Open Letter

Dear so-and-so:

I haven’t written to you in a while.  Perhaps it’s because I feel this palpable distance from you, because you’ve really done a number on me in so many different ways and I guess I’ve finally figured it out.  But it’s not just you; I’ve done a number on myself too.  I’ve cried more today than I have in the last three months, and you know me: I don’t cry.  If I did, you would have seen it by now, believe me.

Anyway, it’s 2:54am on a Friday morning and I have to work tomorrow and take care of other unpleasant, hurtful things in my life.  I did the worst thing I’ve ever done pretty much, just yesterday afternoon actually.  The worst.  And I luckily have (I hope) the support of my friends to see me through this error, but like a lot of things in my life, I connect it with you, because it has to do with getting something based on an emotional impulse and then regretting it later, and you know all too well what I mean by that.

I just wanted to be loved, and now everything’s all settled in and I don’t feel good about it; it’s a brand of post-partum depression and it’s emotionally overwhelming and I’ve never felt this way before.  Like a mother with a child.  I never knew what it was like to feel that way, and I would never equate my mistake to my own birth or something, but it’s the closest I’ve come.  I listened to sentimental songs today and cried in public, and at that moment, I hated you but I also needed you in my own little way.  I was scared.  And when we’re scared, we tend to gravitate towards the people that would theoretically make us feel better if they were there.

You know, for the last year, I convinced myself it was all worth it, you were worth it.  But were you?  Is anyone worth it?  If things make you feel awful afterwards, unless they are good in the long run, are they worth it?  I don’t know that they are.  Matters of the heart are fragile and forever damaging and they change everything, in this case, for the worst.  And it’s a situation in which I don’t think either of us really knew what the reprecussions were (perhaps I’m giving you far too much credit – I give you a lot of credit already that you don’t deserve, maybe this is no different).  Let’s pretend for a moment that this is true: was it worth it for you?  You said you didn’t regret it, but I’m sure you do, especially you would after reading this letter.  The only reason I’m writing to you like this is because I know you won’t read this.  And even if you did, would you equate it to yourself?  I doubt it.  I would like to think you feel very guilty about murdering my heart the way you did.  So many people do this, not just you, so don’t feel too special about it.  But… I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation and truly how much it’s hurt me.  Because I was in it for the long haul, and I was finally ready.  You probably see me as the stupid fat girl who doesn’t know what she wants or what she’s talking about, but… I’m telling you that I was.  And all you can do is just believe me.  I never thought I would find myself in a situation in which I was confessing something so personal to someone I cared so much about in the way that I did.  It was something that crossed my mind fleetingly in about grade 8 maybe, when considering characters in my on-going story (that I invented to divert from my own boring, humdrum, nothing-filled life) but that’s about it.  And then it happened.  And then it ended.

Am I okay that it ended like that?  No.  I’m at peace with it now, I suppose, and obviously you are too.  For all I know, I had you all wrong and that is something you do often, play people like that.  But… to me you meant more than that.  To me you meant everything.  I lay on the beach in Punta Cana, halfway across the world from you, on a starry night, and actually missed you, and thought of you all those miles away.  Honestly, I did.  You were that person to me.  And yes, I am at peace with you now.  And you would think that I would then say it was all worth it, but it’s not.  People, especially people like me, are accustomed to feeling strong things without any sort of reciprocation.  It happens to us all the time.  Because we have no confidence.  We are the people romance forgot.  We are the people who are afraid to look down when walking across the bridge because of a fear of tumultuous waters.  We are the people with no real life experience and no wishes that have come true.  We have no confidence and no luck and no hope that good things will ever come to pass.  And for you to do what you did, you made people like me feel even more worthless and hopeless and afraid than we ever did.  People as a rule are already far more afraid to tell those they love that they love them, than tellng off people they dislike.  And acts like yours, vicious, selfish acts of immediate gratification without hope or love at all, make that so much worse.  And now I live in my own private world of loathing and wondering.

I sit and wonder about you from time to time and it makes me sad.  But I don’t believe you have the right to make me feel that way.  I’m sad enough on my own without a single reason, really.  I have known people in my life that I think are miles and miles kinder than you and better-equipped to handle emotions than you.  And yet, I have hung onto you forever, like a heavy burdenous momento that I just carry with me out of habit.  I want to toss it into to the water or into the garbage, but at this point, I can’t.  Even though it’s pointless.

I did something terrible today and all I wanted was you to make it better.  You had it in you, but you didn’t care.  My whole life changed and you were completely and utterly distanced from it.  I could feel it – it was like you geographically vanished from my proximity.  I don’t know where you went, and because of hours and hours and days and days and broken heart after hopeless broken heart, dissapointment following disappointment, I’m starting not to care.  Yes.  I am disappointed in you.  I thought you were better than you are.

Why would you even be reading this anymore?  I just wanted to tell you I loved you.  I just wanted to feel your lips again, their softness and supple, gentle nature, the firmness of which you kissed me.  And my punishment was all I had to deal with in regards to you with no payoff.  Yes.  I am disappointed in you, deeply and fervently.  As disappointed in you as I am with myself.  I will win one day though.  I’ve even started to already.  And yet, you don’t know or care about that either.  But maybe you will one day.

Anyways, I am going to try and go back to bed.  My little friend did and I want to cry for her as much as I want to cry for you, but ultimately, I’m just crying for myself.

Yours sincerely,


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