Maybe he’s emotionally abusive. Â But maybe I’m just as bad.
I can’t deal with how much I’ve hurt him. I can’t deal with being without him, with him refusing to talk to me.
Even if, somehow, he did manage to forgive me, where could it possibly go? Back to what we were before? No. He’s still married. And I still have a wonderful man living with me who cares about me and wants to patch things up despite what happened with this person.
There is no way past this. I want what’s impossible and every day is either numb self-delusion or the agony of staring reality in the face. I don’t want to forget him. Â I don’t ever want to forget that I was so happy, or trusted someone so much, or felt so loved. Â It’s unthinkable.
Apart from being universally hated and spat on by every other child in my school for ten years, I had a happy childhood. Â None of this horrible parental stuff, no abuse. Â It was just living like a social pariah at school, day in, day out, that got me into the suicide clinic when I was 16.
I have no self-esteem. Â No self-worth. Â No sense of honor or dignity. Â If I did, I’d leave this man alone to his family and go to the man who wants me. I’d stop cutting myself and knocking myself out with Ambien. Â I’d stop scaring the people who care about me.
I don’t want to wake up again. Â I don’t want the slightest chance of ever waking up to this reality again, and every single method carries that risk – along with the risk that you’ll have been discovered, have hurt everyone, and have made the reality That Much Worse than it was before.
Death, please find me. Â He wants me to have killed myself, and I can’t do it for him. Â Please make us both happy, and take me away.