Worse

The last time I wrote, it was 2012. I wrote very briefly about how happy I was. I don't write much when I'm happy.
Returning to this blog in 2017 and having something to write about is not my ideal situation. I wish I wasn't here. I wish that things were different. I have a lot of regrets and I've owned up to my own mistakes. I'm very sorry. I tried to fix things, and I did for a while. Things seemed positive again, I was happy and healthy. I smiled more. I was more active. But it wasn't enough. Bit by bit, what we had built over the past five years was crumbling, slipping through my fingers as each day passed. I could see it in his face, his eyes, his voice. I could see it in the way he hugged me, his text messages, even in the way he handed me the tea towel when washing dishes. He was here but he was gone. He was somewhere else entirely.
I look around our apartment at all our furniture and belongings and I don't want any of it. The brown L-shaped couch we saved up for after we finally threw out the old two-seater we bought off Gumtree for $50. Our big long TV stand packed with rows and rows of DVD's we've collected together over the years. The fridge we've had since Day 1, with all it's leaks and cracks. The washing machine he picked out but complains about every time he uses it. The bed we sleep in together; my mattress, his bed frame, two good things put together to make something great, like we once were.
I didn't think that I'd get here. I didn't think I would have to go through all this again. I truly thought that I was free from this uncertainty, this confusion, this pain. I understand that there's always pain, but I never thought it would be about this. I never had an inkling that he would want to be alone. I never believed that he'd ever be the one to end it. I was naive. Maybe I don't know him as well as I thought. Maybe he's not the man I thought he was. But maybe I'm worse.