I’m Sorry For Stealing Your Boyfriend

I’m torn between the happiness I feel at the start of my something with him, and the guilt I feel for what we’ve done to you. I’m so much more than sorry, but also not sorry at all.

Maybe “stole” isn’t the right word. I truly didn’t know anything, and I want you to know that. I would never have done this if I had known he was yours. How could I have known? It wasn’t clear when he messaged me online, nor when we met for drinks. It especially wasn’t clear during our hazy first kiss with the football game in the background. I had no idea.

When I did figure it out, all I could think of was you. About how awful this was going to feel for you. I was ready to call it off, I was willing to not tell you and let you both continue living the life that made you happy. Then I got selfish. He didn’t want to call things off, and I knew that deep down I didn’t either. I like the way I feel when I am with him, and I wasn’t ready to give that up.

He had his excuses. You two weren’t “exclusive.” You were “crazy.” I told him I didn’t want to hear about it. If we were going to continue hurting you, I didn’t want to know that we were doing it. I preferred living in blissful ignorance of the pain we were causing.

He ended things with you. He told you about me. You cyber-stalked me, and I don’t blame you. I’m sure you hate me. I don’t blame you.

I know that on some level, it wasn’t my fault. Maybe I don’t have to feel this guilty. But I’m still here, and that is my fault. There is nothing that I can say to you that excuses it.

He asks me how I can possibly trust him, how I can be with him when I know so much about what he’s done to you. I don’t know the answer to that.

I know that I’ve never been this girl. I’m always the strong one. If I knew anyone in this position, I’d be urging them to end things and insisting that there is no world in which this ends well. I can hear myself muting the voice inside that implores me to stop this now. Maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am.

I know that this doesn’t make anything better. In fact, I hope you never read this. This is for me to organize my feelings, and maybe to help that little voice be heard.

I know you’ll keep stalking me, keep judging my silly tweets and pictures with all of your friends, keep calling him. I know that we deserve that.

Maybe he’ll do the same thing to me. Maybe he’ll eventually realize that what’s new and fun now eventually becomes routine, and maybe he’ll run back to you. I don’t know. All I know is right now, I’m sorry. And I’m recklessly happy.