Spam and obliteration

About once a week I get emails that initially look like they’re from my sister or my other friend, Karen, when they are actually spam.  One click on the name and the email shown is usually some strange, drawn out, numerical email, and not the actual email of those people.  But, when I open the email app on my phone the list of emails will show their real names just like it could be from them.  They didn’t hack their email, just their names.  It’s a deceptive practice and it happens to most of us many times, and usually most of those slip right on into the junk email.

I currently have three email accounts.  It may seem like overkill, but I have my main, personal email.  I have my sports email.  And I have an email I use to give to stores, and it’s also the one I use for this blog.  I check my personal and sports email all the time, every single day.  I rarely check the shopping/blog email.  And it’s usually a pain when I do.  But, today I checked it.

I nearly passed out.

There, staring back at me was her name.  I think my heart rate catapulted exponentially before I actually read the first line of the email, the one you can see before you click on the email.  It was spam.  I opened the email and clicked on her name to see the unknown, but familiar, emails that consisted of a random string of numbers followed by some odd extension.  In the moments that followed I felt both relief and like a giant balloon that had just been deflated.  Feeling defeated I put down my phone and walked away.

I, of course, immediately started thinking about what I would have done if it actually had been an email from her and imagined a million times what it might have said.  Before I knew it I had scenarios upon scenarios going on in my head.  Pseudo conversations both written and spoken swirling around inside my head clouding my thoughts.

I attempted to forget the incident, but you know how that went.  Forgetting it really wasn’t an optional thing.  It stuck to me today like crazy glue.  The universe reminding me that she’s still out there somewhere.  Still unknown to me why.

I picked up my phone later in the day and scrolled to the bottom of my texts on my phone.  I have never deleted my texts between her and me.  The last time we exchanged text messages was on October 10, 2013.  And the last time before that was January 28, 2013, the day she called to tell me it was still going on.  Why the big gap?  She was still at this point, even though she had left the job, trying to communicate with him.  And my son, who was sick of everything, asked me for her number and I gave it to him.  He texted her to leave his dad alone.  She then proceeded to call my husband and basically tattle (not that he would have ever said anything to our son for doing that)  So, my text to her on that day, after he told me she told him what our son did was this:

“What’s the matter Bobbie?  Can’t handle being called out as the trash you are by a twenty-something?  You are desperately pathetic.”

I probably should have stopped there.  Deleted all of those texts.  Instead, I read them all, months and months worth of texts and photos between us.  It reminded me of how much emotion was going on between her and me as well as him and me.  It was a love triangle of epic proportions.  We were all leaning on each other in some desperate attempt to quell our despair.  And we were all leaning hard.

And then, it was over.  The three of us left alone in our suffering.  None of us leaning on any of us, or anyone else for that matter, for a very long time.  The love triangle obliterated into the universe, pieces of us scattered through space and time.  When I think about it now, after reading the words between us, I don’t know how I survived any portion of that.  Maybe I don’t know how any of us did.

I honestly don’t know how much Bobbie suffered.  She moved on fairly quickly, much quicker than my husband and I did.  Her emotions disconnected from her about the entire situation easily because they weren’t deeply rooted.  My husband was just another notch in her belt.  And he didn’t even have that notch all to himself, but sharing it with at least one other, and maybe more.

As I took all of this in once again, I realized that I really needed to delete those texts from my phone, to obliterate them into the universe.  But, every time I try I can’t make myself hit delete.  I should want to delete this from my life, right?  So why can’t I?  And that’s the question I can’t answer and avoid answering, always saying I will deal with it later, but never do.

 

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