A man from Goodwill (yes, the thrift shop)

Letter from a tired and saddened woman.

Apology of a mom to their kids. Yes, they have a Goodwill dad.

Sorry, dear sons. Forgive me, beloved daughters.

I feel the need to start with an apology to you. It is my fault as well. It is my fault because, sadly, I chose that man. There are no words to express the sadness I feel inside trying to re-live the events of that now distant life together.

I didn't know he was so damaged. I couldn't recognize he was so broken until it was too late. How can a person be so broken and yet have the ability to fake it so well? I'm very sorry. He's is a second-hand person. I discovered this truth a little too late.

He's stuck in a childhood that's either too dear or too frustrating to him. What is the longing and desire he has for being an eternal kid? I cannot explain that mystery to you.

He's obsessed with his mom despite her treats him like crap. He's not willing to establish boundaries if his mamma is on the other side. His inability to step in front of her and defend what he wants is exhausting. A life with him is a freaking competition of which woman is better for him... she or you.

He's obsessed with women. The admiration of one woman -his wife- was never enough for him. He needed to be praised by other girls for being the man he said he was. But his words were kinder for the rest of the world rather than to his own. He was sweeter and seemingly perfect from the outside, and the person he likes to portrait is that of a knight in shiny armor. Sadly, when explored and discovered, he's merely a jester. The kindness he salutes the world with, it's just fake. His lack of empathy and common sense is just evidence of it, but he'll never admit it.

He's obsessed with his ex. And probably with all of them. He measures all women by the standard that she once set. She did bad to him -according to his words- and from that moment on, no woman will ever deserve better. Probably, she's the One That Got Away. The love of his life.

He's a broken soul. But he never wanted to be mended. He wanted to be seen broken. He needed that feeling that his incompleteness gave him. He urged the sadness inside him. This poor man silently implored to be protected. He desperately needed to be sheltered from the dangers of reality. The child still living inside of him was desperate for attention, for care. He wanted to be cherished so bad by the rest of the world, he couldn't recognize how madly he was loved. He needed to feel godified with so much strength, he couldn't see how much he was desired.

He knew he had done a lot of things wrong, and still, he tried to justify it all. That whole self-victimization was just his way of punishing himself for what he feared the most. He was so scared he had left other kids abandoned in the world. Fatherless. Without a last name. Without recognizing them. The torment that this uncertainty caused him made him suffer nightmares. Instead of punishing himself, he penalized those around him with his lack of common sense and constant carelessness.

Deep inside, he knew he didn't deserve us. A chance he took without being fully honest. He knew his lies needed to be kept hidden but it was too much to bear, so little by little, with the passing time, he felt more comfortable and began spilling his bad deeds. One at a time. Like a stab. And another stab when the last wound barely began to heal.

For some reason, he kept our wound open and bleeding. As if it was enjoyable for him, that he was breaking us as well.

It was too much for me to handle. I couldn't resist living under the shadow of the other women in his life. Those from his past. Those from his present. It was a load too heavy to carry. A pedestal too strange to climb to. I couldn't continue living a life he felt entitled to have without doing his part.

He wasn't proud of my strong will. He needed me to be broken as well. If I was broken -more broken than what he was- I was manageable. If I was destroyed like him, I was nothing. Broken, I didn't have reasons to question him. Broken, I would make him feel better. Two broken souls were better than one. At least that's how he saw it.

He didn't respect strong opinions, but his own. For him, a tenacious woman who defended her stands was nothing but an opinationed being who needed to learn to speak only if he agreed.

This man was so used to walk the world doing what he wanted, he couldn't accept something different from him. He was careless in his dressing habits. His support was not much beyond words.

Help didn't matter to him. He was fine the way he was and the rest of the world needed to be fixed. But not him. He thought he was entitled to decide everything. Nothing we wanted was fine with him. He was set in an old era and wanted us to be just like that.

Having it all, he always felt empty. Broken. Having everything he said he wanted, he felt as if something was missing. Night by night he would wake up crying for things he wasn't honest or straight-forward. The next morning, he would wake up as if nothing had happened, as if everything had been a bad dream. Not his, but mine.

A broken man trying to hide under every shadow he could reach... became a punishment to all of us. He, a petrified soul desperate to tell his truth but always unwilling of honesty.

The cheap imitation of a person that, simply, became impossible to survive from.

Lots of love,


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