Here I am, still filled with lonely emotion

Sitting in a pub in London watching Liverpool, in their record season, dismantle Tottenham.

I start the next, and more or less final, stage of paying my ex-wife off for all the love, care, and kindness she contributed to my life. 

Or, what is more commonly known as "50%."

I've settled about $3.6 million so far (she's a financial idiot savant—I hope she's not been scammed already, like my brother). Perhaps that's my fate as a chronic provider. I needed resources similar to what I created to keep helpless folks keep their heads above water.

I have five years, unless I sell my company beforehand, to pay off the final $900,000. I'm paying 6% interest on this balance until I pay it off.

$3800 plus a month.

I'm 70. Still working to support an ex-life partner who won't text or reply or share.

No wonder I'm sitting in a pub by myself in Fitzrovia, content alone, and sadder than shit.

Really, why was I put here?  My ex is getting what’s fair under matrimonial law.  I’ve helped so many others with whatever generosity I could anticipate or figure out. I’ve done such a bad job helping  my poor beautiful bipolar brother. In business (partners and employees), philanthropy and friendships, I believe I’m extremely generous but I don’t know if my recipients feel the same about my actions. 

I just don’t know.  I know so little about what I need to be happy, or about people I used to consider friends. None are here, watching Liverpool frolic, with me. If any of you ever remember me, hoist a pint of lager.  I believe I tried really really hard. 

My ex did so much damage.  I believe I’ll recover from my visible darkness. I believe I will escape this endless wrestling match in a lightless bunker. But why?  Why would someone walk away and ignore and largely pillory a friend like me who really cared?  What deep sickness within my family with her did I miss, to my own damage? Why the intentional cruelty?  You have no mouth or ears or eyes.