Done with the shit

While I suppose this meme is supposed to be funny, it really hit home for me when I saw it. While I have come across a lot of things in my life that have really spoken to me, none had a greater impact or spoke to me louder than this one.

Back in June, when Michelle blocked me out of her life (again), I was crushed. Admittedly I was making it about me a lot. Stuff like “Does she hate me so much that she’s willing to go to her grave making me know how much she hates me?” Especially when I had no idea what I had done.

I cried almost all the time, and I was even more devastated when I learned that her cancer had spread to her brain. According to my research, she had a high probability of the cancer recurring and metastasizing. That it’s in her brain makes the long-term prognosis poor (1-2 years). I was inconsolable and I know my therapist struggled to help me find a way to stay focused on the here and now and not that poor prognosis. The problem was, the here and now was unbearable as well.

For a brief time after Michelle blocked me again, those niggling thoughts of suicide rose up in my brain, along with the self-loathing and profound sense of hopelessness. I went back on the anti-depressants and my primary care physician talked me into taking an anti-anxiety medication as well, on an as-needed basis.

My therapist walked me through my grieving and instilled in me some useful “tools” to help with the physical effects of the anxiety and grief. Meditation. Breathing exercises. Physical movement. Even aromatherapy.

I came out of the other side whole (mostly), finally, and for the past couple of months have been more at peace than I have in a long, long time – probably since I flushed the toilet on my mother’s shit, back in 1994.

Despite all of this really good healing that I have worked so hard to achieve, I still found myself surprised at my lack of emotional response when I saw this on Michelle’s Instagram yesterday, along with a picture of her with her father and stepmother on her wedding day.

Now, Michelle’s no fool and she was most probably aware I was lurking on her Instagram, hoping to catch any updates on her cancer, and just kind of keeping up with her life. And, if she was aware (and I’m certain she was/is), her careful wording of this birthday wish to her stepmother was designed to both ingratiate herself to her stepmother (more commonly referred to as “sucking up”) and to hurt me at the same time.

Oddly enough, I’m not hurt, I’m not mad, I’m not anything other than done. This post was a very clear message to me, one that I heard loudly.

So, today, I wrote Michelle’s name on a piece of toilet paper, dropped it in the toilet, and flushed it away. I am done with her shit.

I have taken down the portrait that was painted of her for the benefit auction last year, and will be shipping it out to her. Joe says I should print out her Instagram post and include that with the painting. I may just do that, too.

I hope Michelle lives. I hope she lives a long time. I hope she is happy with Travis and continues to be happy.

I am moving forward and will not look back. I am moving forward to live MY life, and no longer worrying about tiptoeing around Michelle, but I am moving toward a place where she will not follow, or cross my path again.