I never meant it come to this. You must know that. You alone know, better than anyone, how much I have given to this relationship; how much I have given up just to stay with you. Butter. Cheese. Even coffee. To be honest, I very nearly said, “Goodbye, forever,” at coffee, but you got lucky. I just wasn’t ready to call it quits. Ten years ago I gave up my steaming mug o’ Joe in the morning so that I could hang on to you just a little while longer. No one could have tried harder than I did.
I think you know what I’m trying to say. It may sound trite, but I just can’t go on like this anymore. It’s not you. It’s me. Or it’s us. We’re just no good together. I’ve reached a point in my life where I no longer think that pain is character building. A point where I no longer feel that your specific brand of pain is some kind of barometer for my overall health. I see you now for what you are. Flawed, and more than a little dysfunctional. You have ruined so many holidays, caused me such embarrassment and pain over the years, I can’t even say I’m sorry to see you go.
Tuesday morning I’m checking into the hospital, and you will not be coming home with me when I leave. I know it seems drastic, but it’s for the best, believe me. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’m ready. I prefer the short sharp shock of separation, instead of the long, drawn-out dance we’ve been doing since I was twenty. I think I’m done. I think it’s time. Most of all I think, come tomorrow morning, under the cold light of the surgeon’s scalpel, that you will think so too.