Dear Diary


I am not really sure where I’m going with this entry. Is it the therapy I so desperately need or am I writing in hopes to find others who have been here and can grieve with me. At this point, I’m basically just a girl (Scratch that. A woman.) who is living a life of abandonment and unsure where to go from here.

Where do you go when someone you counted on has left? How do I tell my daughter that the same thing will not happen to her? How can I be there for my loved ones and stand strong when inside I am constantly shaking in my knees? How can I ever fully trust any man ever again?

Diary, I just don’t know.


These are simply words on a page and I know no answer is going to come from them. It has been almost a year since you left, and I will never forget the last words you said to me.

“I’m leaving for another woman. We are getting an apartment together. I tried to be there, I really did. I know you hate me.”

Then I remember the sound of the phone click and realized it was me, not you, who hung up in disbelief at the events that just occurred. I had never hung up on you before. I honestly don’t ever recall even being speechless when you spoke to me. You always said to stand up for myself and I didn’t when it was most important. I simply just hung up.

I have been angry for 10 months. Angry at the situation, angry at how anyone could do this to another person, angry at how after 29 years, you suddenly decided I am not worth fighting for anymore. How are none of us worth fighting for? How can someone be so selfish to up and leave?

I wondered what I’ve done wrong. What could I have done to make you stick around? The stages of grief affect everything differently and at various times, but I have been in the anger phase for so long that I cannot imagine being in any other phase. I want to yell, rip up your pictures, forget that you walked me down the aisle, and start over fresh. Unfortunately, it is not that easy.

When you committed to raising me 29 years ago, you made a promise to my mom that you’d stick around. My brother had 26 years with you and is now expected to take care of our mother in the blink of an eye. If you knew the pain we felt – myself, my brother, our mother – then maybe you would realize that it is impossible to forget you. We may hate you, but we cannot forget you.

We are adjusting to a new normal without you and although we’ll get through it, it is you who is missing out. You are missing out on family dinners and video chats. Vacations are no more. Your granddaughter is growing like a weed, but you wouldn’t know that because you missed her first year of life. Your children would make you proud, but it is difficult for us to be proud of you.

These words are painful to write, but they’re all I’ve got. We are hanging on by prayers, beating chests riddled with anxiety, and uncertainty about the future. I can tell you this much, though. We have a future with or without you. It is up to you to determine if you want to be a part of it.