Monday, June 15, 2009

I have a headache. One I thought I got rid of 20 years ago.

So I get into the office this morning -- late, as always, but excited about completing this new project. I open up my work (!) email, and there it is. A message that doesn't belong anywhere in my life anymore, but certainly not here.

Subject: Stephen Doe

Need to talk, apologize. The after life is real. Whether you communicate or not ---- is understood;

The man I am referring to as Stephen Doe is, without exaggeration, the worst thing that ever happened to me. He was abusive and left me damaged physically and emotionally. While I have worked very hard -- and very successfully, I am proud to say -- to build a new life in the aftermath, the result of his physical cruelty remains with me today.

He first began trying to talk and apologize a year ago. He contacted my friend John, who was once our friend, and asked him to ask me if it was alright to contact me. It certainly was not, is not. I thought that was the end of it. Clearly, it's not.

We ended more than 20 years ago. I thought it was all behind me. I don't need this shit.

I am frightened that he knows how to reach me at my office.

I must breathe deeply and think. He lives in another state and is unlikely to show up here. Let's face it, that would require more effort than he put into our relationship when we were together.

Even if he does, post-9/11 this building has sophisticated security measures in place. He can't get up here without my permission.

I have caller ID both here and at home, so he can call, but I don't have to pick up. I can block him from my emails.

It's just he doesn't belong in my life anymore. At all. If he wants forgiveness, he should talk to his priest, not to me. After what he did, I owe him no comfort for his conscience.

This reminds me of something Carrie Fisher once wrote: "Nothing is over. It's just over there."