If you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels

So. Is this the best part or the worst: I loved him and I love him still.

I love him for what he was and for what he could have been. I love the part of him that his mother loved. I loved his wasted potential. I love him for the life we both might have had if his weakness had been just a little less. I love the part of him that makes me hate the way he cannot ask for forgiveness. My hatred of what he's chosen to become will never change that.

IN SUMMARY:

I've had moments during the past 18 months wherein I was Getting It, so while this feels particularly profound, I acknowledge that in all likelihood it's just another stepping stone along the way. However, after talking with KJ this morning (and probably also because I am finally no longer in the nightmarish depths of SSRI withdrawal), I can see now that even though I wasted 14 years of my life on him and even though he was the one who finally ended the marriage, I dodged a bullet here.

Because I loved him so very very much, I didn't want to believe that deep down he could be this despicable -- even after he did what he did, it hurt me terribly every time I tried to admit that he could be capable of such terrible things. My conundrum was that I felt that the simple truth of his actions would be and should be so terribly shameful to a decent person -- to be accused of such lack of character, such coldness of heart, such narcissim, such a massive failure of integrity -- it's embarrassing and pathetic and shameful on a level that is still hard for me to comprehend, and I was embarrassed for him. Don't get me wrong, I see the contradiction now: That a person who is capable of the things [He] has done (and continues to do) is not capable of feeling shame, so any empathy is completely wasted. Poured into the void inside of him, along with all of the years of love and tenderness and devotion and caring. Wasted.

And yet.

I loved him and I love him and I'm trying to forgive myself for that, because there was a time when he was worthy of it, and I do not ever want to be sorry for something as terrible as love. It's hard sometimes.

Can money pay for all the days

I lived awake but half asleep?