For a long time I have struggled with the old me lingering in the shadows. Refusing to let go as I fought to grow and change as a person. To become better... to become the person I have just recently realized I have become. Full of love, caring, understanding and compassion. Not only for myself but for others.
In order for this to happen, I had to experience tragedy once more. I allowed myself to open up and care for someone who turned out to be unworthy of my love. Rather than withdraw and beat myself up, I accept this truth with grace and an understanding that I was not previously capable of.
He is very much the person I used to be. Struggling with addiction and self loathing... unable to break free from his demons. Inviting them in just as I used to. Believing that his suffering is penance for the wrong he has done in his life. Letting it infect those closest to him. Those who love him the most. He's not well. Tripping in and out of psychosis as he drinks himself into oblivion. Throughout all this I thought I could save him. The only problem is that he doesn't know he is drowning. Perhaps the reason I can see it is because that was very much me a few years ago. Destroying all that I loved and everyone I held dear.
I now know, the old me is dead and I have been reborn. I sit here packing his things with love and care... taking the time to wash and fold his clothing and wrap and protect his fragile belongings so that when... or if he decides he wants them, they are ready.
He attacked me as a person, as a would-be wife and as a mother. In one breath he would praise me and in the next cut me to the core. Only being consistent in his inconsistencies. He lays our demise at my doorstep. This weight I can bare. I have broad shoulders. I move forward with grace and compassion for a man I showed love, but that wouldn't allow himself to be loved. Surely I will be the villan of his story. I move forward knowing the old me is dead on arrival.
