I should have known better. Look at our history. I bet any one of you could have predicted this. And maybe, deep down, I could have, too. But no. I had to go and learn the hard way. Again.
Having this conversation shouldn’t have been so difficult. As soon as he said he wasn’t up for it because he’d “had a rough week,” I should have known then. I even told a friend, “this isn’t a good sign.” If things had been going as well as I thought, why would he have a problem talking about something that shouldn’t be difficult at all?
That’s when my instincts stood up and kicked me in the face and, still, I didn’t acknowledge them. I don’t think I ever acknowledge them. Stupid me.
Finally, Monday night, we got together. I went optimistically, in a dress I had bought with him in mind. (I regret ever buying an article of clothing with him in mind and, I swear to God, I will never buy a purple anything ever again.)
We chatted for a few minutes; I smiled and laughed thinking how good it was to just be near him. And, finally, he told me. Nothing had changed. After the last five (FIVE) months that we’ve been separated, three (THREE) of which were spent dating, he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to be married.
And by that, I mean both of us. Him for not saying anything sooner, for letting me continue to believe that the time we spent together was helping, that it was mending our relationship… and me for letting him do it again. For not asking sooner. For assuming. For doing the same fucking thing I’ve done every time we’ve “broken up.” For the clothes I bought just to impress him, for the hours I spent in bars I hate just because I knew he liked them, for wasting my time and money flying to San Antonio. For everything. For every kiss, every hug, every intimate moment we shared. That fucking “I love you.”
God, I have so many regrets. I do. I admit it. I’m trying not to, but they’re there, weighing heavily on my mind and on my heart. How could I have let this happen again? With everything that’s happened before and everything I knew and everything I suspected… how could I make all the same mistakes? How could I just roll over and give him another chance to hurt me?
I’m frustrated, angry, hurt. Yeah, nothing new. The only difference this time? I think I’ve finally, finally, gotten to a point where I want absolutely nothing to do with him. (Although, knowing me, I’ll give him another seventeen chances.) (‘Cause I’m a sucker.)
If I were to look on the bright side, I’d say at least I’m already packed. At least my things are already moved and in storage. I’m already comfortably established in my mother’s home. And The Paperwork to get this done and behind me is practically complete. Now it’s just a matter of finally letting go and moving on. Once and for all.