I cannot count how many times I’ve been asked, “so why did it end?”, in regard to my marriage.
I can however, count the amount of times I’ve given a straight answer to that question. That would be zero.
I’ve allowed this “poor me” person to emerge from that wreckage. Not trying at first, but allowing, and then eventually encouraging this point of view to garner sympathy. Which in truth, is completely undeserved.
So let’s try this again, without the bullshit.
“so why did it end?”
Because I was a terrible husband. The end.
That’s really all there is to it. Frankly, no matter what else needed fixing, that was what was broken the most. Ultimately, that was what ended up breaking everything else as well. Nobody wants to be the ‘bad guy’. I know I didn’t, not then, and not since then either. So I’ve happily remained in denial, soaking up the pity where ever it could be found, and leaving a trail of hearts strewn about my self-absorbed path of destruction.
In truth, I had a much better wife than I deserved, and the faults I perceived were the ones I reflected.
There is no reason for me to say this, other than the fact that I cannot stomach myself anymore.
I don’t think I was always terrible, then or since, I have had my share of genuine moments. But not nearly as many as I should have. Yes I was young, but I knew better, and furthermore, time has demonstrated just how weak that line of reasoning is.
So there you have it.
Tobas writes your life, because he sure as hell can’t fucking write his.