The man I love, the man I believe is my soulmate and who not so long ago loved me the same way, now loathes me. And I don't know why. I don't know what I did. I know I did some things, little things in the grand scheme of love and life, caused by stress and exhaustion and fear and feeling helpless and worried. Not things that cause someone who loves you to shut you out suddenly and completely, as though you're a leper. And I know you loved me, there's no doubt in my mind or my heart about that.
And so here's what else I know.
I'm not the person I thought I was. I'm more awful, unkind, hurtful, harsh and undeserving of love, consideration or even courtesy than I could have imagined. I'm really just not a nice person. This must be true for me to have done whatever I did to hurt and upset you so much and for me to just not have a clue about it.
What kind of person am I to have done something so awful to you but not even be able to figure out what it was?
My torment is about this, this awful gut-wrenching feeling of shame and guilt and regret and sorrow for whatever it is I did to you. I would hate myself for ever doing something like that to someone. I hate myself more because I did it to you, the love of my life. I would throw myself at your feet and beg your forgiveness if I could. In so many ways I have already. And you have not a hint of kindness to offer.
I can't live with myself.
I can't live without you.