A Breakup Tale in So Many Parts
By Adrianne Frost
Parts 15 & 16
Part 15: 19 days, 23 hours, 45 minutes since you left me...

Yesterday was my birthday.
You didn't even call me.
You really know how to hurt a girl.
Ten years.
You really know how to hurt a girl.

Part 16: 20 days, 22 hours, 30 minutes since you left me...
On Monday, I was flown to Boston, MA, to get fitted for an Ocean Spray commercial. Then I was driven to Plymouth, MA, you know, where the rock is, with three other lovely ladies to a little motel. We had a grand time visiting the town and looking at THE “Rock” and eating seafood and laughing. They bought me little presents for my b-day at town shops and it was delightful.
The next day, we stood waist deep in a cranberry bog in wetsuits and workout clothes and "Bogercised" for two and a half hours because that's what actors do for money. It was a lot of fun and then we flew home late last night. I was very happy but still a little heartbroken. I wrote in my blog and then opened my email.
I found this, from you, waiting for me:
"I couldn't go the day without at least acknowledging your birthday.
I hope that despite everything that you are having a good one."
You, sir, are a jackrag.
What the hey?
Ass clown.
The following would NOT have been emails from a complete and total excuse for a rhinoceros' gianormous shit stained rectum:
"Happy Birthday. I hope you had a great birthday."
"I hope you have a wonderful and happy day today. Happy Birthday."
"I am a complete and total excuse for a rhinoceros' gianormous shit stained rectum. Happy Birthday."
But no. You had to be selfish and really, really, really make it about you.
"I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I couldn't go the day without at least acknowledging your birthday. I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I hope that despite everything that you are having a good one."
Well, I'm glad you feel good about your decision, dear. Thank God for that. Whew-flippity-doo.
Mother love me in the ass. I hate you.
I responded in the most mature way I knew how:
"You really are a selfish asshole, you. Just pick up your shit on the 25th. I'll email you with the details later."
I, am, after all, mostly a grown up.
Now, I'm really not going to have a date to the prom. Damnitt!
Last summer, around June, I had hysterical blindness. I woke up around 2am and I had gone blind. Not black-blind, sort of chocolate brown-blind. Everything was Hershey colored and it was like I was being pulled back first down the rabbit hole like Alice, by the pinafore. My hearing seemed in a hyper-state of tinitus, I could barely hear myself telling you I was blind, I could barely hear you. I clutched at your chest. But instead of panicking, I was telling YOU that it was going to be okay, remember? I knew, somehow, that it was going to end, and I was telling YOU that. I was terrified, horrified, panicked... but I knew it was going to end.

I comforted YOU and MYSELF, because I knew you couldn’t do either.
It lasted about five minutes. I was afraid to go to back to sleep, but I did, and I awoke three more times as "it" tried to manifest itself again and again, but the following times I fought "it". Each times I woke up, I would start saying "Oh, no, no, no, not again, not again" and you would know what was happening, but you would just sit with me and hold my hands as I clutched and grabbed at you, fighting "it" and not letting it pull me into the funnel, the rabbit hole that led to that dark and scary Wonderland.
I would feel the brown-ness closing in from the sides and the sound begin to fade away and I would fight it as hard as I could. I would move to the couch, because I thought that maybe if I was away from the one thing I loved more than anything, that "it" wouldn't have anything to take me away from. And it never came back when I didn't sleep with you.
My psychiatrist increased my sleeping medication to five pills and it helped. She had specific instructions for you to follow: repeat back to me everything I said, you didn't; turn the lamp on, you did. It was just anxiety, of course. And it was the beginning of the end for you. A “friend” said to me, right after you left, "If I were him, I would have bolted right then. Jesus!".
A few months later, it happened again. Not as severe... I fought back harder. I wouldn't let "it" take me. You were more annoyed than anything. You just wanted to sleep. I went to the couch. You didn't follow to see if I needed anything.
It doesn't matter. I'm strong. So, as the Italians say, a-screw-a-you.
Then, last night, after semi sleep in a motor inn in Plymouth, MA and an exhausting day in a bog and coming home to a heart-stabbing, "stick it to the mean ol' wife on her birthday" email, I awoke to a chocolatey surprise an hour into my sleep.
Hysterical blindness tried to conquer me as I slept alone.
I gasped myself awake, startling myself as things began to close in slowly. By the time I sat up, I already could not see. Everything was brown and fuzzy, but my hearing hadn't faded yet, so I felt around and turned on my lamp. I had a pinhole of sight, like looking at an eclipse and the eclipse was my room, my life. I tried not to fall back asleep, I was exhausted. My head would drift backwards and I'd start to fall back into that hole, then I'd have to yell, "No!". Finally, I stumbled to the bathroom, because I was determined. Like hell was I going to let this get me, are you kidding? After everything, hysterical frigggin’ blindness is going to take me down? Uh-hell-uh-no.
I slapped myself in the face until I could make myself out in the mirror. Every time the walls started closing in, I splashed cold water on my face. Then, it was over. I was afraid to go back to sleep, but I kept my lamp on and slept through the rest of the night.
I did it because of you and without you.
But today, on the train ride to dinner with a friend, I felt that I was completely alone. I don't know. I felt that if I ever have hysterical blindness again, I will die of a heart attack because I will be totally alone and no one will be there to help me and I won't be able to handle it and no one will ever love me. You were my husband and you hated me and you didn't care and someone even said even if they were married to me they would "have bolted".
I will die alone, hysterically blind and fat with 23 cats and a guinea pig.
I want to be strong, not hysterically blind and with a maximum of 3 cats.

It's all good.
Or
It'll all be good.
At least the blindness
is chocolatey!