A Sickened, Depressive Guilt Resulting From My Lies

To,

My Angel and my light, my wife.

I can't believe I got to marry someone like you. You came into my life in the midst of an emotional cataclysm. You became a large part of a horrific life.

You saw past my broken upbringing and family issues. You never looked at me for money, or my academic achievements. You looked past my dissociative episodes, and my need to isolate myself. You saw through my false confidence like glass, and you confronted me in our first week. You saw past my constant need to destroy myself.

You married me young, and you told me that I was your role model. You stayed loyal, and you glued yourself to me. You waited for me when I needed time. You gave up your social life because you loved spending time with me. We laughed, and we cried. You remained by my side, ready to come to my locked room to knock on my door. You'd always ask if I was alright, you asked me if I'd like some food, you'd tell me not to overwork myself, you told me that the money wasn't worth it if it was hurting myself.

I hurt me. Not the money, or the hours I put in. I lied to you. I still lie to you. You fell in love with me, and you told me it was because I had a golden soul. I wanted to believe you were right, and yet, I always knew you were wrong. You overestimated my soul.

Even though you're next to me now, fast asleep, with that gorgeous smile I came to rely on for joy, there's so much distance between us, that I caused for no reason at all.

I assumed that everyone was out to backstab me. I played off of my friends and my opponents alike. You know this. I was raised in a house where I was beaten senseless, burned and cut, and forced to pick up and place my own vomit in the toilets. My family must have hated me, and yet, you made it feel like no problem at all. I spent my youth falling madly in love with you.

Yet I assumed, and I still assume despite all you have given me, that you would betray me. I don't believe you ever did.

This assumption, programmed into my head, was what awarded me my success. It defined me as a ruthless calculator. A mathematician, a current scientist, and a relentless competitive brawler. I believed that I was defined by my success, and that I was the amalgamate of my achievements, and all of the money I made.

This assumption was what had me sleeping with several lecturers just before our wedding. I basked in the glory of my success. I smoke, drank, drugged, and I was promiscuous. This assumption created a void in my heart, and if I could trade every last success I have ever had to fix it all, I would. I would just for you, the woman that deserves all the love in this world.

Even upon understanding what I had done, I could not change what I was; I could not lie to myself about it. I carried on, even as the guilt weighed my soul down.

I am your cancer; your ever-loving parasite.

Perhaps you'll never know, and yet, I proceed to kill myself little by little. Alcohol, rash decisions coated in sugar, anything I can use to self-flagellate for my sins against you.

I will continue to give you my all, and yet, I fear that my all will never be enough. Even though you appear happy, my all had never been enough since I treated you like nothing.

We are still young, and we will be for a while. Even then, I could never go on knowing what I have put you through.

I married you knowing I was scum. I married you because you gave me your heart and soul. I could never reciprocate the way I wish I could. You made an otherwise apathetic misanthropist hurt over you.

I could never commit suicide, but since this guilt, it feels as though I am walking within death-row for what I have done behind your back.

True to my obvious cowardice, you will never know.

But damn, I wish I had the guts to tell you.

I love you, now, and forever.

Though I know it will never seem that way. Not to me.