And it feels like I walked right into that knife when I could just be walking away.
A death of a thousand paper cuts?
Another tonight, in his blog Writer comments that the past ten days or so of vacation, devoted solely to reading and writing were “Best. Days. Ever.”
So much for the “best days ever” that he and I shared together. I feel like those three words negated the over three years we were together.
Don’t get me wrong, I am very proud of him for being able to focus and stick with his writing project this year.
I also feel a bit sorry for his wife having him there 24/7 during this time. I know his washer still hasn’t been fixed. I had been letting his feminine child use mine a block away in the house that was to be ours… When I thought it might be a week or so until fixed. Didn’t happen. I finally told the adult child she needed to find an alternate washer, only to hear Writer had told her to tell the mother to call to get it fixed. Being a peacemaker, I mentioned it would make sense as her work schedule would offer more chances to be there during service hours. Except, as she noted, her dad has been home every day.
It doesn’t surprise me. Three years ago I loaned him my spare mower until he got his fixed thinking it would be a priority.. Still hadn’t been fixed when I asked for it back for the new house this summer. Reminds me of the tale of “why fix the roof when it isn’t leaking?”
So I keep that in mind, slowly starting to believe in my heart as well as my head, that I will never be the priority in healing. Wishing Writer could devote even 1% of the effort he is giving to nanowrimo to making amends to me, my son’s gf, and others he has hurt.
I miss what I had with Writer, even if it wasn’t real. It was real to me, and I mourn the loss; death by a thousand paper cuts, and I walk right into each one.