please, mr. postman, i don't want any more letters

In my vast experience with the United States Postal Service, only bad things come in the mail. Well, mostly bad things: medical bills, utility bills, other bills, rejection letters, collection notices, cutoff notices, credit card applications, letters from stalkers whose only way to contact you is through the mail. Stuff like that. So I usually hate the mail, even though sometimes good things come, like grant checks and Netflix. I still sometimes feel like opening the mailbox is a bit like playing Russian roulette.

Silly me, though, I thought I was in the clear re: correspondence from my ex. Not so! I got a letter last week, like a day after Mom told me she received (and disposed of without telling me, per my request) a letter postmarked Chicago around Christmastime and she thought maybe the ex had moved back there. I said, "Maybe now I can stop panicking every time I see a light blue Toyota Yaris." Then I receive a letter postmarked Tulsa from her. So she's still out there, lurking. Which is great.

So, due to this latest Postal Service related incident, I think I will be making my blog private. Not quite yet, though, because I am really pissed about it. I shouldn't have to do it. I want to share my awesomeness with the world, you know? Make some sort of positive waves by living my life the way I live it, unapologetically. Show people how to really live.

Anyway. It pisses me off. I am just trying to live me life and be happy. Trying to move past certain things. It's hard when people refuse to let go. My mantra, via The Gift of Fear, is "The best response is no response."

What I hate the most about all of this is her forcing me to think about her. I don't want to think about her. I don't want to think about how awful dying feels, except as a reminder of why I chose myself over someone else. I want it out of my mind.

And I'm not to the point yet, where the experience becomes some innocuous piece of my past, just a learning experience. There's still rawness about it, especially since she keeps insisting on inserting herself into my mailbox and into my life, even if only for as long as it takes to destroy a letter and write a blog about my feelings so I don't have to think about it anymore.

I am unmanipulable, though. Fuck all that. I am so strong and healthy now, and I don't abide bullshit, and I don't abide ego-stealers. And now that I have written out my feelings I can stop thinking about it and what a violation it is. It's gone. I'm releasing it. I refuse to allow her to occupy my thoughts any longer. I hope she gets her shit sorted out.