Day 5 Alcohol Free: Oh, the Guilt

Warning: lots of lovely adult language in this one. 

So, I just re-read the last week or so of conversations that I shared with Lucas* before I broke up with him.

And I feel… I feel really bad.

Things were unstable and I knew they didn’t feel right, but after reading through so many of the cutesy messages, the promises, the “I love yous” and the excitement about the future, I really came out of nowhere with him and broke the connection. Completely severed it.

I did to him what my ex-husband did to me. And I feel fucking horrible about it.

An apology – a sincere, from-the-heart, honest to god apology – is probably too little too late at this point. His behavior after the breakup wasn’t very mature or sensible, and my own behavior isn’t something I’m proud of. But after re-reading those messages, I feel like shit.

This is something I really fucked up. I fucked up in how I treated another human being and that’s probably why I can’t get it off my mind. I don’t want him back – I just want to take back how cold I was.

I never wanted to be like the ex-Hubs in that regard, and yet I did almost exactly what he did to me, and I did it to someone who basically worshipped the ground I walked on.

All the feelings of resentment I’ve carried around have been mostly baseless. He did behave in ways that made me feel uncomfortable, true, and I wish that he had respected my request to be left alone for a while. But the anger I’ve felt toward him – maybe that was an inward anger that I’ve been projecting outward. His words of anger weren’t completely unwarranted. His wish that he never met me is understandable. And I probably will never have the chance to give him the actual sincere apology that he deserves – the apology that I would have cherished from my ex-husband, even if it didn’t lead to us getting back together.

Sitting here at my desk at work, I just want to cry. Because I wounded someone with a deep slash, someone who was hyper-sensitive to even a papercut (metaphorically speaking, of course).

I fucked up and I have to live with it.
I fucked up and can’t repair the damage I caused.
I fucked up and the person I hurt will probably always hate me.
I fucked up. And I can’t expect it to be any other way.

At this point I can’t feel right about being angry that he’s here.
I can’t justify thinking that I’m better than him.
He has every right as I do to own this city.
And if I ever see him in public again, I might just cry.
And because I choose to be sober, and look at this through a clean sober lens, I might just end up crying anyway.
Why did I ever make life so hard for myself in the first place?
Is this the beginning of Metta in action? What have I done?

Another emotion this is bringing up – just because why the fuck wouldn’t it? – is the fact that I don’t really feel like I’ve got any sort of best friend. Not one I can get together with regularly and just chat with, confide in, etc. I’ve got good friends, and close friends, but no single best friend. Not like Jake and Brian*. Not like Val* and Ellie*. I feel Like I’ve somehow shut myself off from being capable of having a best friend. Like, I am emotionally and intimately inept.

And my cats. My goddamn cats. I miss them so much and feel so sad.

Why did I let go of so much, so quickly? How was I able to just walk away from all of these things?

I know – I walked away and made sure the pain I felt in my heart was shut tightly, and locked up. I drowned it almost every night with wine and beer and self-loathing. I numbed myself out to the point of trying to not care, and then suppressing it when it eventually bubbled back up again.

I’m tired of feeling such guilt and shame about it all.


I just want it to end.



*not real names

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