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If You Are Joyful, then I Am Content.
I am lucky.
It continues to amaze me that someone so insignificant and flawed as me could end up with someone so wonderful.
But I am damaged.
I long ago gave up on the hope that someone would be able to fix me. Even you don't know the casualties my heart has taken.
And I am weak.
I wish I could pull myself up and move past it, but I can't. I thrive on the self-pity I give myself.
You deserve better, much better than someone like me. A partner that can push you up, rather than pull you down.
The end is inevitable. I want you to leave, so you will be happy, but I am selfish and keep you to myself.
But I want you to be happy.
So I won't mention to you about the way he comes home, drunken and angry and screaming, leaving us to cower in our bedrooms.
I won't tell you about the times I've fallen asleep crying because I believe no one would miss me.
I won't let you know that there is a bottle of pills that sits in my pillowcase, in case one night I can't take it anymore.
The worthless feeling inside of me, I can deal with. But the day you are unhappy because of me? That is the day that the bottle becomes empty.
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