I have been to SLEEP NO MORE six times.  What’s SLEEP NO MORE you say?  OMG….. Do not walk.  Do not skip, but RUN to this amazing performance piece in Chelsea (yes, even I will go above 14th Street for this.)  Seriously — google it and you’ll know why you’re missing out if you haven’t already been.  It’s amazing. One of the best performances of a lifetime.  So cool.  I can’t stop going.  It’s so beautiful — and complicated — and incredible.  My favorite parts often involve the witches — and once you’ve seen their prophecy — you’ll most likely be hooked like I am.

I thought about SLEEP NO MORE tonight as I pondered the thing that I do often — ok, “How am I going to write about the psychopath on my blog without seeming like a looney toon or lame ass myself?”…. I mean — I have been agonizing over this.  This is a REAL and super interesting story — but whenever I would think about how to describe it, I kept thinking about the fact that readers of my blog would think I’m pathetic after I write about him — or I’m the looney toon or loser… And since I’m someone who rarely sleeps well, my love of the show SLEEP NO MORE became more and more prominent in my mind….

So let’s go back.  I met my psychopath in January 2000 — over the phone — on a work related call.  I lived in SF.  He lived in Atlanta.  After a tumultuous and LONG roller coaster story that is often humiliating and not so pretty, (I was awful and ill mannered at times – and I will go through the brutal truth about my embarrassing behavior when I am brave enough- I am happy to show you any of my emails to him — I’m not proud of them though…) I thought we were in a fairly decent place with our relationship this fall.  Actually, for me, we were at its best ever.   I had after all been through a brain aneurysm, four brain surgeries, one brain shunt, one ocular surgery, and all of the recovery aftermath.  He had been there for me.  He and I saw each other regularly, we emailed and spoke on a daily basis, and had great and regular sex.   He professed his love for me on a continual basis.  He loved the cats. I thought I was on my way to better things after what seemed like the worst thing that could actually happen happened– having your brain explode.  Apparently, not.

As I made my way through a long and epic journey back to Japan, which in itself was a rebirth (I had lived in Japan during my 20s and had never been back since), it never occurred to me that the one person for the last 12+ years  I thought was destined to at least be in my life in some way shape or form, would not be there for me when I returned.

I was wrong.  I was very, very wrong.

Instead, I came back to a distant and cold stranger who informed me that he needed time to handle something personal and I should stay away.  When I questioned him, he was curt and cut me off at the pass.  I didn’t deserve to be part of whatever he was going through — only his brother did. I was confused.

Then — a few days after that, after I begged and pleaded to be part of what was wrong in his life, I received the following note:

“what i have to (say to) you
i have wanted to for some time.
I never knew how to say it.

I got married last year.

I’m seeking treatment for this. I’m trying to salvage my life.
At 40, I’m looking back with little to show for it.

The demons of my decisions have had repercussions further than i ever
could have anticipated.

The guilt under which i’ve lived for so long has been crushing. From
the people i’ve affected, to the soul-killing self hatred that makes
it unbearable to look in the mirror. Literally.

I’m asking you to not contact me any further. Whatever is involved in
this recovery process, its clear to me that i need to change my
habits, how i see people and interact with them needs to change. Even
if- my second marriage – which likely will end- happens, I need to
step away from this.
I have behaved in manners and ways that baffle and humiliate me.
I have lied in a way i never knew i could.

I know that this raises so many questions I’m sorry I can never
answer. I’m not sure i have the answers to them myself.
I hope it also answers some for you.
I have never cried so much in my entire life.

I’ve surrendered my e-mail to my wife.

I’m in counselling a couple hours a day.”

Okay.  Imagine. Reading this — after coming back from a near two week work trip around the world — and being COMPLETELY shocked.  I mean, I had NO fucking clue he was MARRIED or got married the same year my brain EXPLODED.  How disgusting?  I felt dirty.  I apparently had known him and been in a relationship longer than the person he had just married.  I had no idea that he didn’t actually live in Brooklyn on Cranberry Street, where he led me to believe he lived alone. He actually lives on the Upper West on 93rd Street (which as you know I wouldn’t approve of anyway — it’s above 14th Street.) This is the same person who I wrote about in previous blog posts who was crying at my hospital bed side when I woke up, who was with my mother and friends in the hospital and beyond, who was regularly helping me through my most painful recovery moments, supporting me and trying to get me to feel better. It was a complete and utter blow.  And a total utter LIE.  Everything about it was a lie — and NOTHING about it his letter was an apology or empathetic thought about me — like “I”m so sorry for what I’ve done to YOU!” or “I feel so bad — you must hate me.”  To me, it was totally selfish of him and horrid.  And it was the second most painful thing I’ve experienced in my life. The first being the wort headache ever that almost KILLED me.

I have so much more to tell you about my brain aneurysm … There is only a small part of that story told now — you still have no idea what happened that fateful weekend after my friends came to rescue me– but this is a small sampling of the rest of my tale.  Again — no names.  I personally believe he deserves his name to be written in all caps across  a billboard — but no names now to appease my friends who worry about involving this asshole in my life anymore.  And I agree with that.  I want this to be about me and my journey, not about that asshole.  Just know that his last name rhymes with FUCKER.  Seriously, it does. It rhymes with FUCKER. How’s that for a prophecy?

Thank you.