Terri, six months ago I went on a whiskey bender and you fled our Big Bad Marriage into the doomsday bunker.
I don’t want to “gloss over” here (my therapist, Dr. Hypnos says “glossing over” is what got us into trouble). So just to clarify, Terri, you locked me out of our bunker, where we were supposed to survive the end of the world, not the end of our marriage.
But here’s what you don’t know.
The bungalow turned rather lonely. All my bad feelings rose to the top of my head. I felt like a ghost, Terri, roaming around our former home imagining you dead beneath my feet, and these past six months I’ve been unwell.
I look like someone who eats alone at the China Doll Buffet.
I don’t want to be angry, Terri, no, I’m quitting you, as you have quit me.
I don’t want to ever feel so alone again.