Dear The Boy Whose Eyes Never Changed,
There are so many things I want to say to you, if not in person then at least over the phone. But, you didn’t listen then so I know you surely won’t listen now.
You always get aggravated with the way I feel, as if my emotions were trivial or that I have no right to them because you don’t share them. I’ve never understood that. Not in all our long years together (and apart) did your lack of acceptance ever make any sense or become easier to bear.
You wondered why we fought so much and why I cried so much, the truth is, because I was frustrated that you didn’t listen. Oh, you heard me well enough, but you didn’t understand. No matter how many different ways I tried to say it, I felt as if I were speaking another language. I still feel like I’m speaking another language. You just can’t relate to me. And yes, you are the one who can’t relate, because out of my thirty years of life, there is no one else that has trouble understanding me. Except you.
I know that’s why the marriage failed. I know that it isn’t a fault. You are one way and I’m another way, but three years later I’m still angry. Not because it failed but because you didn’t try to save it. Oh sure, you asked me to come home. You cried. You bought me things and held me and whispered sweet nothings. But you still didn’t try to understand me. We still fought, I still cried, and you still didn’t get it. Once, you even told me you didn’t understand and walked away. I knew then there was no hope. You didn’t care enough to change. Even though I did.
I never told you, but I prayed for you. For us. I would kneel in the living room when you weren’t home, crying and begging anyone, anything for the ability to make you happy. My touch didn’t excite you, my kisses were a bother, my hugs too tight. My desire to do simple things for you were rejected because ‘I can do that myself”. Couldn’t you see that I loved you and wanted to make you happy? I tried doing it your way, and that just made ME unhappy. So…I couldn’t take it anymore.
I was unfaithful. I’m sorry. You’ll never know because the point is moot now, but I was. I love him and he loves me. He loves me and listens to me and cares for me in a way you never could. But he’s not better than you. He’s just better for me than you.
I want you to be happy with your new wife. I just wished you hadn’t picked my best friend because now she won’t talk to me. What did you say to her? I guess I don’t have a place in her life or your new one and I’m ok with that. I’m just mourning right now.
I just wanted you to know that sometimes it still hurts. It hurts when I hear about how happy you are. Because that was supposed to be. I was supposed to be the mother of your children. I was supposed to be the one getting heart shaped pancakes, rather than ignoring the holiday altogether. I was the one who was supposed to go shopping for rugs in our new house while you planned the landscaping, instead of pleading with you not to buy the big screen TV so we could have a down payment for a house and move out of our crummy duplex. I was the one who asked you to go to church with me three years ago so we could share something meaningful, but instead you converted to her faith after six months.
I know I’m not the one anymore. It’s not my place and most of the time it doesn’t bother me. But sometimes, like shingles, it comes back to rear its ugly head and I feel small and mean. Which is why I won’t ever actually send this. But, it makes me feel better to know that someone will know that sometimes it still hurts.