Happy Ending

This is the way you left me; I'm not pretending. No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending. 

Dear Mark,

You are an asshole. I am annoyed, and I am sick of writing about being annoyed. I'm blaming you because if it weren't for you, I wouldn't even have a blog about being widowed by suicide. And now I have writer's block (rage) and can't even come up with anything good (new) to write about in said blog about being widowed by suicide. 

Now I'm more annoyed because I can picture you smiling, shaking your head at me and telling me to be nice. I imagine you with a smug expression, barely even phased by my words, saying that I should be thanking you for putting me in this position in which I can challenge myself, all in that annoyingly cute way that makes it hard to be mad at you. I'm reminded of when we used to work out and you'd push people to the point of throwing up and then smile about it because you knew that once they were done puking, they'd be proud of themselves for working so hard. You mean, smug asshole. 

Now I'm frustrated with nowhere to put this frustration. I'd give it to you, my dear life partner, but you killed yourself and are no longer here. I want to throw my laptop, but then I'd probably break it. Then I'd need a new one, but I can't afford a new one because there was no money when you died and I've just barely gotten myself back on my feet financially after eighteen months. I'm reminded of how you gambled our wedding-gift laptop away and how you came up with the most ridiculous of lies. Even worse was that I was stupid enough to believe you. I even felt sorry for you in the bullshit story that you fed me. Now I have this laptop because of someone kind enough to give me their extra one, and this is actually the third laptop that has been lent to me in lieu of the one that you gambled away, or whatever you did. The THIRD. What kind of adult can't afford their own laptop in 2018? One who is stuck paying for their dead husband's ridiculously expensive car and trying to get caught up on all the other bills that got neglected  when you were alive and then didn't get paid for when you died because you fucked up your life insurance. TWICE. 

So, today you're an asshole, and all the good in my life is because of ME, MY growth and all the work that I have done. Not you. You don't get to take credit for any of the good. Not today. 

Maybe tomorrow...