First Page of Thrown to the Wolves



(Day One, 4:02 p.m.)

I don’t understand how this happened. How did I end up here? Have the past six years meant nothing? What good does therapy do if I can still end up in this painful and familiar place? I’ve done so much work on myself. I’ve overcome so much. Could it be that this was all a mistake? Or was this just another lesson I needed to learn before I could truly be ready for the real thing?

I needed some matches, so I went looking in some drawers and eventually in his bedroom. I don’t know what came over me. It was as if some crazed woman took over my body for those few minutes. As I started rummaging through his drawers and boxes, under his bed and in his clothes hamper, I looked up and into the mirror and saw my long brown hair and my pale skin, but the white eyes of a wild woman. I knew I was going to find something.

Our relationship had become increasingly strained over the past six months, so strained that I knew that something wasn’t right. I just didn’t know what it was yet. But much to my horror, I was about to find out.

I found a box labeled “Misc. Tools.” I was a ravenous animal. I ripped it open, knowing that I would find something incriminating inside. And I did.


I looked at the clock. It was a few minutes before all of my friends were to show up and my world had just come crashing down on me. I wanted to cancel. I needed to cancel. I can’t do this. I can’t feel this. I can’t feel this. I CAN’T FEEL THIS! I wanted to curl up into a little ball on the floor and fall asleep. I wanted all of this to be a dream. This has to be a dream. This has to be a dream. This has to be a dream!

That’s when I began lying. To myself. I had to come up with some way to believe that this wasn’t the truth. This could be someone else’s. Maybe he’s holding it for his roommate, Jon. Maybe his friend Patrick needed him to hold it because his wife wouldn’t approve. Maybe it’s from a long, long time ago. That’s why it’s in a box. He’s just moved all of his boxes from his last house, so maybe it’s been in one of those boxes for years. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

As much as I tried to imagine all the ways that this couldn’t be happening, reality was slipping under the crack of denial’s door and shooting through my heart. I suddenly realized the absurdity of what I was telling myself . . .