15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

them out on paper. My apologies to you, Ellen. But get ready for a whole lot of
word vomit.
If I had to compare this feeling to something, I would compare it to death.
Not just the death of anyone. The death of the one. The person who is closer to
you than anyone else in the whole world. The one who, when you simply
imagine their death, it makes your eyes tear up.
That’s what this feels like. It feels like Ryle has died.
It’s an astronomical amount of grief. An enormous amount of pain. It’s a
sense that I’ve lost my best friend, my lover, my husband, my lifeline. But the
difference between this feeling and death is the presence of another emotion that
doesn’t necessarily follow in the event of an actual death.
Hatred.
I am so angry at him, Ellen. Words can’t express the amount of hatred I
have for him. Yet somehow, in the midst of all my hatred, there are waves of
reasoning that flow through me. I start to think things like “But I shouldn’t
have had the magnet. I should have told him about the tattoo from the
beginning. I shouldn’t have kept the journals.”
The reasoning is the hardest part of this. It eats at me, little by little,
wearing down the strength my hatred lends to me. The reasoning forces me to
imagine our future together, and how there are things I could do to prevent that
type of anger. I’ll never betray him again. I’ll never keep secrets from him
again. I’ll never give him reason to react that way again. We’ll both just have
to work harder from now on.
For better, for worse, right?
I know these are the things that once went through my mother’s head. But
the difference between the two of us is that she had more to worry about. She
didn’t have the financial stability that I have. She didn’t have the resources to
leave and give me what she thought was a decent shelter. She didn’t want to
take me away from my father when I was used to living with both parents. I
have a feeling reasoning really kicked her ass a time or two.
I can’t even begin to process the thought that I’m having a child with this
man. There is a human being inside of me that we created together. And no
matter which option I choose—whether I choose to stay or choose to leave—
neither are choices I would wish upon my child. To grow up in a broken home
or an abusive one? I’ve already failed this baby in life, and I’ve only known
about his or her existence for a single day.