Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Philly,
I’ve started this letter a hundred times, and every time I’ve stopped, the words caught somewhere between my chest and the page. It’s been forty-five days since I entered rehab, and for the first time, I think I’m beginning to understand what it means to face myself. Not the version of me I wanted to be, not the one I tried so hard to be, because you love me.
Nope, this one is the truth—the raw, ugly truth.
I need to start with this: I’m sorry. Fuck, I am so sorry, Philly. I failed you in ways I’m only just starting to comprehend. You gave me everything—your love, your trust, your belief in who I could be—and I took it all and gave you so little in return. You deserved a partner, an equal who could stand beside you, not someone who crumbled and leaned on you until you had nothing left to give.
The truth is, I wasn’t capable of loving you the way you deserved. I wanted to be that man for you, but I was so broken, Philly. Too broken.
So lost.
I was drowning in my own pain, my own failures, and instead of facing them, I let them consume me. I used you as a life raft, but I never realized that I was pulling you under with me. I see that now, and it guts me.
I told myself I was fine. That I could handle the past, the pressure of being famous, and everything else, but the truth is I couldn’t. I numbed it all with whatever I could find—alcohol, pills, excuses. The pain was in my soul, Philly, and I was too much of a coward to admit it. I kept thinking that your love was enough. Or that if I could just make it to tomorrow, if I could just keep pretending, everything would fix itself. But it didn’t. It never does.
You were the only person who believed in me back then, and I didn’t deserve that belief. You saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. Instead of rising to meet you, I let you carry the weight of it alone. I hate myself for that. For how much I hurt you, for how much I took without ever giving back.
But I want you to know this: I’m trying. Forty-five days isn’t much, but it’s a start. I’m learning that the addictions were never the problem—they were the symptoms. The real problems are buried deeper. My childhood, the shame, the fear of everything that happened to me. I’m slowly working to unravel my past and work through it, but it’s hard, Philly. Some days, it feels impossible. But for the first time, I think I might make it.
I used to think it was too late for me, that I’d already ruined everything. That I’d lost you, and in losing you, I’d lost my chance at being the man I was supposed to be. But the truth is, we never really had each other, did we? Not the way we should have. I wasn’t whole enough to give you what you deserved, and because of that, we were always incomplete.
I heard you’re about to marry Haydn. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this but I’m happy for you. Truly. You deserve happiness, Philly. You deserve someone who can love you without reservation, without fear, and without all the broken pieces dragging you down. I know he’s that for you. I saw the way he loved you, and I hope he gives you everything I couldn’t.
As for me, I still have a long way to go. There are days when the darkness feels like it might swallow me whole, but I’m learning to fight back. I’m learning to face the man in the mirror and say, you’re not finished yet.
Thank you, Philly, for believing in me when I couldn’t. For giving me a glimpse of what love could look like, even if I wasn’t ready for it. I carry that belief with me now. It keeps me going on the days when I want to give up.
I’ll never stop being sorry for how I failed you, but I’ll also never stop being grateful for what you gave me. I hope you find the happiness and peace you’ve always deserved.
With everything I couldn’t say back then,
Keane