A Letter to Joe

I am angry. I am just completely wrecked and murderously angry. A while ago I made a long list of all the things I lost when I finally ran with my kids and my life. But really very little of that hurts me all that badly anymore. I don't care that you stopped paying the mortgage and I had to lose my house. I don't care that I gave away all the furniture, the swingset, the lawnmower, or all my books. Today, it doesn't matter so much that I lost most of my friends, that I became homeless, or that you continue to threaten me. It doesn't even matter that I lost the ability to eat cheesecake because of all the stress you've put me through. And I love cheesecake. Today all that matters is that you stole the last six years of my cat's life from me. It matters that I had to give him away and that because you are irresponsible and unpredictable I could never afford to rent some place where I could get him back. I wasn't there when he died. For this I will never forgive you.
I don't believe in forgiveness for things like this. Not even that old forgiveness is for yourself bullshit. There was no reason for any of this to happen. No excuse. You knew exactly what you were doing to me by making me make that choice and by keeping me running and poor. I am not sad that he died Monday night, on the full moon, as any black cat should. He was old and it was good that he died in his sleep. I am angry that I couldn't spend his last 2000 days with him, that I had to sacrifice him in order to leave you. The cost was impossibly high and my soul is forever scarred.