To the mother of my child

One of these days I’m going to speak the following sentence and you will whole heartedly believe me: I love you, with every fiber of my existence.

That statement is going to be backed by years upon years of proof.
The emotional labor I’m going to put in. The unconditional support.
The healthy means of communication.
The willingness to LISTEN.
The burning passion and intimacy.
The constant affirmations.

You will feel a neverending love no matter what we go through. I will be fluent speaker of YOUR specific love language. Loving your own body will become normal and the feelings of dismorphia will fade away with every caress of my hand across your beautiful figure. I will have atoned for my past transgressions through years of hard work and the utmost commitment to build the life you dream of. A life where you are HAPPY with the decisions you made. A life where we don’t need substances to escape the hell around us. A life where your worst days will always end surrounded by people who love and care about you.

And perhaps the most integral part of this distant future coming to fruition is that I will be holding your hand the entire time, giving you all the yellow paint you could ever need in order to paint your picture. Our picture.

I don’t know where you are right now or who you’re with, but I wonder if I’m still your first thought every morning just like you are mine. I hope you are surrounded by friends and loved ones. Your happiness has always been important to me, but I strayed from the right path and couldn’t find my way back. It made me so angry at myself because I could see how unhappy you had become and I just couldn’t fucking make myself do anything about it. I should have gone to therapy so long ago. I should have loved you like everyday was our last. I could have stopped this. This didn’t start with you. I’ve been on a steady decline for a decade with slight ups every now and then.
That shit stops now. From now on, I’m climbing.

I guess that the whole point of this thingy is to say: I’m a good carpenter and all, but building a foundation is out of my expertise so I might need to subcontract that work out to someone who knows a thing or two about that. (A therapist)
Once we have that solid foundation, I will know exactly what to do. With some help (you), I’ll be able to build a house you won’t be ashamed for your friends to see.

I really hope all these metaphors weren’t too cryptic because I can be a tad incomprehensible at times. I hope whenever I send this to you that it reaches you in the right moment. You’re an incredible person, [REDACTED]. I will do everything I can to make you see that.