The other day I put a post on Facebook that read as follows:
The heart beats so violent and somehow, unbelievably, I can't find the words. They're just gone, as though the water had never been colder.
It should come as no surprise that I was asked what that meant. It means that as I'm contemplating all that has happened, all that could happen, and what I may or may not do in that very moment, my heart felt as though it were going to beat out of my chest. It was extraordinary; I've so very rarely felt anything like it in my life. During the course of such palpitations, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. There is so much that I know - and so little - that she hasn't come to realize in regards to what she's doing. The reference to the water being cold is simply an analogy; when a person jumps into water that is so unexpectedly cold they seem to lose everything for a moment, the body and the mind shocked by the dramatic shift in what it's thus far been used to.
That's what is happening here: a dramatic shift in what I'm used to. I'm used to love, respect, and a certain degree of trust. After everything that has happened, trust was always a vulnerable facet of the relationship, and now, with all that is currently going on, it's a commodity that is becoming scarce.
I'm feeling lost. There no longer seems to be any respect, and the value of trust is being lost. I still love her, truly, but I'm watching this from the outside, like I would with anything of importance, and seeing it fail. I want this to be different. The failure rate to this point has been one hundred percent. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't, but after nearly 29 years, that amounts to an awful lot of failure.