By Just L
Date: 2012 Aug 17
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Fragments Found

Sometimes I get asked, “Why did you stop writing poetry for a time?” A: I was simply too busy trying to stay alive.

(Scribbled pieces of 2002-03 found in a purple, three subject notebook)

Days Clean
Is it enough
To dare
To dream
Of you and me
On this
Life path
We call a journey
After this
Moment of solitude
Are you
Ready for discovery

Gentle soul
Awake arise
From your sleep
The ashes
Of your own
Pain and shame
And dare
To live
Free again


Though I am 13 pounds heavier, I noticed some of me missing today. I no longer listen to MY music— Al Green, Oasis—“belt alongs”  …the kind that soothe my soul. I don’t dance around the living room and on the sofa to my favorite disco hits. When was the last time I got all dressed up for a special event, butterflies in my stomach, for nothing at all?... But love. I’ve also been on a dry poetry spell for about that long. And a weekend drive, an enjoyable road trip… where am I hiding?

Written September 30, 2002

Meeting With George

“How do you feel about his using?
a. Deer caught in headlights, though it explains a lot.
b. Betrayed. I believe the most important element in a relationship is trust. My philosophy is if I have full information, I can make my own authentic choices for my own life. One-half of our relationship and most of our marriage has been built on a lie.
c. I am tired.
d. Angry. I have been doing this relationship and taking care of business by myself.
e. Fearful of “Kitchen sinking” – you know where you fight unfairly and you throw everything and the kitchen sink (all of the history) at each other.
f. Pleased to see inklings of the heavy burden of his shame lifting. For example, eye contact, confidence, able to be supportive of others, optimistic.
g. I am hopeful that the gentle soul I fell in love with will re-emerge.
h. My own life is slipping away.

Notes for a meeting, October 23, 2002

Did you know if you scramble the letters in “intimacy” you get “screwed up?”

7 pm
The time pre-arranged for “our” night to begin.
You’ve promised to listen to my needs
And you know I will be a sexy siren, that’s a given

8 pm
I ask, “Are you going to abandon me tonight?”
“No,” you swear as you throw another dart.
I sit alone in the living room not knowing whether to start
A movie or wait…

9 pm
Your “monkey” comes in and gives occasional hugs.
Not feeling well she snuggles up.
I give you my opinion on the mirror.
So, this is your idea of a date?

10 pm
I tuck her into bed.
She is crying about 15 minutes later
I go to console her, after all she’s seven
God knows what she’s been through…
I come to talk to you

11 pm
You are masturbating in the bathroom.

I decide I am abandoned,
At least alone, tired and sad.
I take a shower and cry.
Something is very wrong with our intimacy;
Our only exchanges are disinformation.

Winter 2002


The gulf is widening, and my anger increases.
I do not feel love and adored.
I am angry and stuffing it again as this is the cost of “peace.”But at what cost to me?
You called me a thief and a liar—a serious breach of the principles that bind us.
Sex between us in non-existent. The only thing you remain passionate about is your porn.
You use lack of resources as an excuse for not being thoughtful.
You allowed my 40th birthday (04/11/2003) to pass without a single plan or a gift… this is actually the 5th one you’ve missed.
You sabotage holidays by leaving days before or making a scene.
Our conversations are simply words in passing.
Issues are never resolved. You brush off meaningful engagements as “nagging.”
For all of the reasons above, I feel hurt and you are clueless.
It seems to me that you have had a year and one-half off of work and household responsibilities and you’ve wasted it. Meanwhile, I am more stressed than ever.
The last time I tried to talk to you about my desire for you to come to bed before you are ready to fall asleep was met with, “Shut up, I don’t care how you feel.”
You still don’t have a sponsor.
You are clean and sober for 200 days now, but nothing has changed for me.
I fear you will use his new Dx of ADHD as his new crutch, a new excuse not to be thoughtful, passionate, romantic, affectionate, [fill in the blank].
I don’t recall the last time we had an orgasm in the same room.
When we come home from an evening out, you disappear to the garage (later I learn this is your den of drugs and porn).
I am withering and wondering what am I waiting for?...
Instead of meeting my needs, you scribbled obscenities all over this handwritten, privately kept journal.
I withdraw.

About April of 2003

Sometimes scars mysteriously and unexpectedly break open. I am a strong woman with soft spots in my heart.


All written by the now happily re-married Lori Bumgardner-Adair