February 21, 1994
Presidents Day

"A house divided against itself cannot stand."
                                      Abraham Lincoln

Today begins the eleventh week of the War of the Roses, the sequel, a most uncivil war. It has also been, for the most part, a one-sided war. Maggie continually on the offensive as I mentally curl into a fetal position and absorb one verbal blow after another.

She has broken my spirit, snapped my will and ignited my insanity. I am a dreamer, a daydreamer, and have always had difficulty dealing with reality. I read once that dreamers can't compete because they don't know how. What I do know is only a coward preys on the weak and Maggie has devoured me - for I have always been a sheep in wolf's clothing.

Some thoughts, fantasies and desires should never be shared and should always remain a secret, locked away in the mind's toy box, to be played with only when one is alone. Never, never should they be put down on paper.

Whether such thoughts are part of my mental survival or mental anguish, I'm not really sure.  But since I'll be dead when this journal is read, I can share such secrets thoughts with immunity. If only Maggie would die, killed in an auto accident or by some random killer - then her rabid, reckless and rotten mouth would be forever shut, forever quiet.  These thoughts and images give me comfort.

But Maggie lives and I shall die.

I don't know why, but when I think of Mimi, I see her smile and laughter - and I see us as we drove across the flat state of Nebraska. It is a bright blue beautiful Sunday in early October 1977, she drove as I read the Omaha newspaper.

I remember stopping at a truck stop for the best breakfast I ever had. Mimi calling Susan in Tampa and saying we weren't on our way to Florida but to Las Vegas - and laughing like she couldn't believe we were in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska. We spent the night in Cheyenne, Wyoming and woke up in the morning to an absolute blizzard, It was snowing like hell and we enjoyed every minute of it.

There are a few happy moments with Mary, we had great sex but that's about all. She was too quick to anger and we fought far too often. But I spent my best birthday ever with her on Martha's Vineyard.

It snowed that day as we walked along the streets of Edgartown and along the beach at Gay's Head. Before getting on the ferry back to Wood's Hole, we drank hot black coffee laced with our own coffee brandy at the Black Dog Tavern. We spent the night at the Dan'l Webster Inn in Sandwich and in the morning we found ourselves snowed in. What A birthday!

Maggie, my Maggie, she has become my executioner - yet, I still love her. The happy memories we shared are hollow this day. The divorce she wants and has fought for - and the terrible and mean tirades she has hurled against me, my parents and family have hurt me tremendously and deeply. At times these tirades have left me biter and hateful towards her. Yet, I still love her.

What were once happy memories are now memories of sadness and sorrow. They are memories of mourning. What am I to do with them now? Where does one go to discard the past?

I wonder, if we could really turn back time, would we do things differently or would we follow the very same paths? Not only is my house divided against itself, so, too is my mind between love and hate. And I wonder why love hurts so much?

3:30pm   -   Jack Conway Office   -   Chatham, MA

contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com

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