Two Months In.
What I’m about to write is strictly about you and I.
We just got off the phone. I’ve pulled myself back together. Perhaps it’s the fact that I feel less manic, less pressure now that I’ve found a place to live. Something you said has stuck with me. That I left. To a large degree that’s true. I lied, I cheated, and when I had the chance to be honest, I lied some more. There’s a part of me that’s broken, that’s been broken for a very long time.
That’s not all of it though. When I finally had the chance to lie one more time, I didn’t. I told the truth, even though I knew that it would probably be the end. Even though I knew that the result of one more lie wouldn’t be any different than the truth. I did it. You know what my hopes are, regardless of the likelihood of them coming true. I’m not going to suggest something trite, like that’s got to count for something, because it doesn’t.
I have to change and that is true regardless of the outcome. But it takes two to end a relationship. I am not trying to downplay the horrible things that I did. I’m not even asking you to take me back. Even if I could bring myself to make such a selfish request, it’s too soon. I’ve barely had time to make any solid steps towards change. You’re still so very angry. There’s no reason for you to trust me yet. To believe me when I tell you the things I do.
You’ve said over and over that the only good thing to come from our relationship is our daughter and your freedom from me. Your silver lining as you put it. I’m not going to suggest that you should bury your head in the sand and forget the things I did. I’m not going to say that your decision is wrong, because you’re doing what you think is best for the two of you. What I can say with as much certainty as possible, based on our conversations, is that you are incapable of seeing in me what you once did. That you are incapable of forgiveness, if only for these things that I’ve done. That in the end you don’t think that it’s worth a shot, that you don’t believe, or don’t think it’s worth trying to believe that I can change and be not just the man you once new, but better. More honest, sharing, kind.
The changes will come, I’ll work to be the sort of man that you deserve. It’s just another layer of sadness that you won’t be there. That all the work that I have to do will be wasted. I’ll become a better person, but the one person for whom I’ll have done it all for. The one person whose example is my inspiration will be gone. Gone, not because I wasn’t willing to change, or capable of change, but because I wasn’t able to change what was broken in me fast enough. The cheating and lying we’re horrible things, I know that, but they aren’t the problem, they are a terrible side effect, a symptom of what’s really wrong. The scars and damage that have festered inside of me for years, indeed more years than I’ve known you, were too strong, and I was too weak. That it took me being backed into a corner with no place to go but through them.
I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can only move forward. Perhaps I should embrace the hope in my heart. Not because it will change the outcome, but because wanting good things can be source of strength. Because as much as it might hurt, I’d rather love you than forget you. I’d rather work towards being better for you, than being better for myself. Being strong is a lot of things, but I know it’s better to be strong for the sake of others, than for oneself. That true strength comes from being good and kind, from being able to show vulnerability, from being able to ask for help, that it comes from wanting to help the people around you, to make things better. It’s a lofty goal, but right now I’m about done with setting my sights in the gutter. That hasn’t really worked out for us. Perhaps one day at a time that lofty goal can become something, good, something kind, something truly strong.