I can’t believe I am back to this point. Three years have passed and I still feel that so much healing has yet to take place. I tell myself I don’t hate you, but I say that just to deny myself the hatred I want to use to replace the emptiness. I wonder if you feel the irony of being filled with emptiness when the concept is all I can wrap my mind around.
I loved you and hearing you say that you never loved me, that you lied to me all those years, justifying your actions today; to validate the relationship you and she have enrages my very soul. I should thank you for that—freeing me of the numbness, be it for a moment, that I have lived in and around since I left.
I write what I can’t find the courage to express—a sort of exhibitionistic freedom that bares not the consequences your voice brings. You tell me you don’t know how, but I don’t believe you try. I want to hate you for not trying or maybe for not succeeding. Knowing back then that we bore the consequences together might have saved me from this today.
I spent my day in a room where strangers backed out one by one; not able to handle the consequences their faith forces upon them. I distanced myself from them in the very beginning – bracing myself for what believing eyes might cast upon my soul. I have no faith, and perhaps that was what was wrong all along, but I blame you in part. I have burdened my shoulders with this heavy load for far too long, unable to balance the weight of my goals with one hand while the other holds to the past.
I want to let go and let live…
