I know you fled in your late teens. I know you were a troubled child. I know you had relationships before me, and you told me I was different. You told me you wanted to grow old with me.
You were at a crossroads in your life, because your old pattern of blocking out the things and people you found troubling to deal with meant you wanted yet another “fresh start”. And there was I, and we talked, we drank during the summer night, we fell asleep and we kissed.
You lived across the hall and passing you in the hallway was a pleasure.
You snuck into my bed at night and I snuck into yours. You straddled me as you climbed out in the morning when you went to work and the lust was tangible between us.
We delighted in each other’s experiences, individual and shared. We could talk about anything and open ourselves without being needy or pathetic.
I gave you the first orgasm you had with someone else in years (supposedly) and in you I met an open, giving and fun partner that I’d been lacking for years. I wanted to move and so did you, so we moved in together.
You had economical trouble and I did not. I paid bills for you, and I took a childish pleasure in giving you luxury items and simple everyday pleasures. You wanted a proper home, and I spent my money and myself in trying to provide what you could not and we both took pleasure in it.
I loved giving. I still do. I take relish in feeling selfless (a fantastically selfish feeling, I know) , you do not… It took me too long to recognise that.
The many nights I spent awake wondering where you were, if you were safe and why you wouldn’t pick up the phone to let me know you were safe and would be home eventually were a torment. Your drinking made me a lesser man, and for that I resent you greatly. It should have been enough to make me back down and out but my love and lust for you made me blind too many times to count.
We bought an apartment together because that is something you wanted. It was lovely and I could still think of the future as something bright with many adventures, meals, parties and quiet evenings to be experienced.
You wanted to quit your job and go to university, and I supported you in it because you felt inferior due to your lack of higher education. Even when I knew that it would never fit you. Not because you aren’t intelligent enough. You are smarter than many. But because you can’t handle stress well. You block it out. You don’t deal with realities, only pleasures that are reachable right in front of you.
So when me and your family saw you over extending yourself, and told you that you had both help and support if you could open up enough to accept it, I still believed in you and us. Sometimes life is hard, but we struggle through and laugh at ourselves in retrospect.
But you responded by blocking me out. Drinking more. And seeking solace in others. You who used to be so open, could no longer ‘lower’ yourself to voicing your frustrations to me. I was left to pick up the pieces after you and forced me to be a caretaker instead of a partner. I never wanted that, but sometimes we are vulnerable and I wanted to be rock solid in your difficult time. I wanted to be trustworthy and a source of simple comfort.
At one time before the end I managed to brake you away frpm the phone that you were always typing furiously into. The one that you were hiding from me now. And I asked you face to face if you wanted to stay with me. I tried to give you a way out. You looked me in the eye and said yes.
Two weeks later I asked you if you couldn’t please treat me with the same respect I was showing you. And you broke up with me. You said you wanted to be selfish, and couldn’t see that you had been for months to such a degree that I cried in the evenings. You made me feel weak.
No one is ever obligated to be with someone else. But you didn’t have it in you to try. You escaped into your own anger.
When I was away, you went through all our things and took everything you wanted, little of it paid in full by yourself. You did it with a smile, still not seeing me, but the image you in a short couple of months had managed to create of me.
You left me with an empty shell of an apartment so that you could spend hours sending pictures of your cunt to that fucking kid working as a security guard where you work.
So keep drinking. Keep hiding your bills. Keep avoiding the responsibilites of the life you keep saying you want.
You took my trust and my efforts and shat all over it without a single sign of regret. You took my money and my things. Take your lies that you served to my face when confronted with truth. The lies you serve yourself is something I hope you grow into recognizing and dealing with as you mature back into something functional.
I loved you far more than you deserved and the anger I feel at myself over that is starting to dissipate.
I am worth so much more, and for a long time so we’re you. My disappointment in you will outlive my anger and frustration.