Diary

I found the note. I read it to myself, and I didn’t cry. Everything you put in there is the truth, and I heard it all before. Back when you told me that I was dying. Back when I found out about Misty.

List of things my wife, Valleri Isabel Way, isn’t.

1. Beautiful – she doesn’t look like she did when I first met her.
2. Talented – she use to be, back when she could draw and write.
3. A Terrible Mother – she takes care of Roxxxy well (3 x’s for what?)
4. A Terrible Waitress – I’m afraid that’s all she’ll ever be.

There was a few other ramblings, written down, that I couldn’t read. I knew they were hurtful. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t read them? Or maybe because they’re played in my head everyday. Your voice, telling me how unattractive I am. How uninspired I am. How I lost my touch.

When did I lose my touch? When did I lose my imagination? When did YOU lose your imagination?

You always came down on me for being a realist, well so were you. You didn’t participate in “imagination land” either. You never acted like a kid. You had always been focused on family, career, and then everything after. You were the one who pushed for marriage. You were the one who fucked with my birth control. At first, I thought it was cute, the way you traded the pills with those chalky sweet tarts, thinking I didn’t notice. But, I’m not a fucking idiot, Gerard. I noticed.

Why would you go through all that trouble just to leave 8 years later?

At times, while lying in my bed, I wonder how you could just leave. I mean, times are tough, but you just upright and leave…I don’t believe it sometimes.