My marriage is dead, realisticly it has been for years. It's my doing. I've spent months bombarding my wife with words, no positive actions, though plenty of negative ones.
Most nights I sit and write a message to her, some I send most I don't. They do nothing for her, they are just more words. For my part I'm trying to work on myself. I've reached an acceptance, of who I am. That this isn't some thing happening to me, this is what I did, and what I did to her.
The messages I write are the things I should have learned, the things I should have understood and said when they mattered, when they might have helped her. She's moving forward on her own.
I still want to send her these messages, want to show her I'm growing, but the part of this that is letting go is the acceptance, the acceptance that it's too late. She has already suffered, the cuts were made.These words are about me. I forced her to find her way without help and support, without an ounce of remorse.
So I'm putting this message on here. I don't really know why, I think I needed to do something with it. Needed to do more than just write it and delete it.
I needed to somehow take some ownership of these words. Feel free to read them, or not.
"In the days after you found out the depth of sadness you felt must have been unbearable, the disbelief, the despair, wishing it wasn't real and knowing it was. Not being able to share that with me because I refused to be there with you, refused to sit with you in your pain, the pain I had created.
You gave your life to me, we both had issues with intimacy and vulnerability, you described it once as something like "we were never both all in at the same time ", Still you trusted me, trusted me with your love and your vulnerability, trusted me not to hurt you, but more you trusted me to be there with you when you were hurt.
I remember when I told you, the disbelief, the sadness and the shock was so evident on your face, I watched you struggling to comprehend what was happening. Your heart broke in front of me in that moment. And I still ran.
I failed you, when I refused to help you heal by avoiding questions, burying what was happening under talk of my problems, when I ignored your pain, when you needed to hear the truth, when you needed someone to hold you, to be in your pain with you, when you needed someone to talk to. When you laid awake at night and needed someone to be there with you, to offer comfort and support and I did not do it.
I did this to us, I made those choices. Every choice I make affects us, even now there isn't an us, every choice affects who we are and were.
I buried my head so far in protecting myself that I chose me over you at every turn, that was not love, is not love."