Good-bye, Mr. Pill.This is it for us. I'm finished. Through. This past while, I haven't felt great when I was with you anyway. I felt numb and dull and while, not depressed exactly, I wasn't happy either. I'm fine with being sad now and then, even though it probably annoys you, but at least the ecstatic seems accessible again. The divine, the too-good-to-be true-but-might-actually-be-true is possible. Maybe even probable. And all of that will happen without you.
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Once I gave myself permission to grieve and feel the angry sadness I realized it wasn't going to end. And while it has softened and become more complex, like an aging wine, it still accompanys me. Waiting, like my cat, for me to wake up in the morning. And sitting with me on the couch, like my cat, waiting for me to go to bed once it's dark. I was terrified that if I allowed myself to feel the grief all the way through the pain would kill me. I was sure that this betrayal proved conclusively that I was unlovable and incapable of loving enough. I can smile now, knowing that it isn't true, it simply meant that this man was incapable of loving anyone but himself in the most primitive fashion and for self gratification. I remember him repeating that the only way I could learn to love myself was by loving him, by devoting myself to him, and maybe he was right. But when it came to devoting myself to him exclusively it didn't work any longer. Pressed to chose between my kids and him, I chose my children. Would I do it again? Who can say?
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