I’ve been conflicted ever since it happened. In all the
years we were together I took it as a badge of pride that I never said No to
her. I gave her everything she asked for, did everything she wanted me to. Until,
finally, the only thing I couldn’t do is stay. And I feel so guilty for that.
Those last two years were rougher on me than I knew. I had
trouble falling asleep as long as she was in the same bed. As soon as she’d
wake up for the day and leave the room I’d pass right out. I thought it was
just a coincidence. I could hardly leave the apartment without anxiety-puking,
but I thought I had indigestion. I had panic attacks and thought I needed to go
to a cardiologist to find out what was wrong with my heart.
When I left, all of the physical symptoms stopped. Every
one. The rational part of me knows that I should take this as proof that I did
the right thing. My emotional side wants to punish myself for not being strong
enough to stay with her when she needed me. I couldn’t do what was right by me
without hurting her, which I always tried so hard to avoid.
I have many wonderful and beautiful things happening in my
life. I’m happy, and I’m proud, and I hurt, and I’m ashamed for hurting in the
face of joy and accomplishment. I feel so very guilty for my life going well
when I know how much her life has been falling apart and how much of that is my
fault.
Two weeks ago she went into a courtroom and stood before a
judge and attested that it was all over. She asked me not to be there, so I
wasn’t. With neither a bang nor a whimper it was just . . . done. A few days
later her lawyer sent me an email with a scan of the paperwork which I’m assuming
will come in the mail but still hasn’t.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It wasn’t supposed to
fail. I tried so hard and for so many years to make it work, to make it all
better. I conditioned myself so thoroughly to Fix It that there’s a piece of me
still trying to do that, like flipping a light switch that’s no longer
connected to a circuit. So much emotional energy with nowhere to go.
I couldn’t fix what was wrong with her and it hurts. I couldn’t
fix what was wrong with us and it hurts. Now I have only to fix myself, repair
my soul and my body and move on. I’m trying. I’m trying like hell.
Healing isn’t linear, and I’m lucky that I know that. I don’t
feel this pain all the time, but I feel it this week. It’ll go away again, and
I’ll be better able to concentrate on what’s happening now instead of what
happened last year.
Maybe I’ll even be able to forgive myself.
