“Rep. Joe Walsh (R-IL), whose ex-wife says he owes $117,437 in back child support, was honored by the Family Research Council Action on Thursday for his “unwavering support of the family,” the Chicago Sun-Times reports.
“We thank Cong. Walsh who has voted consistently to defend faith, family and freedom,” FRCA President Tony Perkins said. “Cong. Walsh and other ‘True Blue Members’ have voted to repeal Obamacare, de-fund Planned Parenthood, end government funding for abortion within the health care law, uphold the Defense of Marriage Act, and continue support for school choice. I applaud their commitment to uphold the institutions of marriage and family.””
It goes without saying that the people above have been humiliated by sending this misanthrope to do their bidding in Congress. But what of the journalists that seek comment from the FRC or Tony Perkins?
At which point will serious media outlets take Perkins’ card and the cards of his cabal at the FRC, these frauds, out of their Rolodexes? It seems to me that we’ll have to ask them for how much longer frauds and hypocrites will be considered legitimate commentators on news events.
You really have changed a lot. And I almost don’t have the words to describe what this feels like….resignment? contentment? relief?
Maybe a mixture of all of the above.
I didn’t know what I wanted from you, and of course, it wasn’t my most hoped for outcome.
But it couldn’t have turned out better than this. Of all the ways that you could have realistically responded, it couldn’t have been more than this.
I don’t know if you read everything, which parts resonated with you and which parts didn’t.
But I guess it doesn’t matter. In the end I’m a little bit in awe, because this time it’s you teaching me to move on.
I am a little self ashamed, because for all these years I stayed in this memory of five years ago. And part of me could blame you for giving me a lot of this blame, but in the end I chose it and I disregarded what other people said.
And it feels a little like I wasted time, and I feel almost a little cheated for it. But what more could I ask for than this? To finally be able to let it all be.
You were my biggest burden, my biggest regret, and the kind of string that I could never cut. It’s freeing to let you go, it really is.
We belong to a lot of people in this world, and there are people who have learned to love you now as you are, and to love me now as I am. But you’re right, we aren’t meant to belong together. And neither of us know how to best appreciate each other anymore.
You’ve made a lot of your life. And I don’t doubt that you will be successful someday.
I won’t forget you, and you will always mean something special. But let me put you away now, so I can spend my time on the people in my life now.
“The incumbent in the 8th district, Freshman Republican Congressman and Tea Party favorite Joe Walsh, has had his current district split into parts of three other districts, the 10th, 14th and 16th. He has a big decision ahead deciding which of the new districts will be more advantageous for his reelection bid. Walsh defeated three-term Democrat Melissa Bean of Barrington, Ill., by a mere 291 votes last November. Krishnamoorthi told India-West on May 27 that some suburban areas in the proposed district are more than 20 per cent Latino and he suspects there are areas where Asians constitute “upwards of 12-13 percent” of the population.”
Thank you for this much. For acknowledging what I have said at all, for acknowledging that I have said something. For not making me wait and wonder if you have read it, if you plan to reply.
So if nothing else, thank you for all that.
I don’t know how you will end up replying. And I am both steeled and afraid for the things yet to come. I don’t know if you will end up reading it all, if you will be angry, offended, frustrated, irritated, flattered, or even any mix of those emotions at all.
I, more than anyone, understand the impossibilities of an optimistic ending to this. I have at least some idea of how much goes on in your life, and I understand all too well how much you value your newfound freedoms.
There are so many things yet that you still want to do. And I…I would only be the strings to hold you down.
You might not understand, even after all this, that I’m not doing this because I want to. And part of me wants to linger on forever in this kind of adoration of you. But if I know that I can’t stop my silly infatuations of you, then what choices do I have left?
One way or another, I will have to move forward one day. Better now, when it still makes some sense, then years from now, when I won’t know what to do with myself anymore.
In the end even thousands of words can do little to convey all the things I want to say, all the things left unsaid.
In the end this is my greatest confession, and even I have never thought that someday I would show you all this.
I can’t presume to know the way you feel, if you’ll be merely irritated, if you’ll be angry, or even read through it all. I can’t presume that it still matters to you what I think at all.
And…I guess it is a little creepy. And I guess I don’t know how I would feel to know that someone wrote thousands of words on me. I don’t know if you should feel flattered, or if I should feel pathetic for it.
I don’t want you to think I’m crazy for it. That I’m some psychopathic exgirlfriend who can’t let go, some girl in the past you thought you had ditched a long time ago.
But I’m tired. I’m tired of writing these essay length excerpts, tired of feeling like I need to.
And after all these words, I don’t need to tell you anymore about where you stand with me. You matter too much, always have, and maybe always will.
And I don’t know why after all these years I can’t let go. I don’t know why people come and go in my life, but you remain so permanently fixed. I don’t know why you can still up in my mind so often, when I see you so rarely, nor why it still matters to me what you do.
I am more afraid than I know how to be, at how you will respond. But I’m more afraid to continue lingering on in our half friendship.
I don’t want to digress to angst-ridden mooning on my part, to feel dismayed every time you speak of going on dates, disconcerted when you speak of girls. I’ve had a lot of time to learn to be comfortable with myself, weird quirks and all. And someday someone will appreciate me with all my snarky comments and awkwardness, and I’ll treat them all the ways I didn’t know how to treat you, and I will love them like no one ever came before them.
But right now I’m still too sad that that person isn’t you. And I don’t need to be drunk this time to blurt out all of these confessions.
I need it all not to matter to me.
So I suppose, I’m telling you all this now because I need to move on from you. I’m not naive enough anymore to spend all this time wishing for things that won’t happen, but I still care too much to fit comfortably into this small part of your life.
So forgive me, for throwing away whatever progress we have made in the last year. And every time I watch your uneasiness, I can see how much you’re trying.
So thank you, thank you, thankyou. For trying. For me, it meant the world.
No one has ever understood my draw to you. Not back when you were a middle schooler still finding your ground, and I was the type that blended in like a wallflower. Not later, when you began finding who you wanted to be, the things you loved and wouldn’t stand or, and maybe we were a little opposite, because you had all the courage to do the things I wanted to do and was afraid to.
Nor now, when we live in two different worlds, mingle with different people, and spend our friday nights doing such very different things. You’ve found your ground, and you have your circles and you know exactly where you stand. You’re lots of fun and you have always breathed life into groups of people. You’re attractive and you know it, and other people know it, and I know it.
But the reasons I still linger over you aren’t any of those.
You were always so bright. You’ve always drawn people to you effortlessly, coaxed laughs and giggles from every audience. And from so many people I would hate it. I would hate to be suffocated and lost in your background.
But with you, you never forgot anybody in your wake. And you never knew it but you’ve never had the habit of leaving anyone behind. You have so many friends and so many reason to keep moving, but you don’t forget and somehow you find room for them to matter.
And you’re not afraid to lose your pride and stand for the things you think matter. It didn’t matter that not everyone loved you, and it was like you somehow knew that one day you’d prove them wrong. And I could see it too. That someday they would miss not knowing you.
Most of all, because you’re not afraid to care. Because you know what it’s like, and you know that people could crush you, and they have. But you still have room, somehow, to care about someone else, somewhere down the line.
You, you have always known how to love someone best. Unrestrained, unquestionable, and you, you really mean it. You don’t hold back, and you know how to let them grow. Being loved by you is a blessed thing, and your attention makes them bloom.
There are so many things that I have ever admired about you. And of all the things that change, my favorite things are the ones that remain unchanged.
As I sit here waiting for minutes to pass before clicking on your snapchat, I can laugh to myself about the ridiculousness of what I’m doing. I have always been slave to my own desires, and only my meager levels of common sense and practicality have saved me from doing the lists of foolish things that have crossed my mind.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to make something happen just so that I don’t feel like this again. I would rather have nothing more to lose, than to feel like there is everything left to lose.
I’m mad at myself, mad at you, for still having the power to affect how I feel. Without you here…I thought I was invincible.
And you do nothing that you’re aware of, but you make it all collapse like a house of cards.
You inspire so many of these posts, so many of them the same redundant ramblings. But no matter all the things I say and try to do, when I see you I can’t help the familiar tightening in my chest, the odd urge to stare at you until you can’t avoid my gaze.
I miss you, you know. I can’t help missing you, and I don’t know how not to.
You, you make me so uncomfortable. I can’t be myself, and I laugh just a little too loudly, double check every word I say, and avert my eyes like shy teenage girl. But I can’t stay away, and I am thankful for every opportunity I have to see you.
Which…nowadays, isn’t so often anymore.
I don’t know how much, or what has changed in the last few years. I don’t remember quite how I used to be, or what made me decide the things I did.
But I don’t know how I gave you up. And I will regret that, because even then, I should have known that I would regret it someday.
I never had bad things to say about you, you know. And to this day, I still can’t find something about you that I feel so strongly about, that I can’t help but be irritated. There are things that people see in you, and you have always been exactly the way you are, no pretenses, no veils, no curtains. And you have been scorned and shunned and hated for it.
But even when I feel you’ve changed, when I am sad that you aren’t the person who could believe in the innocence of things, I can’t seem to summon up any type of irritation at you.
You, the person I could never replace. The person that I can’t even seem to speak badly about.
And to this day I can’t help but miss you so much it hurts.
I love watching you guys interact, and though I only witness it through images that show up on social media, odd messages that appear on your walls, it never fails to warm my heart.
It’s odd and a little weird to be attached to someone else’s friendship, but if I had to support one friendship all the way, it would be the two of you. Two of my most important people in the world…what can be more pleasing than to know that they recognize everything I have ever loved about either of you, in each other?
It’s a little weird for me a comment, to notice, to care. But I’m happy that despite all the oddness in between, the sacrifices that you have had to made to stay friends, that you still are.
You make my heart ache. You’re a bruise that never really goes away, tender to the touch and painful to press.
Sometimes it surprises me that I can’t forget you, and sometimes I am entirely unsurprised. I forget so very few people in my life, and no one has ever matched you in impression.
Sometimes I think I’m on the verge of forgetting, and I play along and pretend I’m forgetting. And it only takes a moment of some vague recollection to remind me that, no, you are still ever present.
When you send me all these pictures, snapshots of your life, I imagine sometimes that we are closer than we are. For a moment as I hold my thumb over the image, you are sending this because we still mean something to each other, and I have this instinctive urge to reply you with some inane, quirky remark.
But a moment later the image disappears, and with it fades all my imagined fantasies and whatever semblance of familiarity between us.
In the end, we are merely strangers that know something about each other. And I have no place to comment on the happenings of your life.
You draw a whole well of emotions from me. Sometimes I’m irritated at the things you do, at all the things that differentiate you from the person you are now and my version of who you used to be. And I’m angry because I have no right to be angry, because I have no place to tell you who you can and cannot be.
And I am sad that you’ve become such a different person. Sad that you’ve changed so much from what I always thought was the best of you, sad that you have needed to change. But most of all, sad that I don’t know you anymore.
I miss a lot of things. As I listen to other people’s relationship stories, as I dish out my advice, hard earned from all the lessons I wish I didn’t have to learn, and I share the last thing I still hold of you, my handful of fragile memories, I still miss everything we were.
I miss knowing everything about you, texting you from day to night, dialling your number with no trepidation. I miss the way you hug me, all awkwardness and clumsiness and solid and safe. I miss reaching for your hand and knowing it would be there, I miss the way you looked at me like I warranted your whole attention.
And in the end, all talk of moving forward and letting go of the past aside, I think I still miss you.
The problem is that none of you are easy to forget. And everyone says that people come and go, and they will become your past and become faded and blurry in your focus.
But I remember you all so clearly, and I have to work so hard to put you all aside.
I hate being worried about offending you, about not knowing what to say to you. There was a time when I would never have watched what I said, and it would never have mattered. I don’t know if it’s worth the effort to bring you back into my life now, and it seems to be a losing battle no matter which way I look at it. And I know that things will never be the way they used to be, but we don’t make each other better any more. I need you to make it worth the inevitable heartache and disappointment that comes with being friends with you.
And you…it seems like these days I have nothing good to say about you. There was once when it was the opposite, and I thought the sun rose and fell with you. I don’t know who you are now, if I ever knew you at all, if it should matter. For years I thought that our past friendship justified all these lingering questions and all this time spent pondering. Until I realized that maybe in your eyes, there wasn’t much history at all. To you who never knew me, who never tried to, and judged me on the things I wanted anyways…I could never cut you out of my life the way you did for me.
There’s days when I can’t deal with being disappointed, with mattering less to people than they did to me. I want to throw a tantrum, to yell to scream and to make you all realize what it’s meant to me. And I know it won’t make a difference anyways.
So I’m waiting instead. For the day when it won’t matter to me either. When I will be happy with where I am, and I won’t need for you to be envious of who I have become.
You’re a hard person to forget. To get over, to leave in the past. There is still too much about you that I remember all too clearly, and the more I remember the harder it seems to relegate you a position of less importance.
But I understand that I need to keep trying, that I need to move on for us to be happy with each other again.
The way I feel about you..it comes and goes in my life. Sometimes you are at the forefront of my mind, and I can’t seem to stop fixating on you. And sometimes I can put you away, and it seems you aren’t as impossible to ignore as I have thought. But in the end I can’t erase you, and I am inevitably provoked to think of you again.
I wonder if at the endpoint of this road, if we, or I, am spending so much time walking towards a dead end. Does it matter the things I do, the things I say? Will they make a difference? Or has the ending to this passage been long decided?
I don’t want to waste your time or mine. But no one can tell me which door will be the right one, and I am too afraid to choose a path I cannot change.
And yet for all the things that I have written on you, the thousands and thousands of words dedicated to all the things I have never said out loud …I can only feel the sense of an inevitable ending.
And the longer this whole scenario plays out, I’m seeing more and more that maybe there was only one ending from the beginning, after all.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me go back through our things. I say our, in the only sense that anything belongs to us anymore.
Sometimes I take the box down and it’s not that there are so very many things, and the top of the box is dusty and I haven’t yet forgotten all the words that are written there. So there’s no real reason for me to look through them at all except that the ache of looking through it all is real. It grounds me to know that this has happened all before. That there’s a piece of history that time can never quite erase.
I thought I found the person to replace you. But people are people because no one can ever really be replaced. And no matter how many people come along, and how much I grow up and learn I will never really forget you.
The things I feel now when I read our last few messages, are only a mocking echo of what things were really like back then. But I prefer it to the polite indifference between us now. You were so angry then, and your words were written to draw blood.
They still do. I read them now and still feel the uneasy need to turn away from the harsh edges of your words. But you cared back then. You hated me and you cared. And it mattered if I was there or not.
You’re a puzzle to me. A paradox, a contradiction a representation of everything unsolved in my mind.
I don’t understand our friendship, or lack thereof, and yet our texts are more consistent then many other people in my life.
We touch heavy topics rarely, and we focus on all the things that it takes nothing to express. And it seems like our conversations are built from layers and layers and layers of small talk, but we choose it to be so.
The things that we need to say, the boundaries we have defined, somehow they are everything we need to broach and nothing we need to touch. And i’m not sure to define it as forbidden subjects, or inevitable blowups.
I can’t predict the things you say, and of everyone you are the one least inclined to have soft words for me, and yet I text you when I’m troubled and I take your words of any kind as comfort.
There are some things time doesn’t seem to wash away, and I’m not sure if that leaves us at irreconcilable differences.
But you puzzle me, I. Everything about us that exists and doesn’t.
What makes things between us so difficult? I can’t take my mind off you, and I can’t ask you, I can’t do anything about it.
Sometimes I fantasize that we will just have it out. We’ll meet, in person. And we’ll ask all the questions we have ever wondered, say all the things we were too restrained to say. And maybe we’ll draw blood and shred each other to ribbons, but we’ll do it looking each other in the face, and maybe for once we will figure things out by ourselves. And you can call me names and blame me for all the scars I engraved into your heart, and I will cry and swear at you and make you feel exactly how you have flung my feelings in my face.
My heart has always been a little too soft to handle you. Too scared to hurt you, too much pride to receive anything less than grudging respect, and too attached to walk away.
But just this once, I will tell you exactly how I have never forgotten you. And I will tell you that I would still move heaven and earth if you asked me to, and someday when you really get yourself into a disaster, other people will fuss over you and express their care to your face, but my heart will hurt for you.
And maybe you will think it’s flattering, maybe you will think it’s creepy, and maybe you won’t care at all. But my paper heart will always care for you more than you can expect from almost anyone you meet now, and I can’t decide if it’s your loss or mine that you will never know.
When I think sometimes that I don’t have much of a heart anymore, that I have been perfecting my hardened shell so no one will make me unhappy anymore…you remind me that there’s still people out there who know how, who can.
I am so tired and yet the thoughts of you consume me. Not in the romantic sense…but in that bitter, angsty sense of helpless anger.
I want to ask you why you pretend, why we hold this facade of empty reconciliation if you have no intention of being friends again. I wonder where you draw your lines, why you bother, or if this is one hurdle you will never overcome.
The feelings in your presence are an eerie deja vu of the way that things have always been. A helplessness, the sense of being lost, and the need to pretend I am happy, with or without you.
I didn’t expect your presence to affect me so much, nor for your indifference to be upsetting. I didn’t expect that you can still make me feel so small and ugly so easily.