I'm not so much beating myself up as examining why I allowed this to happen. I let the relationship (with her and her kids) completely consume me. I let passions and interests and friends slip away. The first time I moved out, I found a box in the closet that was labeled in black marker: "[Richard]'s music, before (hername)". I hadn't even realized that I didn't listen to music I liked anymore; the only music that ever got played was hers and her daughter's. Now I'm not even sure what I like. I would like to sit down and play a guitar, but I sold all mine when I was with her because I never played them anymore. At this point, I'm afraid I've forgotten how to play.

So I'm also having to learn who I am and how to love and protect me.