Remorse
You know that I’m going to forgive him, anyway, regardless whether or not he acknowledges or concurs with anything I’ve said, whether he’s remorseful or not, whether he wants forgiveness or not.
You know that I’m likely to write off this whole episode because of all that’s happened to him this year, because he’s been so reeling and distracted and probably entirely oblivious. Frankly he’s taken a lot of hard blows in quick succession, and it hasn’t helped at all that so many people around him are taking hard blows themselves and leaning on him hard for support – support that he’s in no condition whatsoever to give. As often as he tells me he’s got to make sure he’s okay before he can be of use to anyone, he still jumps when other people call out. He simply can’t do otherwise. I know how that is. I’m the same way.
Sometimes I wonder if he stopped feeling so passionately about me because I wasn’t quite needy enough, because I wasn’t constantly calling him with some crisis from elsewhere in my life that I need him to get me through. That seems to be the recipe sometimes. I’m just not wired like that.
Sometimes I wonder if he stopped feeling so passionately about me because I was too needy. I didn’t get needy until I got insecure, which wasn’t until he was already cooling, but still, did I hasten the process?
Sometimes I wonder if he stopped feeling so passionately about me because of something else, something I am not aware of. That’s the scariest thing. Is there something about me I know nothing about that drives people away? If I don’t know about it, what can I do about it? I don’t get the chance to fix it, whatever it is.
I hope he’ll forgive me. I’m not blameless. I messed stuff up. I wasn’t clear. I accused a lot. I feel bad for not being understanding enough, not being sympathetic enough. That gets confusing because with so little communication, half the time I worried that something horrible happened, and it turned out to be nothing (and then I was furious with him), and the other half the time I assumed nothing happened, and it turned out to be something horrible (and then I was furious with myself). I always had the wrong response because I never knew what was going on. I just went on with whatever the last information was. I feel horrible for getting that wrong all the time, but I am not sure what the right thing would have been. Well, I’m still sorry that I fucked it all up.
I feel bad even getting so upset when he’s got enough on his plate to make things hard for him. I feel horrible about being one more thing. Part of me wishes I’d kept my mouth shut and said nothing. But would my unspoken hostility and pain have helped anything? Would have dropping contact entirely have helped anything? Would faking my way through Monday nights with a plastic smile have helped anything?
I’m so driven. It’s so powerful, the urge to soothe his pain and bring him whatever joys I can. To provide, to be useful. Is that oppressive? Is that what I did? Did I smother?
Now I can’t do anything for him. And now I may have hurt him so much that he doesn’t want anything from me. For awhile, at least.
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