Bitch.

I hope you're happy.

I hope you choke on it.

 Fuck you.

You had nothing when I met you.

Nothing.

You were homeless.

 Staying in a fundiloon women's shelter.

 I reached out and pulled you up out of the gutter. I brought you into my life. I defended you from the criticisms of people that said you were no good; that you would drag me down.

I kept you through a number of screaming tantrums that could have cost me my job.

I kept you after you fucked up my face then called the police on me and said that I beat you.

 Did you know that that detective told me to get rid of you? That you were nuts?

Toby Wills, remember him?

 Then you began to lie.

Stories about a dead baby that never existed, stories that I believed at the time but no longer do, about how your father made you blow him, forced you into a marriage at 15, and on and on and on.

I kept you through all of that, because I loved you.

 I told you on Day One that I didn't want any more kids.

You had other plans.

For once, and like only once, you were right.

Those boys are the only thing I have to show for 15 years of being with you. I wouldn't change that for anything.

I worked two jobs, I was doing three radio shows a day, commuting by bicycle, and just barely keeping us afloat.

When I lost it all, I didn't stop looking for work until I found something.

I got burned out of three jobs by the same guy who denied my unemployment, which I fought to get, and every dime of what little money I got went to caring for our child and you.

We had to hide out from CPS - now I know it's because Julian's placenta tested dirty for cocaine; a drug you always said would kill you if you used it.

Yep, I just found that out earlier in the year.

Something else you probably kept from me.

Then, we left California for Ohio. Then my mom died. You know what you did.

You tortured me. For five days while my mother lay dying in a hospital bed, you tortured me with nightly telephone calls threatening divorce, suicide....you tortured me as my mother lay dying.

 And yet, I kept you. Fifteen years and five states. I kept you.

You were never homeless, hungry, or cold.

You took all I had to give and gave back very little.

Not even love: I think you and I define the word differently.

 Millions of times in Vermont the cops came to the house.

And only one person ever got arrested and charged with assault.

We both know who that was.

 And people started hating on ME. Because of YOU.

 Was I perfect? No. But you had enough about me that was TRUE to where if you'd felt the need to talk shit, you didn't have to lie. You would be amazed how many people have come to me for FORGIVENESS since you left. To clear their consciences of the guilt they felt for believing your lies about me, without checking my side of it.

 Let's see: You had cancer and I refused to take you for chemo.

You were pregnant and afraid to tell me for fear I'd beat you to make you miscarry.

There was no food in the house and I was too drunk to take you to the store.

I made you fuck other guys in Stockton for cigarettes.

 For CIGARETTES!

 And on, and on, and on.

 And finally, you tried to kill me.

What if I hadn't raised my arm?

You were aiming for my head.

I should have gone to the doctor. My arm tingles all the time like I'm getting stungunned. It's tingling now. My left index fingertip is numb.

Fifteen years and five states.

You saw shitloads of concerts, hobnobbed with stars, you were the envy of a lot of women, more than you know.

 And this is how it ends. You join my sworn enemy for my entire adult life: the Christian Right.

And you married a bum. A church-dependent bum. Good fit.

And you tell me in a courthouse, "Third time's the charm"?

Fuck you for that.

Thoroughly, completely, and permanently. It took every ounce of self control I had not to say that right then and there.

Once both these boys are 18, you are dead to me.

Don't look to me to bail you out again. It won't happen.

And get my family name off your facebook page. You have four kids, and none of them have the same last name as you. Are you proud?

And based on what I could find out about your new husband, you will, for however long this marriage lasts, have exactly what you deserve: nothing.

 And I hope you choke on it.