Eight: What Could Have Been.

It could have been eight years today. It should have been. Circumstances didn't permit it, and now you're gone, and I'm alone. I've been wallowing in my own self-pity since the last time you closed my car door.

I reflect on our relationship constantly, even nine months after it ended. And even though it caused me angst and stress at times, I was happy. I know you couldn't help your mental demons, and you controlled them better than I ever could mine. It is, perhaps, one of the numerous ways you're stronger than I am.

I think about the things I left unspoken, how I felt that I couldn't fully open up to you, that it was somehow embarrassing or a sign of weakness. It's not like I've ever been a man’s man in most areas of my life. I don't do outdoorsy things. I’m not handy. Nor have I ever been competent with money or secure with finances. But yet...

I kept a lot of stuff bottled up. My depression, which always seemed to wax and wane. My frustration with your mental health and my inability to do more for you. My love for you.

There was never a time that it wasn't there. Though I knew before the end came that you didn't feel that way anymore. The fear I had from day to day was that if I uttered the words, you wouldn't feel the same. Stupid and selfish, but true. Throughout our years together, there were so many times when I nearly said it, my mind stopping my tongue as I envisioned a laugh from you or no response at all. These mental hang-ups always stayed my tongue from saying I love you.

So instead of letting you know the truth, I let you drown in doubt because of my insecurity. I thought that actions would speak louder than words, but I knew I was lying to myself deep down. I tried to show you I cared, that I loved you, but it wasn't enough. And I knew it couldn't be.

I remember the date that decided our fate for the next seven and a half years. It still makes me smile. Almost all my memories of you do. The drive back to your apartment after the Halloween party was perfect. We talked, and it was like we were meant to be. Waking up with you in the morning was beautiful. I don't remember the pain in my back. I don't remember the awkward cramped bed. I remember being happy. Sitting across from you at breakfast, it felt like I'd finally found someone.

I had.

Then things changed quickly. Mom passed away, and I bottled it all up again. Yet you were there for me. You saved me through the long months of grief and supported me till I became something of myself again. But then I stopped growing. Instead of developing my relationship with you, I stopped. I just became myself, how I was when we first met. Not quite. There were, of course, changes, but nothing positive.

For a long time, I had the erroneous belief that we should remain separate, completely independent entities as a couple. You have your life, I have mine, and we share down the middle at times. I was a fool. We always needed to become a couple, and I never let that fully happen. I never communicated these ideas to you. As stupid as they were.

So instead, we grew apart, slowly but surely. Never becoming a couple meant that we both felt the relationship wasn't working because I didn't let it work. I held on to my belief under the foolish idea that I was allowing you your independence, not understanding that what we needed I didn't provide.

You tried. You tried repeatedly. Sometimes I recognized the attempt. Other times, I didn't. But understand that throwing yourself against the wall so many times with no result only leaves two options, to continue the efforts and be destroyed or walk away.

I know this is simplifying things. Perhaps I'll never know the truth, but just rationalize all the reasons in my mind.

If I'm being honest, you made the right decision. I say that not because I don't want you in my life, I do. I so desperately do - but because if you had stayed then, it would have caused you more misery, and I can’t stand the thought of you suffering.

So here I am. Alone on what could have been our eighth anniversary. Wondering how to celebrate the worse thing I've ever gone through, the worse thing my inability to grow as a person has wrought. The only thing I can think of is to hope that you're happy, that you've finally found a place where you can be yourself. Cherish the memories we had together.

Then carry on with life, and dream that someday I'll see you again.