Housekeeping

Thank you for the care you've been giving me over the last, oh, God, I don't even know. It's been years. YEARS. YEARS you have been supporting my crazy and telling me I'm strong and beautiful and I am worth more than I'm getting. You've been a source of positive reinforcement that has felt very clearly like it wasn't grounded in bullshit. I have appreciated that -- even though it's complicated and inconvenient -- it sure exists. But I've taken away way more than you have from this interaction. In showing you my weaknesses, I get strength. In showing you my detachment, I get love. I can't offer you what you deserve. I can't fundamentally improve your life or carry some of your weight. I want to do these things. I want to offer to drive you to funerals. To have meals with you. To help with the things that come up in your life -- like a friend. But, I can't. You have a wife who won't step-up to helpmate and a mistress who is more supportive, but hamstringed by social construct. This is no-win for you. I don't want to live quietly. I want to be fulfilled. I want to be honest all the time. I want this for you, too. God, I read that and it sounds like an ultimatum. I can't even get my thoughts together in not-text. This has been hard. For quite a while. I am still fucked-up. Thank you for continuing to be part of my community, even when it's not easy. Even when you get nothing but dissatisfaction with your own life in return. I feel dead and disarmed, but freedom is painful. Know I'm here -- or not here -- as needed while you do your own transitional stuff.