I wish I could tell her that I love her, but I can't. Not after what I did. How could I say that I love her more than anything in the world? How could I tell her that when I tried to fucking cheat on her? I don't deserve to think even for a second that she should be mine.
Why do I always have to cause trouble? I've never so much as considered cheating on anyone before, but then when I think I've finally found something worthwhile, I turn into a no-good dirty whore. I'd found my special someone, and now here I go trying to drive her away.
And that's why I don't deserve her. And I feel guilty and horrible and awful, and she's being so damn understanding that it only makes it even more apparent how little I've done to deserve anything she's given me.
So what if I made her happy? That was temporary. She's trying to play it off, but I hurt her. I. Hurt. Her. That's almost enough to make me want to die as it is. Add in the fact that I'd done this by means of doing something I'd already told her I wouldn't do, and I don't see how she could ever forgive me. I sure as hell wouldn't forgive me. I don't.
So maybe some people would say I'm overreacting. But I'm not. I don't take things like this lightly. I don't see how she is. Isn't the person being cheated on supposed to feel worse? I don't see how she could. I don't know how I'll ever feel whole again. I feel disgusting, and technically speaking, I didn't really do anything. But I did enough damage.
So, Jess, when you read this. If you can bring yourself to read this. I love you. I love you so fucking much. But I can't tell you that directly-- not anymore. It only sounds like a lie. It isn't. I mean it. And if I could turn back time, I'd deal with the anxiety and the nerves and the starvation because I feel less alive now than I did then. I repulse myself; I wouldn't be surprised if I repulsed you, too. You have every right to end things now. But if you're going to do it, please fucking do it, right now, this very moment. I can't bear the thought of you allowing this to fester if it's eating you as much as it's eating me. You tell me it's okay and that you forgive me, but if it turns out that it's not... I'll die. And I'd hope that you don't hate me quite that much. So I don't know how to end this post, but I think I've said everything. Hopefully your thoughts make more sense than mine do.
