November 18, 2017
Jeff,
I keep figuring all this stuff out. I am almost, almost to the point where I’m just going to write it in the book instead of sending it to you in an email. Because that would be much more practical. But I still want a live person on the other side. But I’m getting close. So you can relax a bit. But you won’t be able to. I’m a threat. I know.
So ya, I figured out I scare the shit out of you. No matter how many times I reassure you, you’re never going to be able to trust I won’t hurt your family because the stakes are just too high. And I can only imagine the amount of time you spend kicking yourself for making a pass at me, because it’s caused you far far more anxiety than it ever benefited you. Although you cannot deny there has been some benefit… Not talking about the sex…
I figured out you’ve been stringing me along, but then again, I wanted to be strung. But you took the path of least resistance because you didn’t know what to do, actually, with the problem that is Me. So you just went along with things. And when I really really pressed you, you told me the stuff I wanted to hear. Kind of.
Again, I can’t hold you fully accountable. I took the bait. I begged for it, you dropped it, I bit into it like a pit bull and wouldn’t let go. I wanted to believe the half-truths you threw my way. All those places where I read between the lines, assumed I heard the truth of what was not said rather than what was said… Well I read wrong and I heard wrong. Deliberately, but still.
Do you notice how every single time I have a criticism for you I make sure to mitigate it by saying it was partly my fault? I’m always trying to make you feel better. Too much grace, I’m coming to understand. I’m giving you too much grace. I’m responsible for my part in all this, as you are for yours. But maybe it isn’t grace for you at all. I see now I try to make you feel better so I feel better about me and my part in this tragedy. So bottom line, I’m always acting in my own best self-interest. And so are you. Survival. Survive.
You must be in therapy, you’re getting really logical and wise. That’s good. I hope to God you did not tell you wife about the affair. I hope to God you did not. That makes me real, if you did. That makes my part in this destructive endeavor REAL. All the more reason for me to loathe myself. Your sin shall find you out.
I guess you have to look at the ugliest of the ugliness of who you are before you can begin to clean it up. I’ve been avoiding that every way I know how. Continually tamping down on the truth has exhausted me. Avoidance has turned to depression, which has rendered me impotent. I’ve become largely ineffective in my own life.
I have nearly let the shame of this affair destroy me. I see it only just now, just today. For so long, all along, I’ve told myself I was much too modern and evolved to feel the guilt. I didn’t acknowledge the guilt. That’s why it has taken over. It has spread unchecked for a year. It has poisoned every part of me, my mind.
The ugliest of the ugliness of who I am is who I am with you.
Coco
Photo by Marloes Hilckmann on Unsplash