It’s 2-fucking-AM and I can not sleep.
Traumatic amputation is an injury to an extremity that results in the immediate loss of that extremity or limb, or that requires immediate surgery to remove the extremity/limb because it’s too far gone to save.
A part of me has been mangled, separated from me, and there does not appear to be any hope of reattachment. As with many traumatic amputations, it was due to my recklessness, my own inattention. I brought this on myself, and feel as though I do not deserve to have this part reattached. To be perfectly honest, I feel like I never deserved it in the first place. It was like part of me was just waiting for her to realize I wasn’t good enough for her.
I emailed her today to ask what she wanted me to do. I didn’t want to stop reaching out, but I also didn’t want to make things worse if all my attempts were doing were angering her. Her response left little room for uncertainty. I won’t ever be with her again. I have effectively wasted two years of her life (my words, not hers), years she could have spent finding someone else, someone better for her, someone who would provide the happy ending that she deserves. But I damaged her. As much as I want another chance to show her how much she means to me, how sorry I am for the wasted time and the betrayal of her trust, it’s not what she wants. She wants to be done. She doesn’t want to discuss it. She doesn’t want to consider the possibility. She’s made it clear that my betrayal is something that, even if she can forgive me for down the road, would prevent her from wanting me as a partner in her life. There’s always a possibility that she’s still buried under all that pain and anger, and can’t see that far ahead. The possibility that maybe she will change her mind. But I had my chance. I had several. And I fucked them all up. I can not live my life hoping for something that is probably never going to happen. If she changes her mind, I’ll be here. If it takes a year, or ten, I’ll be here. I won’t spend that time waiting, but she is the last love of my life, and I intend for that remain unchanged.
Before I go and try to sleep again, I decided to share one more thing. I wrote a note 11 days ago. It was THAT note, the one that you don’t expect a response to because you won’t be around to receive it. I held onto it, even after making the pinky-promise with her that I wouldn’t kill myself. When I got home from work today, after throwing up a few times, I pulled it out to read it. More honestly, I pulled it out to proofread it. I was in that mindset again. I’ve thought about it a few times over the past week, but not as much as today. That pain in my chest was worse than ever. The bleak despair stronger than before. All hope was gone and, if there was no hope, why bother? If I’m already a liar, if I already can’t be trusted, why should I care about keeping a promise to someone who doesn’t want to even see my face? Hell, I could go into the kitchen and chop that fucking pinky clean off. That would negate the promise, right? (And you thought the title of this post was about the first half… silly you.) But I do still love her. More than anything. More than my own selfish desire to stop feeling this way. And I do want my word to mean something again.
So I pulled the gun from the nightstand, unloaded and cleaned it, then I put it back in its carrying case. I’ll probably take it to my father for safekeeping for awhile. I also thought I’d share the letter because it sickens me to read it, and because I’m going to destroy it:
I’m sorry. I know this is the most selfish thing I could possibly do and that you are angry, hurt, and/or saddened because of this. I’m sorry for being weak, for not being able to carry the weight of my pain any longer. It’s a pain that I deserve, on top of all the pain that I’ve carried with me for a lifetime. In truth, this is how I always knew it would end. I ask that you not think of everything that I could’ve become or accomplished but, instead, think of all the joy that I was able to bring you while I was here. It was always borrowed time, so the time we had together was precious. There were tears and scowls, but also laughs and smiles. That’s life, though. None of us is perfect. In the end, this is my life to do with what I want, my choice on how to steer it. I’ve shown that my choices aren’t always the best ones, but I feel like this last choice is the best option for me. Removing myself from the equation feels like the best option for everyone. It will hurt, I’m sure, but you will all heal. You’re stronger than I am. Thank you for loving me and, once again, I’m sorry to put you through this.
After typing it out just now, and thinking to myself several times what a horrible person I would’ve been if I’d gone through with it, I went outside and set fire to it. I can’t promise that I won’t think about it again, because I can’t control my brain, but it’s not an option I will choose and I still have both of my pinky fingers. I am still missing that part of me from the beginning of this post, though, but it’s time for me to start learning how to get through life without her.