Emotional Swiss Cheese

Photo by Matthew Kendig

Look at everything I’ve done in the past year, Maria. I broke up my family, I hurt my kids, and I did it all for NOTHING.

You didn’t break up your family for me.

No, but I would have never done it if I didn’t think you were the one.

I am the one, Sass. 

No, you’re not because the love of my life wouldn’t treat me like shit.  Because every time I give you my heart, you smash it to pieces.  It’s not safe with you.  Do you know how sick it makes me to think of someone else’s hands on me?  It was supposed to be you.

Baby… 

Don’t call me baby.  I’m not your baby.

You’re the love of my life, I never loved anyone the way I love you.

STOP IT! Stop saying that! Do you realize what a mindfuck that is?  It’s brainwashing!  You are not the love of my life; the love of my life would cherish me and respect me and want the best for me.

I want to meet a woman who is happy and whole, who will take my hand and we will walk through this life together.  No one is pulling the other one ahead, and no one is slowing the other one down. 

I want someone who is healthy and whole, not emotional fucking swiss cheese.

The day I knew I was a lesbian...

People scowl and make this groaning noise anytime I tell them that I still share my house with my ex-husband. They don’t seem to believe that our lives are peaceful and happy, and that the transition from partners to best friends was nearly effortless. The assumption is that divorce must be contentious.

Can't two mature, loving adults who reach the natural ending of their relationship still remain best friends?

My ex-husband always knew that I wasn’t 100% straight, so it wasn’t a big shock to him. I mean, we used to check out chicks together...

...and then go home and watch girl-on-girl porn.

In the year and a half that we've been separated, I never had the urge to go downstairs for a romp.  I mean, why would I want to relive that torture?  Okay, so the sex didn't exactly suck, but there's only so many times a person can disassociate before you start losing brain cells. 

But I do remember the exact day that I realized I may be more than bisexual-slept-with-a-girl-before, and was more likely a flaming homo.

It was October 2, 2006.

Sitting on the couch, I flipped through channels while my husband and I chatted. I settled on Oprah, who promised a NEVER SEEN BEFORE television event.

Oprah really is the ruler of the universe, isn't she?

I mean, how many ah-ha moments can one woman possibly have?

Hubby immediately got up to leave, but I pulled his hand and asked him to stay.

Now, in ten years of marriage we never watched TV together, much less Oprah.

The show, ironically, was called Wives Confess They Are Gay

My husband took one look at my face and later said he knew our marriage had an expiration date.

These women were not soccer moms; they were not butches wearing chain belts and polo shirts. Oh no, these women were gorgeous in their lipstick and their Jimmy Choos.  Intelligent, professional women.

I realized there were more women out there like me.

Five years passed before I told him I was sure I was gay and our marriage was over. I sometimes wonder why I am not grieving the end of this marriage and then I remember that I have been grieving it for over five years.

When it's done, it's done.