I still remember the voices in my head when the razorblade, gripped in my hand, hovered over my left wrist. Useless. Trash. You can’t do anything right. Failure. Nobody likes you.
You were so ready, so enthused, and so full of the idea of us (either physically or romantically or both) but I just wasn’t any of the above. I don’t want to shift the blame to my introversion, emotional unavailability and perhaps general psychopathic tendencies, but that about sums it up I think.
She’s the love of my life, you say. I’ve never been happier or felt more complete than the times when we were together. But better is not what you deserve. Someone who appreciates you and the infinite adoration that outpours from your big heart—this is what you deserve.