Bone Saw? Anyone?

With the news of my ex-wife moving, I have begun to remember the good times .  I think about Mr. Meow Wow.  I think about buying dining room chairs.  I think about Percy and Ratties.  I think about eating wedding cake and drinking champagne.  I think about the things I could have done or what I could be doing now. 
I went for a run tonight.  I thought it would have been fun to have gone with her, to have run the bleachers and walked after. 
Then I get sad.
Which makes me angry with myself. 
I have no right to feel sad for where I am.  I have no right to be sad for what I am missing and what I am missing out on.  Any pain I might be feeling is nothing compared to what I put her through.  She had no control over it.  I did.  I cut the ties and left her to hold the broken end.  I have no right to cry. 

But how do I not?

There are still moments, as brief as they may be now, where I want to cut out my heart because it hurts too much.  I might as well.  I seem pretty good at removing limbs and anything else that is good for me or that I might need.  If anyone has a bone saw, I am getting tired of ripping myself apart.  I would rather make some clean cuts from now on.

But what good is it?

Feeling things is not bad.  I should be feeling them.  By feigning numb, I got where I am today.  I need to feel.  I have to.  It feels good even when it is bad.  My short stint on antidepressants showed me that.  Not only was it nearly impossible to achieve orgasm, I couldn't feel anything else either.  They probably saved me from actually doing something stupid, which is good, but I was a blank wall for months.  Living that way is no good. 
My marriage starved to death because I wasn't allowing myself to feel and to be open and loving and caring.  Even as I talk about those things, I feel a slight twinge of anxiety, though I don't know why.  I do know that I won't repeat that mistake.  I hurt someone that I cared about deeply, but wouldn't admit that I cared as much as I did.  I was afraid.  I didn't want to hurt.  I was a pussy and I have spent the last year hurting more than she ever would have hurt me.  That makes me an idiot too. 

A lot of people have said that it is what we do now that makes all the difference.  We are all human.  We fuck up.  We hurt people.  We must learn and move on or we drown in it.  I have learned a lot.  I have learned about myself and what I want and don't want.  What I will do and what I will never do again. 

I wish I could apologize to her and make her believe that I mean it.  I am more sorry than I can put into words or action.  How many times can I apologize before anyone feels better about it?  How many apologies before they don't mean anything? 
I don't know. 

If I could take out my heart and show it to her, she would see that I am sorry for all of it.  She would see the bruises, the cuts, the scars, the holes....all because I walked out that door. 
But I can't.  And I can't remove any body parts, any ears, to show it either.

I can only say I am sorry.
Maybe that is all that I will ever be able to do.