A Response, Sorta

I finally got around to reading the blog, and I saw your post today.

I guess I have some thinking to do, and more importantly, I have some doing to do.

I love you. No doubt. And I don't keep a tally of how much I do and how much you do.

But, there's something else here. It's the future. It's serious time.

I'm married, you're not now, and I have no right to make claims on you, and likewise for you. I don't know if any of this is fair to anyone. I don't know why I let myself even entertain the future. Oh, I know, we feel good and "right" in our fairy tale. But, I can't be what you need, and I can't be what you want, and vice versa. Does that mean we're done? Do fairytales have to end?

Housekeeping

Thank you for the care you've been giving me over the last, oh, God, I don't even know. It's been years. YEARS. YEARS you have been supporting my crazy and telling me I'm strong and beautiful and I am worth more than I'm getting. You've been a source of positive reinforcement that has felt very clearly like it wasn't grounded in bullshit. I have appreciated that -- even though it's complicated and inconvenient -- it sure exists. But I've taken away way more than you have from this interaction. In showing you my weaknesses, I get strength. In showing you my detachment, I get love. I can't offer you what you deserve. I can't fundamentally improve your life or carry some of your weight. I want to do these things. I want to offer to drive you to funerals. To have meals with you. To help with the things that come up in your life -- like a friend. But, I can't. You have a wife who won't step-up to helpmate and a mistress who is more supportive, but hamstringed by social construct. This is no-win for you. I don't want to live quietly. I want to be fulfilled. I want to be honest all the time. I want this for you, too. God, I read that and it sounds like an ultimatum. I can't even get my thoughts together in not-text. This has been hard. For quite a while. I am still fucked-up. Thank you for continuing to be part of my community, even when it's not easy. Even when you get nothing but dissatisfaction with your own life in return. I feel dead and disarmed, but freedom is painful. Know I'm here -- or not here -- as needed while you do your own transitional stuff.