What good is sharing a life when the other side holds back? What good is fighting when the war is with yourself? What good is trying to hold your breath, when you are too far out to swim back?Why go on?
When I thought I had no more tears, and walked my last lone mile, I turn a corner… only to start over again.
Why do you hurt me so much? Why can’t I hear anything you say – why do I dislike myself when I am around you? Life should not be this way - we deserve better.
When I get up in the morning, I’m not sure if I am sad, or just frightened. From the moment I wake, till the moment I sleep, I am on trial in your presence – the verdict has been rendered, but the jury never convenes. Held in contempt, day after day, night after night, for the same crimes against you – crimes to you… freedom for me. I once prayed for absolution, now I pray for my sentence… let me go - I don’t want to fight anymore!
I didn’t do this to hurt you… this is about ME! I’m sorry it has changed you, but to either end, it would have, regardless of my choices.
Why can’t you understand that you can’t have him anymore…. because, I simply don’t have any more boy to give…
… and I don’t want to live in your shadow, anymore.
That’s how I feel now when I’m with you… a shadow. No matter what I do, I’m still “him”, to you. And for the most part, to everyone else, I’ll forever be the husband that had a sex change – not Chloe the Wife, Mother, daughter or sister.
You make me “him”, just by being you… and that makes me jealous… because you over shadow my identity, instead of complimenting my own right of womanhood.
When you are with me and my children, I am no longer a mother… I feel invalidated and completely minimized by those that witness us, as nothing more than your burden of shame.
A surgeon’s knife cannot fix the ugly that I feel anymore, because in reality, its guilt that betrays me, not my mirror’s lies; Its being a nameless person in my mothers Christmas cards to her child… its sitting alone in my bedroom on New Years Eve with you also alone in another room, watching the same show. It is for being 3 feet away from me in bed, but a lifetime apart from feeling like home.
Your touch, your kiss, and the smile you make, are torture to me, because I still see through the same eyes as I always have – and in my eyes, you are my wife – that makes me still your husband. You won’t validate me as a woman, or as your wife… you won’t touch me and complete me physically as a woman… you look at me in return with the same eyes of a wife that has lost their husband to the sea; never really knowing what happen, or if he will ever return – hoping he is alive and dead at the same time – closure is what you pray for.
I’ve caught you musing at me in this "glazed over" lost in a daydream look once to many times to be immune to ignoring it.
You love me, and I love you. What is this that we don’t understand that makes us cry because we can not just, be…
…and then, just as the memories of our love fade to black, from behind me you set down the perfect little snack…
Why did I not see this coming? Is this why I go on? Is this why everything I have been through, and everything I endure, and why I keep coming back for more - because you put your love in all the little things you do?Now how the hell can I be mad at you, without being a complete jerk for feeling the way I do? One chocolate heart drink completely trumps ANYTHING I have left to say... That's the power of a woman's mental "feminine ways"...
..and so I surrender to the drink, and reflect back on what I have learned... I take note: No matter how right any one is or choice of words they use, if you go up against a woman with Chocolate, you will lose!
