Martyrdom...

For the past three years I have been wallowing in self pity. I have played the victim...martyrdom has been my home. Only today have I come to realize that I, alone am to blame. Yes, he did fuck me over. He did me wrong, but I ran him off. My actions sealed my fate. I am a hypocrite. I do not practice what I preach. I spend my life professing that I refuse to hold back. That I give my all, but I didn't. I was unable to do just that. I knew better. I knew that had I given my all I would have been lost forever. Despite my weary heart weeping openly for the loss of the love of my life. It has been my refusal to take responsibility for this turn of events that has me so fucked up that I now realize I don't miss him. I miss the niceties that came along with him. A self proclaimed Southern gentleman. Yes, a facade...old money, but a tragic creature that despite the time that has passed since there was an "Us"...I yearn for him in ways you couldn't imagine. I have to admit that I am jealous of the person who lives a life that was once mine. A life that I shared with a man I claimed to love so passionately that I tried to take my own life, because the thought of spending the rest of my life without him was not an option.