one month later

I miss Mo. I really do. When the stress skyrocketed, I broke up with her. Multiple times. I wasn't able to think clearly, I had too many unresolved issues, and now with some of the issues dealt with, and with my vision clearing, I can't help but see HOW FUCKING STUPID I WAS. Here was a beautiful, good, wonderful woman who LOVED me, wanted to BE with me and SHARE HER LIFE with me. A woman who understood my quirks and was okay and even endeared by them. A woman who thought I was SEXY of all things. A woman who made unfair concessions and continued being with me despite her ever-present fear that I'd break up with her. A woman whose fear was realized, and by my hand.

I hate what went down.

I hate that I put her through that.

I hate it because she didn't deserve that, I did.

And I hate it because I lost something.

But I can't bitch about it. It was, after all, my own doing. Blinded by stress and pierced by anxieties, I failed to see that what I've always wanted, in both person and idea, was right there, in my grasp, and I tossed it away. I do fear that my decision will be one that I look back on with regret. Not that I don't regret it now; but I fear it could very well be one of those regrets that keeps haunting you for years. I can't think about that, though: you can only live and learn, really. Everyone fucks up in relationships; all we can do is count our scars and our blessings and keep moving forward. That's what I'm doing, or at least trying to do. My plan is to take little steps rather than kamikaze leaps; maybe this way I can make some movement without falling flat on my face.