Blame. To judge that I have failed with respect to some standard of excellence. Yours and mine. To take this blame insists that I am responsible for my actions in the sense that the action is attributable to me-it represents my evaluative standpoint, my practical identity, what I “stand for”.
I’m taking it. All of it. It’s my fault. My fault for not being more kind or apologetic. I should have been more humane to your feelings and in my actions. I heard your cries and turned the other way, disturbed that I could have been the cause. I was too ashamed to concede to myself all the disgusting and shameful behavior I had been participating in. It’s my error in trying to mask my own insecurities, all the while telling you to fix your flaws. It was far to easy for me to exploit yours instead. What a dishonorable way for a woman to conduct herself. I didn’t love myself, so how could I love you? I think I loved the way you made me feel more than anything. What’s worse is that I loved you for who I thought you could be. Brainless to the fact that you were stunning because of who you had been. I’m sorry.
I misconstrued gifts I gave as the love you needed. You had nothing and needed nothing of material value. You never have. That’s not what satisfies you. No. You are far more complex than that. You require a bliss that is derived from something more euphoric and less self indulgent. And here I was pretending that you were as happy as I thought I was, never stopping to ask, “Are you?” Elated? Seething? Volatile? Afraid? Petrified? Content? I looked at you knowing, you were all of those and none at the same time. I shunned at the idea of changing any of it. Taking advantage of the power you unquestionably gave me, I abused it. Like some school yard bully I tried to intimidate and coerce you to satisfy my own disturbing distress. I’m sorry.
I was wrong. 1000%. No denying the glove fit. I was wrong in bringing to light your addictions, all the while battling my own. I lied to make myself feel better about what I was ashamed of doing. I rationalized taking drugs, as something that was only part time, and care-free. Told myself that nothing I was doing was as bad as what you were doing. It was one in the same. I played the blame game. I was lying to the people who loved me most. I hid what was really going on. I lied to myself. Ignored all the bad about me and didn’t step up to change it. What a confusing life of fuckery. The only person I really played, was myself. I’m sorry.
I was too arrogant to ask for your help, even though I knew in my heart you would of moved heaven and Earth to ease my grief, if I had just asked. I’m sorry I never did.