A journal entry from that Saturday

It might help to copy down an excerpt from my journal. This is the evening of the day we spent making gingerbread houses. Or night, actually.

Saturday, December 12^th

 This weekend.

Well, now I know what the “not-so-good” news was. I know the very worst about the man I love. The horrible corpse-soaked dregs. I stayed up most of last night between crying my insides out and praying hard, and fell asleep for a few hours only to have an awful dream that left my borderlines of reality scattered all over. I had to double-check to make sure it wasn’t real.

Then I had to tell grandparents in the morning. And I still have to tell mom.

It took time for it to really sink in – I had to hide and cry in the bathroom, and then most of the way back. We stopped and had calzones at a little Italian place, and exchanged pleasantries with grandparents.

I really am so much thankful for God giving me the right words. Unimaginably grateful.

And thankful to know this. I don’t know what I’d have thought last spring, if I knew what my situation would be in seven or eight months.

It’s strange, because it seems like now, in spite of the vile nastiness and damnable evil he’s got himself into, it feels like I can love him more real-ly. For actual. Fuller. I don’t know.

And I’m so scared he’ll take it for granted that I’m not just casting him aside. I don’t want to be heartless or un-christ-like, but if he doesn’t digest fully how completely vile this is, than it’s no good. No real repentance.  And I don’t want to get used to the idea; desensitized – I don’t want to seem to accept it at all, I spurn it.  

But most all of it – the heartbreak and sadness – is not for me. It’s for him. I didn’t cry all that night because I was so sorry about the mess I’m going through, it was because of this thing he has to fight through alone, this awful dragon, for all his pain and all he’s going through.

But I realized something else. Another thing, a little sad. I spent a lot of the last couple of months pretending to be a woman, thinking about how to project that image and so on. But that’s not really what it is. Not some sophisticated image or people taking one seriously. It’s a sad little thing here – the way it happened to me. Maybe, hopefully it’s different and happy for everyone else. But I think I’ve passed over that divide, or at least started to cross. It’s a lonely place.

Anyway. I need to sleep. 1:08 am.