Failure

I realized that when it comes to Blake's overdose, in some ways I feel like a failure.

This morning in my counseling class, we learned about Motivational Interviewing. This is a type of therapy used with addicts to change their drug use. As my classmates started asking questions about what to say and how to get the client to make positive changes, my heart sank. Although I know I never got the chance to have these conversations about addiction with Blake because he didn't let me, I still began to feel like I failed him.

I quietly cried in class, looking down while covering my face with my hand. I could have gotten away with hiding my tears if it wasn't for the betrayal of my nose. It sniffled and leaked and uncontrollably drew attention to me. I tried to silence it, but every time I wiped it, it surged back with vengeance. I felt the hot stares of my classmates, but didn't dare to look up. I didn't need to see their faces to validate the pity being sent in my direction. Instead, I got trapped in my head and sat inside myself as the lesson droned on. With every word from the professor's mouth I slipped further into my cave of inadequacy.

The difficult thing about guilt is that it can defy logic. I can logically know that Blake's death is not my fault and that there wasn't anything I did wrong, but the weight of failure still crushes me sometimes. Not all the time, but when it does I get completely flattened by it. I spiral deeper into my head posing what ifs. What if I asked better questions? What if I showed I cared more? What if I made it clearer that I'd always love him? Never judge him? Never leave? What if? What if?

What if I make the decision to forgive myself? What if I recognize that even if there were things I could've done differently, so what? Am I going to I punish myself for the rest of my life for that? Call myself a failure for all of the hypothetical things I didn't do?

We're talking about Motivational Interviewing in class. This means that I have the opportunity to learn how to work with people and help them make changes in their lives. Instead of using this as a means to criticize myself for not doing this in the past, I could be focusing on how I can utilize this strategy in the future.

I acknowledge that even though I fail sometimes, I am not a failure. The things I didn't do or could've done are insignificant in comparison to what I can do now. And what I can do now is infinite.

More Than Enough

When Blake first met my mom and dad I was SO nervous. I honestly didn't know what they would think about him. I wasn't sure if they'd like him and was afraid they wouldn't believe he was good enough for me. After introducing my parents to too many of the wrong guys, I felt extra pressure to make sure they knew he wasn't just another one of them. 

Before we went to meet them, I was extremely anxious. I started telling Blake what to say and what not to say. Talk to my dad about computers, you'll have so much in common. Tell my mom about starting your own business, she did too. Don't talk about religion. Or politics. Or anything about rehab. Blake handled my obnoxious nagging well for the first several minutes, but eventually called me out for it. He said he was excited to meet my parents because if they were like me, they would get along great. To him, it was that simple. Then he told me it was sad that I wasn't more confident in him.

Reflecting back upon our relationship, I know I had my doubts about Blake. He had all of these incredible business ideas, but lacked the discipline to really build on them. Money seemed to always slip through his fingers. And he was constantly taking risks, making mistakes, and assuming that somehow his messes would get cleaned up by someone else. But although I had my uncertainties about Blake, I also knew that I was completely in love with him. 

And this love for him has only gotten stronger. Through stories from his friends, bonding with his family, and really taking in the lessons he taught me, I have a more complete view of Blake. I see what a light he was to so many people, the widespread impact he had, and how he truly balanced me out as a partner. The more I discover about Blake through connecting with people and looking inside myself, the more my confidence in him grows. 

Lately, and especially tonight, I feel guilty because I wish Blake experienced me feeling this unshakably secure about him while he was still alive. I've been beating myself up questioning if he ever believed he was good enough for me or truly believed that I thought he was. In spite of all of my nagging, critiques, and judging, did he actually know? I wonder how many times he looked into my eyes and saw what an incredible man I viewed his as. That although I had my doubts, I never forgot how lucky I was to have found him and how much better my life was because of his love. 

I just want him to know he is enough. More than enough.

I should have told him that every day.