“It’s me, hi; I’m the problem, it’s me; At teatime, everybody agrees”

Curiosity. That’s what he said. He had long ago accepted his issues and succumbed to defeat.

Despite begging, pleading, and continuous questions, I eventually did, too. After all, couples have issues, right? We learn to live with them, frame our joint lives around them, and accept them. My insecurities, which once were so powerful, I couldn’t get through the day without bawling, dissipated. I worked on myself. I hired a nutritionist and trainer, adopted a meal plan, and worked out regularly. I changed my attitude, eager to prove I was bettering myself. I was already fantastic, now the outside had to match the inside. Changes occurred. My pants were looser, my neck tighter, and my optimism brighter.

Yet, the issue still hung over our heads. Sometimes I asked about it. Sometimes I attempted a playful seduction. Most times the response was demotivating. I even decided I’d withhold the emotion from him, but he didn’t notice.

As my waistline slimmed, our relationship seemingly improved. Though now I doubt it had anything to do with my changing self, but a greater appreciation for “us” on both of our parts. Sure, we had faced horrendous challenges and had a “Come to Jesus” meeting or two, but “we” finally felt right. We were cohesive.

But we weren’t. Aren’t. Maybe never were.

I discovered he made a decision that figuratively ripped me in two. I slept in the other room thinking it was an opportunity to let the shock pass. It didn’t. It evolved into pain, a blistering ache-and-cry-when-alone ugly sob. In one action, he took away my best friend, my comfort. I can’t hug him, hold him, or kiss him. It’s not my place and I am not his person.

I don’t know who I am. Or what I am. I’m just pretty sure I’m not his.

I don’t know what to do now.