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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 2 of 2. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by susan47 on April 10, 2009, at 19:39:09
I saw a small child playing with his sister, catch-me-if-you-can, and the joy and delight in his aura and in his eyes and his smile, the sparkle of life in him, was gladness to me
And I thought of you.
Always, I think of you.
Posted by susan47 on April 16, 2009, at 0:01:37
In reply to Today, posted by susan47 on April 10, 2009, at 19:39:09
Mmmmm, you don't even know what you are. You haven't clue that you're my guide, that I have made you my guide in life, someone's normality to copy. You haven't a clue of the difference I've made you make when all you did was betray me, my confidences weren't sacred to you at all, nothing was ever sacred to you. You blasphemed all over me in your mind, you made me into a cretin I was not.
Maybe I'll always hate you a little bit for doing that, for taking the Action you thought you had to take, to make me stop and to make me toe the line and to make me a better mother, one who didn't throw frozen peas at her son in frustration.
And you made me such a dark spot, such a stain on society I felt, for doing this and confiding it, and the way I was treated by people I'll never forget. I was just a problem they wanted to go away.
And I almost did, you *ssh*l*, I almost disappeared.
And then I loved you too and I don't even know you. It was so ridiculous and I still cannot figure it out, why I need to hear your voice to stabilise my world and I feel I am losing my sanity and my children's father treats me like dirt, like absolute filth and disgust, he holds me in contempt of breaking his heart. What he doesn't realize is that his heart is in his pants. And anyone who has him by the balls has his wallet and his good sense. And he doesn't have good sense, not for his own life, and I am a drug-addicted female in her early fifties, not Susan47 at all.
And I don't know how I got drug-addicted, this is unreal, it is a nightmare and each day I don't know how I'll wake up. This morning, it was to nightmares of living death. And each day death seems closer to me again, and I feel haunted. Absolutely haunted.
I need to breathe the sea air and feel the wash of fog in my lungs, hear a gull screaming, the rhythmic pounding of the surf. The sweet hissing as the wave retreats.
I loved you.
I don't understand.
I never will.. or perhaps one day I will. Maybe one day I'll meet the person who can pull those feelings out of me again, and not betray me, not ridicule and reject me.
How I hated you.
How I loved you.
How I lived.
I just lived.
This is the end of the thread.
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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
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