Dear Dave,

Ernest Hemingway said, “Write clear and hard about what hurts.”  Ok.  I will.  I’m always one to take advice and guidance from the greats…

Chiron is in Pisces. Chiron was discovered in 1977.  It is a mini planet; it is the, “Wounded Warrior”.  Makes sense it is ending it’s 50 year cycle now at the New Moon (Feb 5, 2018), and January’s eclipse season.  Chiron, especially in Piscses, makes all our old wounds come up.  And since we are at the end of it’s cycle, all our hidden wounds are coming out to be healed and forgiven and released.

Dear Dave,

As Lady Gaga sings as Ally in A Star is Born, “I would have broke my heart in two if I knew I could have saved a piece of you.”  I would of.  No questions asked.  I don’t even know where or if you are buried, because I never had a chance to say goodbye.  And to tell you that I finally forgive you.

You were not bad.  Born bad.  Your parents met at a foster home, fell in love, and in their youthful, piss amped up dreams, decided to foster children.  You, My dear, darling, Immortal Beloved, were their first foster child.  Red, ginger, curly hair and brown eyes.  Dimples, a goofy grin and a bubble laugh stole their hearts- as well as mine.  They adopted you in Lansing.  And you were the beginning of their very dysfunctional family.  They brought in more boys.  Boys that sexually abused you, because you were the white, “wanted” one.  So, they tortured you every chance they could get.  Which was every day.  We had such similarities, you and I.

Then, you would walk Kalamazoo Ave on your way to Henry Hill High School in Lansing, Mi.  Where the teenage boys would circle you, hijack you and physically and sexually assault you all over agin.  All before 8 am.  Monday through Friday.  Your abuse came before school, and during the night, in your bedroom in your own home, while mine was M-F, 3:30-6 pm.  And sometimes weekends, la la la la.

You had two daughters.  Breanna.  I spoke with her when you would call her.  Before my overdose, we were all going to go to Cedar Point before the end of the summer.  Because you knew she and I both loved roller coasters.  And, you wanted us to be happy.  Because you loved us.  And I believe, even in that courtroom, when I stared you down, and you deigned not look at me, I knew you loved me then.

On 12/23/12, you sent me that infamous text.  About how you were going to the police to stop, because you couldn’t and there were too many bodies already.  I rolled my eyes, and thought,  “shoot up some more, Dave”.  12/24/12, I think, the cops did call me down to the station…You only gave them my name and number.  Not Amber’s, Not your three Ashleigh’s-including your meth whore, Ash.  Tattoo her name on your heart in Arabic.  You did, and you made sure I’d see it and know what it meant.  I hated you for so many things, Dave.  But that one…really was a knife through my heart.

After I tested positive for HIV, I went to your house two days later.  I left you a note that I had HIV and that you and whoever you were fucking better get tested.  You see, I knew.  I pieced it all together.  The stories about your youth and your mother, San Diego, your wife, getting involved in Meth, going to rehab when they still put toilet seats around people’s heads.  Traveling from San Diego to Baton Rouge.  Your trips to NOLA.  Up North to Lansing, then landing in Grand Rapids.  I found out after you left me, after I got sober, that whore Ashleigh told me.  Told me that you had been to bareback parties in GR, Kalamazoo, Lansing, Detroit.  I knew you had been positive for a long time and that you had gotten HIV from shooting up Meth.  Sex drug.  But I was too naive to know that, and you knew it.

When I went to the Infectious Disease (ID) social worker, I told him.  I told him you contracted HIV in California and that you had been spreading g it far and wide, male and female, on your cross country extravaganza home.  I told the social worker- “He’s killing People!  He needs to be stopped, or he’ll keep killing!”  Instead?  The social worker muttered about how it would be impossible to prove, subpoena medical records, and that people who become HIV+ together, try to find a way to stay together, and work it out.

Okay.  I forgave you then.  Because of the HIV.  Not because you broke my heart and destroyed my world.  I was 2 and half hours away from home.  I knew virtually no one, and I had just got sober, just got diagnosed with DID, then three months and three days sober, get diagnosed as HIV+.

I was.  Fucking.  Terrified.  I NEVER HAD ANY CONFIDENTIALITY OR ANONYMITY about my HIV status.  I told one person at the Alano club.  BOOM!!!  Damn near the whole recovery community knew!  I only disclosed cuz I was riding with her, and if we got in an accident, I didn’t want to infect her.  Michigan law.  I didn’t have a choice.  But her big jaws flapped it all over the Alano club.  And you broke up with ME, after you ran back to Ash, thinking I had died that night in August.  I remember coming to, seeing you and I  could tell your mind was gone.  You couldn’t save me.  You thought you had killed me- and I was one of the people at that time, you didn’t want to kill!

Damn you.  I hate you so much when I think of the early days.  You caused me so much fucking anguish and heartbreak.  And you destroyed my ego, my self confidence.  Cuz, boy!  Once those AA boys knew I was positive, they backed right down.  And if someone new came into their clique that fancied me, that dude was put on notice.

I haven’t had sex since you went to the cops in 2011.  I feel like such a circus freak!   And I gave an interview to the news-they didn’t put my voice through the harmonizer, so everybody watched the news at 6 the night before.  So, I go to a mtg, open my mouth?  The whole room gasps and stared at me.

I’m terrified of men.  “So, what was your last relationship like?”  “oh, he was The AIDS Killer”.  Perhaps you’ve heard of him:  David Dean Smith.  He was a serial killer who used HIV to kill people.  What’s that, you say?  HIV can’t kill a person.  *Laughter*.  Of course not, silly!  How very woke of you.  But when you have unprotected sex with men and women and DON’T TELL THEM YOUR STATUS, they don’t know, infect others, and unless they catch it, they will die.  Get it?  Shall we split the check?”  Thanks, asshole.  A whole glob of pain, all before dessert.  I can’t even tell them, “Which one?  The Serial Killer or the Secret Service agent?”  I’ve been both sides of the tracks honey.  You don’t scare me.  Neither does you petty ante bullshit.  As for you Dave, you don’t scare me anymore either.

I saw you a month before you died, waiting at the bus stop on Lake Eastbrook Blvd, between the hotels and ADVENTURE LAND.  You smiled.  That fucking goofy grin.  And you looked so happy.  But you were so thin.  So very thin.  And all I could selfishly think was “OMG.  Now he knows what I drive.”  A month later, I called your PO, and he said, “Well, I don’t think Dave will be giving you anymore trouble.  He died earlier this week.”  But, but I just saw him month ago!  That was the chance The Source gave me to say Fuck you and Goodbye.  You fucked my life.  Fuck you.  Go Die.  And you did.

Some tímes?  I miss you much.  Our good times.  Because if I focus on the crap, I become crap, act like crap, and I don’t want to remember you that way.  Chiron is in Pisces.  At the end of it’s 50 year run.  I’m at my end.  It’s the end of our run.  In the 90’s, When the song, “Truly, Madly, Deeply” came out, believe it or not, I was living and working in Lansing.  Going to school too.  And I would lay in the tub and think, “I want someone to love me that much.  If just once.”  You were definitely My Savage Garden.  You definitely loved me truly, madly, deeply.  You only gave the cops my name and my number, because you knew I would stop you from killing any more people.  You finally…that’s when I knew.  7 Years of bullshit.  That’s when I knew you loved me.  More importantly, that you trusted me.  And I couldn’t tell anyone.  Because they would think I was delusional.  Hell, some people still will.  But nothing is black and white, good or bad, you taught me that.

We were each others Immortal Beloved.  And we will always be each other’s Immortal Beloved.  Between “A Star is Born”, and the People magazine article about the girl who found out her dad was the BTK Killer, I knew I had to come to peace with this…and you.  It’s going to hurt, letting you go.  I’m not good at relationships.  The fact that you were constantly in my orbit for 7 years is amazing.  And a miracle.  You and I know I have barely scratched the surface of our story.  But I want you to know- I forgive you.  I forgive you for every cruel thing you said or did to me, because they were all cries for help, and I missed every one.  I knew you were suffering and wanted to die.  I knew you were miserable.  I knew you were scared to live and scared to die, so I helped you any way and anytime I could.  Hell, you were/are my immortal beloved, my Savage Garden, my Truly, Madly, Deeply.

And I would have.  I would have broke my heart in two if it would’ve saved you.  In a way, I don’t want to feel another’s kiss or touch or start another fire with a stranger, because it won’t, and will never be you again.  But, my wounded warrior-and I’m not just talking about you, here, clearly-our time is nearing a close.  And I just want you to know, don’t forget that we were happy, deliriously so.  I’m probably one of the few girls you took to meet your parents.  And you’re the last man I took to meet mine.  Starting over is difficult, but now we both have a clean slate.

I will love you forever.  My immortal beloved, Double D.  May you finafuckingly rest in peace.

All My Love,

Zuzu

 

David Dean Smith.  10/18/1960-9/11/2015