Words Fail Me

Dearest Dickie,

If I could put it on a billboard or shout it from a mountain top, I would. I am sorry. I have let you down. I have disappointed you. I have undone all the good you once saw in me. I am sorry.

The past 9 months I’ve contacted a divorce attorney more than once. I took money out of my 401K to pay for said attorney. I filled out paper work, charts, and schedules. It is what everyone seems to expect or are not surprised will happen.

It eats away at me. But I really don’t give a damn what others think. Dickie, I love you. Fiercely. With every fiber of my being. My soul aches for you in ways I don’t understand.

Never. I am never to divorce you. It is the answer I got and I’m pretty sure never is a solid state of being.

I don’t know why I go from we have a problem to we need to get a divorce, but my mind does that. Yet it is nothing I want. I am sure it is part of my codependency. But, let’s get real. I went ape shit crazy. Instead of talking about things, I let them build up until I saw no other option. But it isn’t an option. That’s what I need to get through my stupid bullheaded head.

And what do you do, my dearest Dickie when I’m on my rampage? You do the laundry, make the bed, refill the coconut water. You continue to live, waiting for my latest bit of craziness to end.

I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I feel your sadness and it scares me. I see you pulling away and it scares me. I’m the one who wanted to throw you away. This sucks in ways I can’t even describe.

Our son, I’ll give ownership to both of us, said, “Maybe this is a you thing.” And at first I thought, it can’t be me, I’m perfect. That’s when the warning bells went off and lights started flashing.

My olive branch, a lottery ticket. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. A thousand times I’m sorry. This time, I knew what I was doing. I am sorry.

So my dearest Dickie, I’ve got the purple duct tape and the Popsicle sticks, can we mend this bridge?