he's in rehab, but I was right about him not being at St Joes, he's in LEWISTON for fucks sake. that's so funny it hurts or hurts so bad it's funny. I just
(breathe)
that's what is so hard to explain about this. he feels it when I get to omgicantdothisanymorehesbreakingmyheart and signals "hold up!" - he can't read any of this, he is in lockdown w no internet - but it is as if he could read me, anyway. he'd say no it's just the day he got to use the phone, but he's wrong. I keep the record books. I have noted this interwoveness many times, especially when I am at breaking points and he somekinda hold up!'s me.
he's in my head and I am in his head. that's it. and we gotta figure out how to manage that in a less harrowing fashion.
new rule?: I never want to hear about his wife. Just that. One change. My wish for this year rules that one subject out of my conversational limits for a spell.
upshot: she's a sore spot = trigger = no go. that is the inevitable result of my having been pulled back into his orbit much too soon re that "divorce" I think we (incl therapists) would all agree. and inevitable because any physical proximity and physical ability, regardless of circumstances, will result in one of us touching the other. his heart or mine, one of us starts it. that is not a mother. or a cousin. or even a Joe with benefits. nope. there is only one of me in the particular. I am the anti-Disney. like the antichrist.
yes, I can be his antichrist.
