Whoa. Over one year later, and realization hits me like a hammer, coming to terms with a truth which I already knew. Why today, why now? Why not the thousand other times I have agonized over every detail, attempting to piece together an explanation?
Your fragile overinflated ego and my very existence were at odds with each other, and when the choice came between keeping one or the other, you chose to preserve your ego instead of challenging some very difficult personal truths. And you checked my blog obsessively afterwards because your insecurity couldn't let you go without seeing what I might be saying about you; because your thin guise of ego must be constantly fed to keep it inflated. That's the difference between real strength and faking it: when something happens which poses a threat to your idea of self, it's seen as a threat which must be neutralized. True strength allows for the possibility of redefining self, because self is hardened, can weather the storms, even paradigm shifts, and still come out intact. You even cried out to me for help, literally, crying on your bedroom floor, saying you wished you had the core strength which the deep, honest places within you are willing to accept that you lack.
Of course, by then you had already made your choice. You made your choice a month before, sobbing in our hotel room, swearing that you'd make up for the things you'd done to me without meaning a word of it. Simply echoing the spoken words of strength which perhaps, at one time, were truly delivered by good men for just, honest reasons, and since repeated by lesser men without any true understanding of their significance, watered down and sodden, until they reached your impressionable ears, and you, eager to project an image of confidence with no true concept of it, eager to appear strong with no intention of following through, you greedily devour these processed, sugar-sweet remnants of greatness, now mere hollow meaningless shells, and you engorge yourself, then promptly vomit them back up indiscriminately to everyone you meet. On first glance you appear to be a fountain of excellence, but once my eyes adjusted in the low bar light and haze of cigarette smoke, it's quite clear that you're just spewing bullshit.
This chapter of my life is over. No, I'm not healed. But I can finally move on and accept the truth. Did it have to take over a year? Probably. I wish it hadn't. I tried to fix myself instead of accepting that someone I cared about would actually do something so horrible to me. The real lesson is learning better how to choose the people to care about.