In my twitter experience last weekend, at one point, the person told me: "All women lie and this story you relayed to me I've been told almost word for word before."
I had a lot of responses to that statement. I admit one was feeling shocked and dumbfounded about being called a liar. But the other, frankly, was sadness. That so many other people had a similar story.
I had tried to explain to her that I was protective of my location because my ex-wife is an ex-cop. And towards the end, frankly, she became more and more volatile, and she did still own a gun. While I had strong doubts that she would travel many states to find me, or bring her gun with her, I also had never expected her to do many of the things she had done in the last few months. And in the end, murder-suicide was definitely on the table as a possibility.
My memory is kind to me - it makes me forget all of these horrible things I experienced. It softens my memories. But something will happen, or a conversation will take a particular turn, and then my memory does come back. I prefer to keep the past in the past and move forward.
I didn't give her all of these details. Mostly I just said, ex is an ex-cop with a gun, and I don't want her to know where I am. There weren't that many words that I gave her to distinguish me from whoever also told her the same story.
My response, I'll admit, reflected some of the snippiness I was feeling as a result of being called a liar, and accused of playing mind games. But there was a genuine sadness involved as well: "Well, aren't you blessed that you've never been in such a situation, and so many of us have?"
This morning I was tripping down memory lane and re-reading some of my earlier entries. Trying to see if I was developing a consistent style, a consistent theme. I've now written 70+ entries - how much have I told you and how much still do I have to share that I wanted to tell you? Quite a lot is the answer to both parts of that question.
And if I had practiced patience and waited to respond, perhaps I could have shared with my "friend" one of my earlier posts: Assimilation, where I discuss how my story is the same as everyone else's. So she shouldn't be so surprised when mine sounds word for word of someone else she knows. That's kinda been one of my points all along. I just forgot it at that moment..
We are all one - there are no new stories. Basically, it's just the same song, with a different drummer. Resistance is futile.
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