u/Imperfect_AF597

I should have asked you more.

I thought you were broken in a way that mirrored me, but I was afraid of making you uncomfortable, afraid of pushing too hard, afraid you’d disappear if I looked too closely at you.

I always just wanted to understand you.
To make you feel safe.

But vulnerability seemed to terrify you, and honestly, I’m not good at speaking my emotions either. Obviously.

I knew what I wanted…a committed relationship, a real future with someone
to survive this crazy thing called life beside me. A best friend.
Something honest.
Something lasting.

But I’m still not sure
you ever truly knew what you wanted.

Maybe you only told me
what I wanted to hear.

“I’m your man for FWB.”
“Do I want a relationship or not, yes I do.”
“I don’t know that I’m marriage material.”

And yet you spoke about marriage with me often, like we were building a future together
inside a dream you never intended to sustain.

Was it real to you?

Or was it just a beautiful fantasy?

You were so contradictory with me,
and somehow I adored you anyway.

Not for what you gave me.
Not for fantasy.
Not for money.

Just for you.
Your strange uniqueness.
Your mind.
Your softness when you let it exist.
Just to be near you…even if only to be lazy together.

If I feel safe, secure, wanted, I stay forever.

I am loyal to my core.
I have never cheated.
I do not care about money.
I care whether someone loves me.

But I didn’t feel safe with you.

I was anxious all the time.
I never truly believed you were faithful to me.

Your “friends” I always felt were women
you had histories with, women who still had access to parts of you I was trying to trust.

And I was not comfortable with that.

It wasn’t only my trauma.
It was your behavior too.

The disappearing acts.
The lies.
Barely wanting to spend time with me.
The way you acted with your phone like I was standing too close to something hidden.

The body keeps score of that.

And yet…the Holidays were so beautiful.

I felt cared for.
Like maybe you really were starting to choose me.

Your heartfelt gift. The way you explained why you picked the color, I wanted to hold you after that.

The sentiment meant more to me than you probably realized.

And you did do many things right.
I should have told you that more.

But I was always afraid to show too much emotion to you. For my sake. And maybe for yours too.

Then you quietly picked up your life
and moved.

And something inside me shattered.

You stopped being transparent with me, and suddenly I realized I did not matter enough
to be included in the truth of your life.

I felt beneath consideration.
Beneath honesty.
Like I was easy to leave in the dark.

And I retaliated.

Then kept retaliating.

I drank to numb the betrayal I felt, to quiet the ache of feeling discarded, and somewhere inside all that grief…I became someone I no longer recognized. 

Self-fulfilling prophecies.

“I hate me, make them hate me too.” “I’m never chosen, just taken advantage of”.

So I burned everything down with my pain.

I am sorry for my vile texts.
I cannot take them back.
And I am profoundly ashamed of the version of myself that emerged while drowning.

But even through all of it, I do not hate you.

I think you are wounded too.

Maybe we simply learned different ways to survive pain.
Different ways to push people away before they could hurt us first.

I pray healing finds us both someday.

And despite everything, despite the wreckage caused, I still hope you find what you’re looking for. It wasn’t me, unfortunately. I know that. You made that abundantly clear.

I should have asked you more.

I thought you were broken in a way that mirrored me, but I was afraid of making you uncomfortable, afraid of pushing too hard, afraid you’d disappear if I looked too closely at you.

I always just wanted to understand you.
To make you feel safe.

But vulnerability seemed to terrify you, and honestly, I’m not good at speaking my emotions either. Obviously.

I knew what I wanted…a committed relationship, a real future with someone
to survive this crazy thing called life beside me. A best friend.
Something honest.
Something lasting.

But I’m still not sure
you ever truly knew what you wanted.

Maybe you only told me
what I wanted to hear.

“I’m your man for FWB.”
“Do I want a relationship or not, yes I do.”
“I don’t know that I’m marriage material.”

And yet you spoke about marriage with me often, like we were building a future together
inside a dream you never intended to sustain.

Was it real to you?

Or was it just a beautiful fantasy?

You were so contradictory with me,
and somehow I adored you anyway.

Not for what you gave me.
Not for fantasy.
Not for money.

Just for you.
Your strange uniqueness.
Your mind.
Your softness when you let it exist.
Just to be near you…even if only to be lazy together.

If I feel safe, secure, wanted, I stay forever.

I am loyal to my core.
I have never cheated.
I do not care about money.
I care whether someone loves me.

But I didn’t feel safe with you.

I was anxious all the time.
I never truly believed you were faithful to me.

Your “friends” I always felt were women
you had histories with, women who still had access to parts of you I was trying to trust.

And I was not comfortable with that.

It wasn’t only my trauma.
It was your behavior too.

The disappearing acts.
The lies.
Barely wanting to spend time with me.
The way you acted with your phone like I was standing too close to something hidden.

The body keeps score of that.

And yet…the Holidays were so beautiful.

I felt cared for.
Like maybe you really were starting to choose me.

Your heartfelt gift. The way you explained why you picked the color, I wanted to hold you after that.

The sentiment meant more to me than you probably realized.

And you did do many things right.
I should have told you that more.

But I was always afraid to show too much emotion to you. For my sake. And maybe for yours too.

Then you quietly picked up your life
and moved.

And something inside me shattered.

You stopped being transparent with me, and suddenly I realized I did not matter enough
to be included in the truth of your life.

I felt beneath consideration.
Beneath honesty.
Like I was easy to leave in the dark.

And I retaliated.

Then kept retaliating.

I drank to numb the betrayal I felt, to quiet the ache of feeling discarded, and somewhere inside all that grief…I became someone I no longer recognized. 

Self-fulfilling prophecies.

“I hate me, make them hate me too.” “I’m never chosen, just taken advantage of”.

So I burned everything down with my pain.

I am sorry for my vile texts.
I cannot take them back.
And I am profoundly ashamed of the version of myself that emerged while drowning.

But even through all of it, I do not hate you.

I think you are wounded too.

Maybe we simply learned different ways to survive pain.
Different ways to push people away before they could hurt us first.

I pray healing finds us both someday.

And despite everything, despite the wreckage caused, I still hope you find what you’re looking for. It wasn’t me, unfortunately. I know that. You made that abundantly clear.

I became someone I did not recognize through your confusion, chaos, lies, cheating and being pushed away.

And for that, I am sorry.

Not for caring deeply for you.

Not for wanting honesty, consistency, commitment, communication and transparency.

But for the sharpness my hurt turned into.

For the nights I let my anger and the alcohol speak.

For the words thrown like broken glass when all I really wanted was to understand why you chose to hurt me so.

You did wound me, betrayed me, took advantage of me…that is true.

But pain is not permission to become cruel and evil. That’s not who I want to be. 

And somewhere between feeling abandoned and longing, I lost myself a little. Let the alcohol take away my pain, feelings and emotions. 

So this apology is not me trying to rewrite anything. You cannot take back ugly words. They sometimes hurt worse than physical altercations. I want to forgive myself for my mistakes, actions and flaws. I continue to beat myself up. But hope one day we both become better, more healed than the versions that survived. 

I became someone I did not recognize through your confusion, chaos, lies, cheating and being pushed away.

And for that, I am sorry.

Not for caring deeply for you.

Not for wanting honesty, consistency, commitment, communication and transparency.

But for the sharpness my hurt turned into.

For the nights I let my anger and the alcohol speak.

For the words thrown like broken glass when all I really wanted was to understand why you chose to hurt me so.

You did wound me, betrayed me, took advantage of me…that is true.

But pain is not permission to become cruel and evil. That’s not who I want to be. 

And somewhere between feeling abandoned and longing, I lost myself a little. Let the alcohol take away my pain, feelings and emotions. 

So this apology is not me trying to rewrite anything. You cannot take back ugly words. They sometimes hurt worse than physical altercations. I want to forgive myself for my mistakes, actions and flaws. I continue to beat myself up. But hope one day we both become better, more healed than the versions that survived. 

The alcohol did not create the sadness, but I tried to use it to soothe myself.

It loosened the door I had spent months tightly holding shut.

And suddenly everything spilled out…the abandonment, the anger, the pain, how little I truly mattered. 

Realizing caring for someone who would not care for me back…in any way…let alone one that felt safe.

I drank because the silence hurt. The betrayal ached in me. 

But shame arrived the next morning like sunlight through dirty windows, showing me every ugly thing I said while drowning.

And God, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Not because I meant every cruel word. But because pain mixed with alcohol turned into a raging fire. Evil words were spewed. 

I became too loud where I should have been quiet.

Bitter where I was broken.

Destructive when what I needed was comfort.

The hardest part is trying to forgive yourself for the version of you that appeared.

You know they’ll never forgive you, why should they.

So now I sit with the ache…sober.

No numbing.

No chasing.

No distractions.

No pretending I am fine.

Just here.

I called it intuition because anxiety sounded like too much, too dramatic, too easy to dismiss.

But my body knew long before my heart and head did.

It knew in the waiting.

In the overthinking.

How you disappeared so much.

In the way peace only existed when everything was kinda "good."

Relationships should not feel like monitoring weather patterns inside another person.

I shrank myself trying to keep the connection calm.

Stayed soft while my nervous system screamed.

And the hardest part?

Nothing looked dangerous at first.

Just little things.

Your inconsistencies. 

Intensity disguised as passion.

Silence that felt punishing.

Attention that disappeared the second I needed reassurance.

So I learned to mistrust my own fears.

Called myself anxious.

Too sensitive.

Too much.

Until one day my body stopped whispering and finally said: You’re not safe here. This is familiar, you’ve been here before. You need to run away. Protect yourself. He is not safe. 

Not unsafe in the loud way though.

Unsafe in the quiet way…where you slowly abandon yourself to keep someone else comfortable.

And maybe that's what intuition is.

Not panic.

Not paranoia.

Gaslighting. 

Manipulation.

Lies. Omissions. Fabrications. 

Just the soul recognizing danger before the mind is ready to admit it. 

I called it intuition because anxiety sounded like too much, too dramatic, too easy to dismiss.

But my body knew long before my heart and head did.

It knew in the waiting.

In the overthinking.

How you disappeared so much.

In the way peace only existed when everything was kinda "good."

Relationships should not feel like monitoring weather patterns inside another person.

I shrank myself trying to keep the connection calm.

Stayed soft while my nervous system screamed.

And the hardest part?

Nothing looked dangerous at first.

Just little things.

Your inconsistencies. 

Intensity disguised as passion.

Silence that felt punishing.

Attention that disappeared the second I needed reassurance.

So I learned to mistrust my own fears.

Called myself anxious.

Too sensitive.

Too much.

Until one day my body stopped whispering and finally said: You’re not safe here. This is familiar, you’ve been here before. You need to run away. Protect yourself. He is not safe. 

Not unsafe in the loud way though.

Unsafe in the quiet way…where you slowly abandon yourself to keep someone else comfortable.

And maybe that's what intuition is.

Not panic.

Not paranoia.

Gaslighting. 

Manipulation.

Lies. Omissions. Fabrications. 

Just the soul recognizing danger before the mind is ready to admit it. 

 You held me like a protected treasure, while quietly teaching yourself how to let me go. Intensity is not stability…it cannot grow.

I mistook your attention for safety.

Your words for truth.

Your almost love for something I could build a home inside.

I cared for you beyond your charm, beyond the morning chemistry and emotional songs.

I saw the hurting parts of you that didn't want to stay.

But betrayal isn't always another person.

Sometimes it's realizing someone watched you while knowing they could never meet you there.

And still…I don't hate you.

I hate the ache of remembering who you were before reality arrived.

Because the cruelest part wasn't losing you.

It was discovering I was grieving someone who never existed.