Simply put, I was unprepared for the cutting. I should have been more supportive after finding out, but having myself escaped the seductive grip of self-mutilation only months before, the only thought in my mind was to get away. It was around that time that I also began severing ties with a lot of my high school buddies, shedding dead weight as I pulled ahead in my career and in academia, and your cutting gave me an out.
The guilt I felt at failing to be what I considered a successful boyfriend also contributed heavily to the failure of our relationship. I have struggled with feelings of inadequacy my entire life – I still do, though I suppose to a lesser degree (hopefully, but honestly . . . ) and I viewed your cutting as a failure on my part to provide you with the joy and support you needed. "If you weren't such a shitty boyfriend," the internal dialogue went, "she wouldn't need to be hurting herself to find some modicum of fulfillment and satisfaction and release."
That line of thought still makes sense to me, all these years later. What was missing from our relationship, Christie? What didn't I provide?
In my mind you were both a beginning and an end, the beginning of a wonderful adventure, and an end to aimless wandering. You are the only woman I have ever truly loved, and in the years since our dissolution I have caught myself comparing other girls in my life to you, evaluating how they measure up to your memory.
As I write this, however, an internal truth makes itself known, buried for the past decade-plus: I started our relationship with the end in mind. I was never 100% committed, I always thought that something better would come along, and I always thought that it would end.
You deserved better of me, Christie, and for that I am sorry.
What would have happened if you had never cut yourself, or if I had been more invested in the long-term success of our relationship? It is impossible to know for sure, but I sometimes wonder about that as well.
Several months ago I was clearing out some boxes from my garage and found a cache of old letters, drawings and music dating back to high school and college. Tucked in among those artifacts were all of the letters you had sent me before, during and after our relationship.
In one letter you thank me for pushing you to pursue your academic potential: "I love that you care about my future. Not a lot of people do, not even my own parents. It means a lot that you were willing to try." I still remember those efforts and how futile they felt at the time, but reading those long-forgotten words hit me like a slap in the face, because in my mind I was doing what anyone who truly loved and cared about you would do.
So despite my internal apprehensions, there was a piece of me that was invested in you, a piece of me that went forgotten for all these years.
As I understand it, you have achieved notable academic success in recent years, surpassing even my own academic accomplishments.
As cliché as it sounds, maybe everything does happen for a reason.
Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't quite the shitty boyfriend I had made myself out to be in my mind. And if so, maybe redemption can still be found, somewhere in the in-between.
I still love you, Christie. You deserved better of me, and for that I am sorry.
"Respond quickly. I'm leaving early, around fifth period, and highly suggest Direct Question Night. We don't have to talk, I just want to see your emotions. Don't worry, you'd see mine, too." - 042607
