Might as Well Admit It

No matter how frustrating he can be, no matter what things he does that make me cringe, for some reason I just can't let W go.

He infuriates me with his curmudgeonly ways.  Does he have to be gruff and verbally combative about absolutely everything?  I don't know.

He embarrasses me in public with some of the things he says and way he says them.  Must he come across as accusatory and angry without the slightest bit of tact or diplomacy?  I don't know.

He scares me when I see "suicide" notes that he has written and left where they are not easy to stumble upon yet not altogether hidden either.  Does he truly intend to go through with it, or are they just ramblings?  I don't know.  Clearly they are a cry for help.

He baffles me with his constant complaints that N and I don't keep our stuff picked up well enough when he has stuff piled up in the office to the point of having to move his computer out to the dining room table and now the dining room table is buried in stuff too.  Is he trying to make a point?  I don't know.  If so, it is too obscure for me to understand.

And yet...

He cooks dinner almost every night -- if I tell him what to make and how to make it.
He adores me, for no reason that I can understand.
He puts up with all of my shit, and still does as much as he can to take care of me.
He does all the stuff I don't want to do, like load the dishwasher and make phone calls.

What it all boils down to is two deciding factors:
(1) I'm too damned scared to be on my own, and
(2) I would feel too guilty if I kicked him to the curb because of his health, both physical and emotional.

I know.  You've heard it all before.  It's just an ongoing cycle of lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat...