The chats are painful, disclosures of abuse, not physical, but verbal, her psyche is broken, I know things will get better, as long as there is distance between them. When they are apart and they speak to each other it tends to be somewhat more cordial. I ask her how she can put up with it, it’s a stupid question to ask anyone in that position. I know the answer too well. I could be her and I have been her and she has asked me the same in the past, “How could you put up with that?”

That horrid little four letter word called love. Take the word by itself “LOVE” it sounds pretty, it sounds hopeful, but it can be the worst thing anyone can suffer through and suffer for. I know her reticence, her reluctance to say anything, knowing that nothing she can say or do will be right. Her hesitancy to be out in public and be ridiculed or to be humiliated. We can try to dissect the why’s but the why’s don’t matter. To preserve the relationship as skewed as it is requires sacrifice, sacrifice of self, self-esteem, self-respect. I say to her I couldn’t do that, then we both laugh because we have both done it and been there and worn each others shoes. The bitch of it is is that we have both been digging into the same closet. Yet we hang on to the old, the comfortable, the known.

In a few weeks time things will get back to normal…for a while, then the same old patterns will emerge, the guilt trips, the airplane trips, the mind trips. (More like mind fuck.) Will I have to see her do this forever? It saddens me to know the answer to that…but even sadder is that I would dare venture to say I’d be willing to do the same for “LOVE”.

I have a couple of pieces of wall art that serve to remind me and those that enter my home  that we should Laugh, Live and Love. The three L’s. The impossibility of those sentiments are obfuscated underneath all the miasma that surrounds us. Demonic possesion anyone?

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