In my mind I have written this story about a thousand times. In my mind I have found solace from writing it. In my mind I am fearless in publishing this account; I no longer care about anything or anyone involved in these events.
But none of this has happened. And besides writing it, I am not sure most of what I have imagined will come to pass. The reference point in me putting all of this out here is the old cliche that tells writers to write what they know. What do I know? I know that the past four months have been one hell of a rollercoaster ride. I have experienced pain and humiliation in ways that I cannot begin to describe – but will, none the less, attempt to…
But why will I attempt to write about the past 4 months? Why am I about to subject myself to the judgement of others and the scrutiny of reliving every painful moment? The answer is simple – because I need to. My story is worth telling. Its worth being read. Its worth being judged and dissected. I need to write about it, because it needs to be remembered. When all of what’s happened has become a hazy memory, something I only reach for to entertain people over mimosas at brunch, there needs to be some account of it that is still full of the raw emotions that were experienced, the depth of the lessons learned. Lessons that will soon be filled with a certain unbearable lightness of being – a result of the full acceptance and forgiveness of it all.
I have written about this before in very general ways. I never attempted to go into detail as I am about to now because of shame and fear. But as I sat in a restaurant with two friends this past Saturday, regaling them with my past romantic woes, they urged me to write all that I have known – both good and bad. There are plenty of funny stories that I can reach for to garner quick “likes”, retweets and laughs. However, this is not what I want nor need at the moment.
Besides God and my friends, Twitter has been my saving grace through this ordeal. I cannot count how many times a simple tweet from some of my favorite follows have ceased the flowing of tears and stomped out the thoughts drowning in regret. There have been so many of you who have never set eyes on me (and probably never will) that have held me up when I have broken down and tweeted about this situation. This series of blog posts are dedicated to you. You deserve to know it all.
I am not writing these posts to hurt or shame anyone. Names will be replaced with aliases to protect the identities of all those who played a part in this saga. Like I’ve said – this is a story that deserves to be told, and I will do my best to tell it as accurately as possible.
The characters are as colorful as the story, and I want to thank every single one of them for being a part of it – whether they played a “good” or “bad” role.
Most importantly I want to thank Bill, my co-star in this mini-film. You, sir, have been one of the greatest lessons I have learned thus far. If you are to ever read this (which I heavily doubt) do know that you have introduced me to myself in a way that I did not deem possible. Your actions – the hurt we have inflicted upon one another – has broken through my dam of writer’s block and allowed a new woman to emerge in my writings. For this I am grateful. I know we will never ever speak to each other again or even look at one another with anything resembling fondness, but do know that I pray that you have found and will continue to have the complete peace, calm and love I always knew you so desperately craved. I remember that February night when you stood in my room with your coat on scanning my bookshelf with great interest; the title of James McBride’s bestseller stopped you — “The Color of Water”. You repeated the title as if an idea you never imagined had been presented before you. Well sir if you must know…this is the color of water…
*each post in this series will be titled with a song name or lyric