Apparently though, infinity isn’t as infinite as leading physicists and mathematicians believe. I shall have to remember to send a note to Brian Greene. He may be interested in knowing that a simple construction worker with no high school diploma nor a single college credit to his name has somehow made a seminal discovery in the field.
In no way does our burgeoning physicist’s #betrayal feel more acute than right now. The people who cared for me are 1,000 miles away. My family has to fly to me for a few days at a time to help. In between, I have to rely on the kindness of strangers.
So why not just go home??? Because, like the rest of working America, I have to earn to live. Even if I’m sick. I have a job here. I have a house. And moving 1,000 miles isn’t free. It wasn’t free when I did it in July. It was a serious amount of money and not something one does on a whim. Whims are cheap, like the people who follow them.
The weird part? As if this story could get any weirder…after what police suspect was my former partner’s ex-wife shooting a barrage of arrows into my home, I’ve had to deal with even more bizarre occurrences. Like muddy footprints, their owner obviously looking at my personal photos, among other things. Red clay smudged in a pair of “J’s” on the siding of my front porch, “Joey” etched into the cement, as well as a “J” with an arrow through it, and quartz crystals planted in my front garden—all found after the last full moon. And, lest I forget, an absurd little comment publicly left on my blog as recently as a week ago by a member of the same group suspected of breaking into my home, destroying my property, burglary, and aggravated assault.
All this drama is barely worth the effort. I have not seen or spoken to my former partner in four months. But seemingly, my very existence still threatens his group. Why, I cannot say. Except, of course, that things on that end are not going well. The fact that I’m still here, despite their multiple attempts to intimidate me, means that my former friend has the opportunity to reconnect. And wants to, or I would not be getting so much attention of late. If all was perfect and paradisiacal, I wouldn’t matter anymore. But I certainly do matter, as multiple members are avid readers of my work, eagerly seeking out new pieces whether advertised or not. It’s always good to grow one’s audience.
Perhaps reading my work will bring enlightenment where it is sorely needed. The last conversation I had with my personal Judas included me explaining that his group, with criminal histories, would do exactly what is happening right now if he were to abandon our friendship. He became terribly defensive at this, acting almost insulted: “It’s not like anyone is going to shoot you with arrows.”
Interesting choice of words....
Where was my “partner” when his crazies were attacking me? If he had nothing to do with it, why isn’t he as outraged as I am? And why isn’t he cooperating with the police??? That’s a huge part of his overall #betrayal. He knowingly left me vulnerable to people who he was fully aware would act out against me.
But as these very words heartily attest to, I am no victim. My former partner’s continued absence speaks to that as well. Guilt and shame are powerful deterrents. No matter how much he wants to see me again, to face me would mean facing what he did. And hiding is much easier than looking me in the eye.
It’s still hard to believe, even after all these months, that the man I knew for well over a year would be a part of any of the things that have happened. Which might explain this recurring dream; it’s set in my late grandmother’s home, circa 1980’s. My friend is wandering around, a bit aimless, confused, and when I try to get him to focus, he begins to physically change. The change usually includes his large size shrinking down to pre-pubescent levels. In one variation, he becomes a woman, lipstick and all. In another, an acne-ridden teen version emerges. Ultimately, the man I knew disappears before my very eyes.
That’s what it was like this past fall. Once I began questioning his lies, I watched my friend and partner disappear a little more each day until he became one of the phantoms he used to chase. It was rather unexpected. Like the Spanish Inquisition.
If our roles had been reversed, and my former partner had moved 1,000 miles from everyone he knew, I would have never abandoned him. For any reason. It’s unconscionable. When he fell off of his mother’s roof this fall, I cared for him. He somehow managed to repay every kind thing I ever did with cruelty. His #betrayal is truly extraordinary as a result—the only extraordinary thing about him, it seems.
While shooting me with arrows and performing pseudo-Wiccan spells under a full moon are, well, a totally psychotic way to get me to leave, securing new equivalent employment, paying off the remainder of my lease, providing a security deposit as well as first and last month’s rent, and, funding what will be exorbitant moving costs are more along the lines of what needs to happen. In this place called REALITY one cannot just up and move. It’s not magic. It’s money. About $10,000 worth.
You see, people who are largely unemployed and under-educated always want something for nothing. Compassion is non-existent in their tiny world as a result. Likely part of what makes it difficult for these people to see that the only reason I am still in their lives at all is because they continuously put themselves in mine.
To wit, when you read and comment on my blog, cyber-stalk me, are uninvited guests at my home, harass me, follow me, and continue committing crimes against my person and property, you are being openly aggressive. None of said criminal behavior is welcome or wanted. All of it, however, has been carefully documented. If you stop, just like magic, there is no more connection. It costs you nothing to walk away. I wish it were that cheap on my end.
I live and work here now. Get used to it. I’ve had to. There is no world, except the insular one you’ve created, where I would be judged a sinner and you, saints. All you are is a bunch of bullies. Because I’m not even your business. It’s very clear at this point. To everyone but you.
Every time you move against me, you give me power over your lives. If I could use that power in any way, it would be to rewrite my own. Because none of you matter as much as I do to you. Your continued interest is almost as pathetic as a grown man who can’t make his own decisions, who stubbornly avoids education for no good reason, who deliberately limits his own ability to earn, who depends on his momma to have a roof over his head, and, somewhere deep inside, still believes we’ll always be friends…but friendship is a two-way street. Until you acknowledge your responsibility, there's not much hope of renewing our friendship, no matter how much I cared for you. No, unless you hold yourself accountable, though it breaks my heart, we can't be friends again. Like in the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, editing you out of my memories is something I've thought about:
You would have never followed me on Twitter. Or commented on every picture I posted with compliments like, “Gorgeous,” “Beautiful,” and, “Ravishing in red.” We would not have had any of our deep conversations that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. We would not have helped each other. We would not have forged an intense friendship, nor would we have felt an instant connection the first time we met. We would not have danced together, sang together, or laughed together. We would not have planned a family and a future. Or, lost our little girl. I would not have even considered jobs in Atlanta—maybe it would have been Los Angeles, Sydney, or back home, to Boston. Nor would I have been asked to bear financial burdens. Or, unnecessary emotional scars.
I would have missed out on a lot of joy, but I did not know it before so would not have actually missed it. I’d never know what it was like to have arrows shot at me either. And though I’d still be wondering if the man who haunted my dreams my whole life was real, that mystery might be better than knowing he exists yet cowers a few miles away in a run-down trailer, a mere shell of the human being I once knew.
The saddest part? I'd have accepted all of you, if you'd had the courage to tell me the truth. Your soul was more important than anything else. That's what I loved. You. The rest didn't matter. Not to me anyway.
In the movie, the two lovers torn asunder end up finding one another again, despite trying to erase their love by messing with their memories. Life is like that. Even though it would be nice to walk away and never look back, it's not possible. But I'm going to try my best to do so.
I recommend you ALL do the same....