I imagine myself as the boy stumbling out of the bar at 3AM alone and walking home. I don’t know what “home” is anymore, but I’m going to walk there, drunk and abandoned. And at some point, I’ll start singing a few songs that remind me of him.
I wish I could say I’m so sorry. I wish I could say I love him to him. I wish he felt the slightest bit of remorse for every time he said I meant less than nothing to him. I wish I could wake up tomorrow and find his car parked outside my house, knocking on the door, waking up the rest of the house, just to say, “I’m sorry, I love you, too”.
I woke up the other day and thought, What am I doing here? CPS has come and taken my nephews, and in-turn cost every ounce of stability in my family. I’ve lost the one man I thought would change the world for me, and did to some degree. I can’t breathe without wondering if the next breath is worth it. I sit around and cry because I wish he felt a little remorse for the things he’s said and done to me. I don’t feel one ounce stupid for being upset about this; I feel like grabbing the microphone cord, tying it around my throat, attaching it to the doorknob, and just falling asleep. I’ve thought about taking two glasses of ammonia and bleach, placing a towel under the bedroom door, shutting the window, then mixing them together and laying down to sleep.
I wonder why, at a time when I really need stability, the most amazing person I know doesn’t think I’m real anymore. I wish I could save him, and I wish I could save the rest of the world from knowing what this feels like. I don’t know whether to trust that God will work things out, or if I should just let the microphone cord fix the problem.
I’m sorry. I wish I could not break down at every corner I turn.