I’ve dealt with the pain of seeing someone I love reduce himself to a temporary vegetable state on a regular basis. I’ve dealt with the guilty fear of worrying that I am simply an enabler. And I’ve dealt with the insult of playing 2nd fiddle to a few ounces of liquid blonde bombshell, so to speak. But being publicly treated like I’m some evil bitch for daring to ask him to slow down for a little while, when he’s already cross-eyed and incoherent… Well, I guess enough is enough. Enough shame and pain and coldness. Enough waiting for a guy who listens to the song “try a little tenderness” repeatedly to ever get the freakin point of the song. Enough listening to a super-intelligent man buy into his own ridiculous rationalizations.
So, the line is drawn. It had to be.
But what is on the other side?
And, did I draw this line in stone, or is it overcooked angel-hair pasta again?
I followed my heart, and it led me to a dead end on a one-way road.