Shame spirals and love letters from a married man

Things never got any easier with him.

The angrier he got, the harder I pushed to show him I was worthy in every capacity. He'd "slip up" and use (drugs), but somehow I'd be the one apologizing. What's worse is that I would find myself buying, yes, you read that right, buying him things, so he'd stop yelling, breaking things and hurting me. It started small with meals that I knew he'd like, but slowly elevated from week to week. Some times he'd need what he called "dip-dip," (chewing tobacco), which is supremely vile, because it was something else to allow him to escape the pain he was constantly feeling from constant withdrawals — which returned, quite frankly, because he would never stay clean very long. Other times, he'd request bigger items. I can remember paying for little excursions to take him out of the environment, even a zipline park. In the end, he'd always tell me that drugs would have made the experience better.

As someone that can walk into a room and estimate the outcome of conversations with perfect strangers — several potential versions — before they happen, it's so strange to think back and think: that was me?

At work, I'd be writing about addiction and at home, I was personally living it. While I felt like I was a decent actress at the office, some people caught on. One of my really good friends at the time noticed the bruises and found a way to bring me a coffee or stop by my office to check in with me on a daily basis. This friend was originally a source. We went on picnics at lunch. He showed me his favorite places to be and eat. And I did the same. It was nice. It was hard to understand because why would my friend want to spend all this time thinking and caring for me when my own boyfriend, whom I've dedicated a ridiculous amount of time to couldn't be bothered?

One afternoon, we went kayaking and fishing. I caught a fish and flipped the canoe. Naturally, my phone was on me. I was soaked and panicked. How was I going to explain this? I get in trouble when I'm talking to my mum in front of him. I can't tell him I dropped my phone while kayaking with a MAN.

Looking back, I should have been more concerned with my damn phone, but then again, I was more concerned with being verbally assaulted and whatever else he had in mind for me.

My friend immediately jumped out of his canoe and came to help me. That was the first time I'd ever fully confirmed that his feelings may be more than just friendly. We hopped into his truck and headed back to his house. I'd never been there before. I was told by him and a group of his friends that his wife wasn't very friendly. He complained about her pretty often. But since I never really knew what was happening behind closed doors, I always encouraged him to do things that made him happy. I never saw it as anything more than that. Until that afternoon.

When we stopped by his house, he offered to throw my top in the dryer and I could wear one of his shirts while it dried. It felt wrong. I didn't even leave his truck from the driveway. I had him bring me back to my car and told him I could figure it out from there. Nothing had happened, but when he hugged me goodbye, it was different. Guilt seeped out of my pores. But at the same time, there was a part of me that didn't feel like such a waste.

Day by day, I began looking forward to the refuge that his friendship provided. His text messages soon evolved into messages on social media. We'd share cute interludes of moments throughout the day. He spoke of how he looked forward to just being around me. That validation and affirmation was something I haven't had in a while. In fact, he seemed to care about me in a way that I'm not sure I had ever experienced before that. He wasn't trying to "save me," but he tried to empower me. The problem was, guilt was what drove most of my motivation these days. Guilt that my boyfriend would die if I didn't keep fighting for him — even if I really wasn't good enough for him in his eyes.

But the truth was, I couldn't stop talking to my friend. I needed him. Each time he'd write, he'd begin sharing more and more feelings. He'd tell me he wasn't happy where he was, but somehow I was "different" and he'd wished he'd met me sooner. I hated that I felt value from that. On my way back to the office from an interview, I swung by where I knew he was directing traffic and dropped off a bottle of water. That's all I planned on doing. A drive-by. But he was beaming. His ears were red. He leaned into my car and kissed me.

In an instant, I had one of the most amazing and gut-wrenching moments all at once.

Suddenly, I was both beautiful and ugly. I was special. I was worth it. I had cheated. I kissed another guy. I was both petrified at the thought that my boyfriend would find out and the thought of losing my friend.

When I tried to pull away, telling him that I would be devastated if I were his wife, he went a step further and left me a handwritten note. He had driven by my office and tucked it under my wiper. It was addressed: "My unicorn." As I unfolded it and read the first few words, hot tears streaked my cheeks. He loved me. Someone actually loved me.

I couldn't let this feeling go.