA.  It was a set of angel wings made out of the fabric my mother used to use to crochet rag rugs.  It made me think of her for a second and then I ate some donuts. Yes, if my mother was alive and knew how to use texts I would have sent her a picture,  but she isn’t alive, there is no number to send a text, there is no reality in which she might respond to the text. This means that when I see something my mother would have liked I have the thought “Mom would like this” and that is where the internal conversation ends.  No moral quandary or longing, no emo feels.

There are plenty of people who are alive who I don’t think of ever,  about 7 billion because I never met them. There are people who used to be in my life who I am super glad to never speak to again, so they aren’t a problem.  But then there are people who I shouldn’t interact with and yet I see something, think about them and want to.

This past weekend, as before stated I was in Dillard GA.  Of course, I went to the Dillard house (twice, yes, that was too much) this was a favorite restaurant of my ex-husband.  I wanted to text him a picture. Later that same day I went to a gas station to get a drink and bought a “Surge” soda and I wanted to text him and say “TANTRUM!”  as a reference to a favorite TV show we share. I played a card game that I think he would have loved. I went to a show where a performer I know he likes was playing and if we were friends I would have recorded the song and sent it to him.  But we are not friends. It was a messy divorce, and all of the shared experiences and fond memories don’t change that.

I sent him a text here or there the last few months,  about books or movies and I offered to hang out a few times.  I did this to keep things friendly until I moved but also to see if maybe we could create so sort of friendship going forward because I miss having him in my life.  I used to miss my mother, but I don’t anymore. Not even a little, it’s been 10 years since she died. I think of her fondly and not so fondly. She was funny, sometimes kind and sometimes abusive.   I loved her very much, but I don’t love her anymore, loving someone or something I can’t ever interact with would be cruel to myself, it would be damaging.

These last few months our interactions have been polite.  I told myself that once I moved out of the house we shared that I would stop trying to be friends.  I can’t be expending emotional labor on someone who doesn’t want me around. This is all totally logical,  but how do I stop wanted to talk to him?

The reality of death + time took away wanting to talk to my mother.  It just happened on it’s own. Death makes you deal with shit and move on. 

How do I convince my heart that someone is dead when my mind knows they are alive? I have tried pretending that me moving put him in a place where I can’t speak to him, and as a result, I have been putting off important legal and financial things I need to do involving him because this is such a confusing time. I need to talk to my ex about the car title he is supposed to give me,  about how to get the car tag, about him removing me from a bank account we shared, about taking him off my phone plan. These things have to happen, they are in my planner, they have time limits. But how do I talk to someone I love about business without inquiring to how he has been, without telling him cool things that are going on in my life?   How do I treat him like a stranger I need to do business with and then after the business is done, how do I kill him in my heart?

How do you turn someone you love into a ghost?  

Edit:  I wrote this last night during the “writing” period of my day, to be posted today.  However today during the “high-value tasks” time I emailed him about my car tag and title, to which he replied with threats to sue me because of something else.  There really is no future in which he wants to be a positive part of my life, is there?

I feel like I’m dying, but not in a bad way exactly.  Not in the way I was last year for about 6 months. That was wanting to die but not dying.   That was intense pain, physically and mentally. That was longing for something horrible to end.  

Now, something IS ending.  Something that was often good and often bad.  I’m leaving behind a place that has been my home for 12 years.  I’m leaving behind a place where I was happy, content and safe for about 10 years, living with the person I loved most in the world, excited to see him every day, excited to be building a life together. Then it was a place where I felt trapped and like a piece of worthless trash for about 1 year, broken and lacking any sort of reasonable self-esteem.  Then I tried to be as detached as possible for the final year. Reminding myself daily “this isn’t your home, you don’t like this place, don’t do anything to make this place feel like home, this place is horrible, you want to leave” as I figured out how I would be able to move forward. It wasn’t, in reality, that bad, and I didn’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave now,  but I don’t want to stay either. I was successful in making this no longer feel like home.

This is a decaying box that I sleep in, that I have been keeping my stuff in.  This house isn’t dying for me, it’s dead. It’s a corpse I need to finish removing the good parts from and then walk away and let it corrode out of my sight.  Once I finish moving my things I never want to see this house again. I never want to be in this subdivision. I never again want to drive down very misnamed Allgood road, where I broke my leg.  I would like to have the area I never see again be bigger, but I have friends who live off the next road over.

As I leave the person who lived here is dying.  She dies as I finish deciding what to keep and what to take to the thrift store or throw away.  She dies as I pick which plants to take and which to leave. She dies as I try to get excited about my new home, my new life.  

I thought I would live here for a long time.  I thought I would be married to my husband for the rest of my life.  The people who moved into this house were happy, excited and in love.  The woman who made these scrapbook pages about moving into this house was proud and hopeful.  For 10 years my top identity label was “girlfriend” and then “wife”. My top priority was my partner.  I thought of myself as part of a “we”. I liked having one person who was the center of my world, who I planned with, who I went on adventures with.  It took me about 9 months after my ex left me to really accept that he wasn’t going to change his mind and come back. I really thought that once he realized that he missed me, missed us he would come back.  I know, that’s pretty sad that it took that long, but I just wanted my best friend, adventure buddy, confidant, decision maker, support guy, cooking partner, tv nerd, book club, stand-up comedy audience, biggest fan,  gardening friend, role model, hiking partner, biggest crush, cosplay partner, lover and so much more back. I was so lonely, having lost my “best” everything. Even though we were poly, I had somehow made him my primary in every aspect.   Now I have made a promise to myself to diversify. No one will ever be the “one” for me again. I haven’t worked on collecting new people for all these roles as much as I should have so I’m still really lonely and there are things that I don’t do anymore because I don’t want to do them alone.  I will never have a traditional “partner” again. Yeah, I’ll have a boyfriend/girlfriend/gendernonbinaryfriend, or several. But never again that “I married my best friend” bullshit. Because when that person fucking abandons you for someone better, you will have neither a mate or a best friend.  

Kitty, the wife, is dead.  

I’m giving away the books I never read on childbirth.  I bought these when my ex-husband and I were still talking about having kids, but we put it off because we didn’t have the money, we had this or that important thing coming up, I wanted to lose weight first, etc. And also, because I felt like he was too angry and I was too incompetent.  To be honest, up until today, when I put these things in a donation box a little tiny part of me still felt like I might be a mother someday, but that person is staying here. The person who is moving is a divorced 39 year old woman with PCOS.  I will never experience pregnancy, giving birth or breastfeeding. I will never raise a child.

Kitty, the mother, is dead.  

The person who moved into this house had a job, was a hard worker, made a decent of money, had just finished college, was an exercise buff, was ambitious and pretty darn good at lots of things.  But she lacked the confidence that she could be alone. She had always leaned on someone emotionally, also felt like she needed someone to approve all her decisions. Over time I lost most of my competence.   I stopped having a job, I gave up control of all my finances, I thought I couldn’t drive, I didn’t leave the house alone. I depended on others to make all my decisions. It’s not that I didn’t do anything. I was still a hard worker, around the house and gardens.  But I lacked all agency. I didn’t do anything without approval. I was so afraid to be in charge of my own life.

Now I have a job again, turns out I am super good at managing my own money, I’m not great at the food/exercise parts yet, because of my injury, but I’m getting there.  I make all my own phone calls, go to appointments alone, drive places by myself. I have a vast number of skills, which has always been true, but now I’m confident about using them without permission and managing my own life.  As Glinda said “You’ve always had the power my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself.”

Kitty, the incompetent, is dead.  

I prided myself on being something of a manic pixie dream girl.  My goal was to always be joyful, to make other people feel loved, happy, at ease.  The person who lived in the house thought it was her job to make everyone smile and diffuse every tense situation. I used humor to try to never let those around me feel negative emotions.  I was the perpetual clown. I loved that about myself, and I really thought this was my best trait and an irreplaceable talent. One of my friend’s told me my husband might leave me, that his new girlfriend was angling for it months before he actually did.  And I replied, “no, he can’t leave me, I make him laugh”. I thought my humor and joyful demeanor was what made me indisposable. I thought my jokes were so good other people “needed” them. I guess I thought I was some sort of giggle drug that the people around me were addicted to, believing everyone wanted to mainline some straight kitty brand happy juice into their veins. Yes, now I get that this was egotistical. No person, no talent is irreplaceable. Also, I understand that I am both not as funny and entertaining as I thought I was, and that joy isn’t actually something people value as much as I thought. The guy I’m dating now doesn’t find me funny, he never laughs at my jokes. I have learned that there is no reason to try to make everyone laugh or to always be “on” in social situations.  Also, I’m pretty bitter and my humor is darker anyway.

Kitty, happy giggle machine, is dead.  

I’m not just leaving behind a house in a few weeks.  I’m leaving behind the concept of “home” that I tried to cling to for so long.  I’m leaving behind a person I used to be. I can’t say the new me is better or worse.  I don’t know yet. I don’t know what my future holds, but at least I know what the past keeps.