Nobody knows this but me. And even after I tell you, there will still be some who do not know.
I hesitated.
In the fatal moment when my wife slipped in the road before that oncoming truck ran her over, I hesitated. Had I not, she'd be alive. But I hesitated.
It was an instant of revelation. A chance to be free. In the heat of the moment, my true passions gave way. I was hating the relationship and wanted out without saying so. I'd been forcing it down my throat. A voice yelled, "Stop!"
It's on a perpetual loop in my mind. It was a deliberate act on my part. The consolations that surrounded me afterward left me acting a part. That is hell. I will be in that hell rest of my days.
Worst thing that can happen to a liar is success. I'm doomed and trapped in a forgotten hole, no amount of attention is enough. I cry for help in my everyday conversation but no one notices. Please, get me out. Guilt and fear are melting my mind.
So I write this to no one in sheer desperation. Too afraid to say it in real life. That I was so lonely I'd take a bad relationship over no relationship. A loser who needed to appear a winner. Why did that damn moment have to come along! Did I wish it into happening? Jesus, I can't get that thought out of my head.
At night, broken fragments of my acted day come back to haunt me. Don't forget to lie! Don't slip up and let loose you're not sorry she's gone! One perceptive soul "joked" about me being glad I couldn't have done more because then I'd still be stuck with my wife. I could swear there was a menacing twinkle in her eye that put the fear of God into me. It was the last exciting flicker of hope I have known.
It is true, after all. Everything comes out in the wash and we're each destined to come clean. But coming clean exposes me as dirty. I'm isolated, drowning at the bottom of the ocean with the cement weight of this secret hanging around my neck. Maybe that's why the mafia kills people that way, their secrets are killing them and they express that when they kill. Losers all, we liars.
I'm sure there's more I haven't faced. Bottom line is it was a dishonest relationship. I let that fester until it finally boiled over in The Moment. Dear God, what I've done cannot be undone. Looking back, I see anger had taken over my heart. Angry at the dishonesty, angry at the thought my only out was to go back to my life of anguished and tortured loneliness. I was just going to ride out the BS until I died, I figured. I figured wrong.
Like the President, I now love those who hate me. I seek out those who cheer my demise. No, they don't know specifically about The Moment, but they do applaud my insecurity and increasing pettiness. Some are kindred killers, seething in their cages. Others are like I was before The Moment: living a lie they vainly hope will have no consequence. We all share a common hell of Quixotic fights against imagined enemies whom we've deemed superior by virtue of not being us.
"No one else could have been as stupid and pathetic as I've been."
I guess they have their specific reasons too for staying in the dark, refusing the gift of light, forsaking any future. It's unbearable when I see winners live intelligent and free in the light. The murderous impulse lives in me still, having happened once I cannot escape it here in the dark. We are the world. We are the trolls. We don't see how our love can ever be good enough.
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