And he hated himself and hated her, too, for the ruin they'd made of each other.

My beautiful library contains some of the most inspiring texts ever written. Poetry books from 1910, novels on life and loss, adventure comics, compelling biographies, and stacks of research books. But, one book has sat there, and it has stared at me for a week. 

The Given Day, by Dennis Lehane.

I couldn't really work out why, until I opened the book. 

I have this habit, which is actually pretty fantastic, where I write down quotes from books I have read. I write them down, and I leave them in the first page of the book; they remind me of why I read it, what inspired me, and what has stuck with me.

And there it was, the quote.

"And he hated himself and hated her, too, for the ruin they'd made of each other".

Now, I don't know who actually reads this blog. I'm hoping that there is someone who is reading this right now, and that you actually get what this means. Because, you dear reader, now see my heart.

I've always had this terrible problem. I get myself into situations I can't escape from, situations so dimly lit that I can't find the exit. And, so as we all do, I ask for help. This time, this choice, was harder than I ever thought possible. And, I sit writing this, because it is the only way I can see that what I did was for the best.

Because my heart, oh dear reader, my heart is broken. And, I know, hearts mend. We mend our hearts with a mixture of alcohol, music, flimsy cellotape, and promises that it will be okay. We lie to fix the pain. But, this time, I don't know if I can fix it. Because I did something terrible, but I did it for the right reasons. And no, I did not make this decision by myself. It seems like I did, and sometimes I wish I did, but the options were so limited and so was the time. And, to be honest, I think this is karma. I honestly believe that from all the terrible things that I had done once, this was my punishment. And, I deserve this pain. Because, the love I have burning so tragically, is never to be shared.

When you are a dream, an idea, a perfect thought... how do you change that? When someone loves you for everything you are, they see you as perfection and what they wanted, how do you change that? You become something you are not. 

I have been asked recently "Who are you?". Who am I deep inside? Is there a real me, or is it just a persona for each person? I am reminded of the film Runaway Bride, she didn't actually know how she liked her eggs because she changed to suit. And that is me, dear reader, I change to suit.

Until you.

And you saw me, you saw the real me deep down. Oh, that scared me. You saw the love, the light, the passion, the fire; you shared this with me, and loved every moment in fleeting seconds of eternity. And, then a choice was made, and the only option left was terrifying. And, I couldn't sit in the painful awkwardness. I couldn't have the "what ifs", and the painful constant reminder of loss.

I'd rather you hated me; I'd rather all the love and wonder you saw in my eyes was replaced with repulsion and hatred. I took the pureness we had, and I added drops of black ink, I blurred everything. And, that was the hardest part. I changed to suit, but this time for the negative.

I sat, and I read the message. And, I worked out what I had to do. I asked for advise, and I was given a list of things I needed to do. Yes, it killed everything inside of me; the lyrics "hate me, so you can finally see whats good for you" keep repeating over and over again.

I took everything you disliked, everything that we both despised in others... and I forced myself to act and play a part. Did you ever see my face while I did this? No. What you saw was text, and you heard my voice. Why? Because it was rehearsed; it was rehearsed in a moment, so I could keep it together. No, that was not me. That was everything you hated, that I took on and amplified as many times as I could, and threw it at you in the space of days. I wanted the perfect vision you had to be tainted by something else, so I wouldn't have to see that fire in your eyes ever again. And, so you had a reason to hate me, and so you could walk away and believe you had never lost out, and to live the beautiful life you deserved.

Because, I would rather you hate me for a reason, even if the reason was a fictional representation of the worst of women, than still look at me with perfection. I'd rather you never feel like you missed out, I'd rather you were able to walk away thanking your lucky stars that your perception was false. And, I will sit here, sick to my stomach, drowning in shattered memories.

But, please, live your life with every brightness and every sparkle that you are. 

And, I'm sorry.