This is the first time I’ve written as a single person in about a year. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what I even want to write about. I just know that I need to do it. It needs to happen. So I can heal. Understand myself better. Grow.
The past few months have been tumultuous to say the least. Among all the fighting that happened every couple of days, there were the holidays, day to day living, work, and breaking up with [him]. It’s been pretty official for about a week or more now. He got the last of his stuff (aside from the couch) today. It was super emotional and I felt horrible. He was crying and begging and really had hope that if he talked to me, I’d cave and give him that one last chance that he said would prove him a real man after all. I didn’t cave. In fact, it just concreted everything I had felt. I only wished he had made this life changing decision, to be a different man, when we were still together. But now the hurt has dissipated to indifference. And we all know, that’s the true opposite of love right? Once I became indifferent and emotion no longer blurred my vision, or wet my pillow, there was no turning back. The love that I had for him was gone. Completely buried in the graveyard of other lost relationships. Never to be resurrected with words. That was the hardest part: seeing the hope in his eyes getting dimmer and dimmer. He said even his mom was heartbroken. That almost got me. But like a wary consumer, I kept my distance far and my guard up, from this wing-tip shoed salesman. Obviously, my heart (and wallet) had been robbed before and I wasn’t about to fall for the hustle again. Fool me once, shame on you… I had been shamed about 250 times. At least. And that may be a conservative estimate.
While talking to [the other one] tonight, I mentioned I wasn’t even sure why I had gotten into a relationship. Was it just to prove that I had what it took to be in a committed one without running at the first sign of permanency? Possibly. Considering my last really significant relationship was one of scandal and adultery, and the last one before [him] was a man with a girlfriend. Did I even have faith that commitment, fidelity still existed? I had to find out. And my little experiment ended up costing me more than a triple-fold piece of cardboard, some baking powder, and vinegar. No, there were casualties in my experiment. People died. My hypothesis was only accurate in relation to the outside world. Inside the house, in the bedroom, in my relationship, I failed completely.
I know I shouldn’t feel like a failure considering I really did everything I could, or knew how, to love him with everything within me. Unfortunately, the amount of love I had for him just wasn’t great enough to fill the void that he needed. He was damaged goods. Damaged beyond an outlet store. He needed to go back to the manufacturer to get refurbished. Unfortunately, he mistakenly thought I was that manufacturer… that I could fix him. He was broken long before I got o him. And now he’s beyond repair. Ready for demolition. I did that. I don’t say that proudly. I say that with a hunch in my shoulders; the weight of this man’s lost pride and wounded ego bearing down on my shoulders. It hurts. Knowing I wouldn’t give it “just one more chance”… knowing he really WOULD have done absolutely anything to make me happy. It was very hard letting him go, knowing all of these things.
I worried about the kids, his and mine; wondered how they would feel. [He] wasn’t here to play with them anymore. Their male role model was gone. The man who disciplined, loved, played, and cooked for them. He wasn’t coming back home tonight… or ever. I worried about his kids. His mom. His sister. His dad. His cousins. But all of those people, had I stayed, were going to feel the residual effects of a bad relationship eventually. It just shows up in less obvious ways. They start out as hairline fractures in their stable lives, and end up canyons that divide what they thought they knew from what is now their reality.