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Summer Breeze Summer Breeze
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This is more a personal letter than an essay. I needed to write it for my own sanity. I hope you understand.

Who am I now? Who are you? I don’t think I know either of us anymore. I am struggling to be free and you are struggling to ....what? Keep me? No, you haven’t done that since you realized I was serious about leaving. Destroy me? Yes, I think so, a little bit. Definitely bring me down, take my control of the situation and of the money away. Well, you’ve succeeded in that. Bravo. I hope you are proud of what you have accomplished. That it finally made you feel like a man.

I don’t like how I acted today. I hear myself telling someone about you and I feel ashamed. The truth is blurring under my emotions. Yes, you have acted badly, but I join you when I... Well, it is difficult to express years’ worth of frustration in a few minutes while still injecting love. Yes, there was love. I was happy for a time. That part just gets lost in the telling. It shouldn’t but it does. You are not all bad, though. Neither am I.
I am trying. I tried to be nice about it all. I tried to be kind. I thought you would too but you shocked me into a new reality. I don’t like this new man I’ve met. Ironically, other than the shame I just mentioned, I am liking myself more. I don’t think she is a new person, I think she is the same one beginning to own who she really is. I am learning to forgive myself–finally!–after all these years.

I hear you coughing and I feel bad that you are sick. Part of me doesn’t care–you have brought that out in me with your actions–but the rest of me is deeply concerned that you are so ill and may need to go to hospital. I guess that is the wife and mother in me still trying to nurture....
But all my overtures, any little bit of concern I have shown you have been coldly rejected, and so I keep silent now. I retreat into it like I always have when you talk to me that way, when my advice has no value. The number of times you have made me feel like that have been many. The number of times you have done it in front of our child is appalling. And you wonder why I am leaving.

Argh! The sight of your clothing still brings me to tears. I hate that. I am crying just writing it. They carry the scent of you, the memory of all the times you wore them in their folds, and it hurts. Sometimes I stroke the sleeves of your jackets and feel so very sad. We were best friends. Best friends. I turned to you for everything. I counted on you to always love me when no one else would. You did for the most part, but other didn’t. I can’t count the number of times I turned to your side of the bed and found it empty. I will also forever carry the image of your back in my head.

I am tired. So tired. I have struggled, worked, kept up everything for so long. I did it all by myself. You helped with a few things, to be fair, but the doctor’s appointments, the groceries, the garden, the gifts and cards and cooking and cleaning and repairs and pool and animals and phone-calls and garbage and grass and shoveling and finances and it became too much for me. I threw my back out badly but still did the laundry. I had surgery and was supposed to rest for a week but had to get up after three days because you needed help. I put myself last with food, and time, with no time off, and– Well you get the point. I am sure you would argue it, too. You are incredibly stubborn for such a soft-spoken man.

Do you know what it feels like to live in the basement when I hate basements? To know that I am underground while you enjoy the light that is so much a part of me? Honestly, it is not even your enjoyment–that is neither here nor there–but that I NEED it and I am stuck down here until I have somewhere to go. I just want to go. I NEED to go. I know now, that it will still hurt me no matter what you or I do. You think I am unfeeling but I am anything but. If anything I feel too much.

Let me go. Please, let me go. I don’t want to do this anymore.

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