Catharsis

Oh. My. God!  Can't they just leave us alone?

Em forwarded the last couple of e-mails I sent her to Kay.

Why? Why must Jay and Em continue to try and hurt us. Kay and I are trying to move forward, to heal, and yet they keep putting road blocks in our way.

I understand it, but at the same time, I don't.

At least I had shared with Kay the most recent e-mail (the one where I said goodbye to Em), and Kay also knew of the last couple--where I was just checking in on Em because I was worried about her. 

Kay replied to Em, asking "Why did you send me this?"

And I sent Em a text. I don't know if she got it or not because she didn't respond to it. I said something to the effect that "I wish you nothing but the best. But Kay knew about the e-mails anyway. We are trying to heal and move forward, please stop trying to hurt us. I have done nothing but try to be nice and respectful toward you, please do the same toward me. Again, the offers stands, that if there is anything I can do to help you, I'm here and I wish you nothing but happiness and success. Take care of yourself"

Em sent a response to Kay, "apparently you don't realize that Lolita sent these to me. Please tell her to stop trying to contact me"

It was great though because Kay went off on Em, saying, "Apparently you don't realize that I knew about these e-mails. Lolita tells me things. Tell Jay to quit telling Lolita to kill herself. If you want to be hypocritical, go right ahead, but leave us alone. Quit being such a bitch."

Ha! I love it! Thanks baby. I adore you.

After Em sent the second e-mail I text her again and said, "I don't understand where this hatred toward me came from. You had been nice, and then out of the blue-you shut me out, and now this. I'm sorry if I said something that upset you. I certainly did not intend to. I never would have done anything intentionally. I don't want to cause you any more trouble, please don't cause me any more. Let's just let all this go and move forward. Again, I wish you nothing but happiness."
It hurt so bad.  Kay and me both. They way we are being treated.

But I want to be the bigger, better person.  That is why I tried to be as respectful as possible.  But I wrote a therapeutic letter to Jay, which I of course did not send.

What the fuck do you want? Do you really want me to off myself? Do you REALLY want me to put a fucking bullet in my head?

How would that make you feel? Would that make you feel better? Would my blood on your hands help you sleep at night? Would it really even the score so you can feel justice has been served? Would my dead body be just want you need to move on with your life and be happy?

What kind of sick fuck wants that? What kind of person would find peace in one's death, MY death?

Since YOU so badly want me to kill myself, how about I come into your house, look you in the face, and blow my fucking head off right there in front of you?

And that way, my blood truly can be on your hands, and the spray on your face, and my brains on your wall. Then you can be happy, right? Then you can sleep peacefully, right? And you and Mary can live happily ever after, right? After all, why else would you suggest I do it?

You want to know a secret? It would actually give me great, great pleasure to fulfill your wish. To kill myself. Right there in front of you. As you lie on your bed. And before I do, I will tell you how Em told me that I know her pussy better than you do and that I give her REALLY good sex "therapy." And that she giggles and smiles widely after I come, because she "enjoys making me feel good."

And then, I will put that gun up to my head, and pull the trigger, and blow my fucking head off, right there.

That way, old friend, you can have so many great memories of me and our "friendship."

You can live the rest of your life with the image deeply engraved in your mind, of when you walked in on your girlfriend's naked body laying across mine. Seeing her head on my chest, her fingers on my clit, and the smile of pure enjoyment on both of our faces.

And you have the memory of her voice moaning with excitement as she knew she was bringing me closer and closer to the brink of an orgasm. And you can hear my voice as I tell her "yes, fuck yes, I'm coming."

Yes, the image of YOUR girlfriend, fucking ME, in YOUR bed.

Oh, poor thing. That hurts. It must hurt so bad.

But it's okay, you can feel better now, because you have a new memory.

You have a new vision engraved into your sad, sad brain.

You have the image of me, with a gun to my head. You will forever hear the echo of the gun as it exploded a bullet into my head. You will hear, Em's voice screaming. As MY blood spills onto YOUR bed.

Now, sleep old friend. Go to sleep with those images. Wouldn't that make you feel better? Wouldn't that bring peace to your poor, tortured soul? To your sad, sick, pathetic, self.

Wow. It feels even better transcribing it from paper onto the computer. I get such great pleasure from the fantasy. Oh, the irony.

I went to the support group meeting tonight and it went well. I needed it after everything that happened today.

As much as the pain I've been going through sucks, the meeting reminded me that it was necessary. Kay and I both have wanted to just shut the memory off. Not think about it or deal with it. That may be just fine for Kay, but I absolutely CANNOT do that. I have to remember the pain that I have caused myself and her and others because that will be my deterrent. That will be the motivation I need to stay sexually sober.