I am writing this letter because, in all honesty, I still carry a burden I feel you placed on me. You have changed my life in immeasurable ways, both positive and negative. While I resent you for walking out on me, I can move past that. What I cannot move past is the self-depraving, self-loathing, over analytical, dare-I-say-it guilt and anger I feel towards myself, mostly, and, partially, the way you ended things. I want to write this whole thing out so that I can let myself be okay with it. I want to have myself be okay with everything by the end of this letter. That is the goal. If you ever read this, then I am astounded with you and myself.
For starters, let’s begin with your past experiences. You have gone further sexually on the first date with a knock-headed bimbo then I have ever gotten near. I feared that, but since I made it abundantly clear that you and I were not going to have sex, I believed that you wouldn’t push the topic. However, you made me go further sooner then I wanted to. I did not want you to have your hands on my chest that early. I wish I had actually explained that. However, that is mostly my fault and I accept that. I also know that the first time I experienced something and you made me feel worthless. I then had to sit awkwardly and watch what I was apparently incompetent of doing. And that is incredibly uncomfortable on so many levels. Not only that, but I was scared to do that in the first place, and you did nothing to assuage my fears.
Speaking of which, I came to you with one of the most pressing fears of you leaving. What did you do? Argued with me and called me irrational. That means a whole bunch of things. Let’s start with the obvious. It is incredibly uncomfortable for me to come to you and trust you with it. I am a big insecure girl. And that is just a personal flaw. I accept that I should not t have come to you expecting the way you treat the precious princess Ellie.
Nevertheless, I was your girlfriend. I was supposed to be someone you treated wonderfully, someone you treated with the utmost kindness and respect. I was an idiot. I expected something that I had never seen appear for me. I saw it appear for Brittney, and I must admit, in retrospect, that is one of the worst parts of the whole thing. And what made me an even larger fool is the fact that I told MF about it. I bet you didn’t know that. I sought him for comfort, for a way to reach you. I think you have to be hurting in a way that you don’t even realize; you simply have to be.
You never allowed me to be anything beyond what you wanted me to be. If I was upset, it was problematic. However, you were upset and even viciously angry if anyone blinked at you. You have the temper of a wild animal. If there is a single male in the room, you instinctively feel like you need to prove your so-called dominance. It is exhausting. You have the mood swings of a two-year old. Which is incredible, especially coming from me. I needed you to be there and see me when things were bad. I trusted you with the whole of me, with every emotion I had; that scared the ever-living crap out of me. We hadn’t been dating long enough for you too see my soul, but you and I have the personalities of flames. We burn. We explode. It’s what draws us to each other. However, it makes everything seem faster. It made me trust you faster. It made me care for you faster. And that is okay.
Furthermore, it also makes us fiery and passionate when it comes to self-defense. You and I are both very strong-willed. We both firmly believe that we are correct. And that leads to conflict. However it gets to the point where you and I have ceased being productive in our conversation and have gotten to the point where we are both essentially four-year-olds with our fingers in our ears saying “NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH I CANT HEAR YOU!” Which does nothing for either of us. But at the same time, we aren’t even arguing about anything that means something in either of our lives. That is not healthy. It really isn’t. I will claim my part in that; it takes two to argue. You never listened to my side though, which means that I was too busy trying to make you see my side that I couldn’t listen to you or your side. I accept responsibility for some of the arguing. However, you instantly distanced yourself the minute any sort of argument breaks. The metaphor of a wave is perfect for this situation. The argument crashed down on us, and instead of pulling together, you let it pull one of us out. I kept trying to grab you and swim, but I cannot reach out and hold on with one hand and swim. You would’ve drowned me. Distance is better then letting you get me to change my soul.
I feel that’s what you wanted at times: Me to be someone completely different. You want me to be pretty. You want me to be smart. But you don’t want me to have my same soul. You want my heart to be stronger and my soul to be more locked away. But the truth is that you would never have been near me, if my heart and soul were any different. I feel like I should reveal any theories of how we got together. I think you were excited that I was interested in you, and that turned into I must like her. Not to toot my own horn, but I am an attractive intelligent girl. And from what I have heard, you are not really into the whole “nerdy-smart-chick.” I think you are used to the idea of being the intelligent one in a relationship. I think that in your own way you can be controlling. You want things to be your way—damn all consequences and thoughts to the contrary.
I went to you for help on my Spanish crossword and book. I asked you to help and what did you do? You made fun of me. Not only in front of my roommates and my friends, but in front of your family. I was desperately trying to make a positive impression on them, and you mocked me, to no end. I was upset about it, but God above knows I could not tell you. Believe it or not, there were a lot of things that I hid from you.
Let’s talk about one of the nights that started our downward spiral: The night of the video-gaming catastrophe. How dare you make me feel like crap for crying! How dare you. I get that Riley ought not have to yelled at you. But take a step back and look at the whole situation. Riley walks in. She sees me sobbing. She catches from everyone that I am crying because of you. What is a mama bear to do? She calls you and yells at you—I had no idea what was happening. And if you don’t believe that, then you are dumber than I thought. I was incredibly scared, and obviously I freak out at any level of fear beyond average minimum. I should not have cried, however, that is not your place to tell me.
I want you to know that I really do appreciate everything you are doing for AK and MF. Let’s start with AK. He is a really shy guy. He is trying his best to be an adult, but he really wants to be a kid. He wants to go home every weekend and be with his parents, which is okay. But I want you to know that I am afraid of what you may be teaching him when it comes to treating women. Also when it comes to drinking. You are teaching him that it is okay to bed any woman, and then dump them. He knows me; he knows I’m a good person. He and I have talked. And I know you have forbidden him from speaking to me. I also know that you tried to do the same with C. I find that frightening. I find that disturbing on about three million levels. But now on to the adult member of your hit brigade, MF. I think that you have been there for him on a level that S and I, try as we might, may never be able to reach. We claim that we are bros, but in the end we will never measure up to the real bro that you have been for him. I appreciate that, and I respect you for that.
But now on to the friend that I cannot and will not ever respect. I think we all know that I am talking about Br. I am sorry, and I know you have a deep amount of bro-fection for him. I accept that. And this is not me trying to change you. I honestly don’t care if you stay friends. I have no dog in that fight. But I am asking you to see reason. I am asking you to realize that he isn’t a good guy. While you do have some pretty bad qualities, you are not a bad person. The way you interact with that beloved little girl is enough for me to know that you are not a bad person at all. However, he is bringing out some of the worst qualities in your nature. He blew smoke in S’s face. She had never been rude to him, and he just insisted on irritating her and her allergies. I don’t think he is a good influence at all. And that is not okay. I respect you and still care for you enough to tell you that he is incredibly bad for you.
Let’s just jump right into the major chip on my shoulder: the way you ended things with me. You made it some incredibly complicated that even now, I still overthink it and rethink it. So let me give my account of what happened, and then I will try to piece what your side may be. I was very upset. I was foaming at the mouth I was so upset. I immediately went to Riley’s apartment and sobbed… for a solid hour… Here is the definition of what I heard. I heard that you thought I was a bitch, a selfish, immature bitch. I think that you were insane to suggest your entire two-weeks-later plan. Were you insisting that I should pine for you for two weeks as you decided whether or not I was worth all of your struggles? I didn’t realize how much stress and anguish and pain I caused. You suggested that we break up but in two weeks I be prepared for you to waltz back in to my life. I did not appreciate that (obviously). But let’s delve deeper into the idea of our break up that wasn’t a break up that wasn’t just a break because you wanted to be free to sleep around like you always do. I think that you are selfish and cruel for implying that you want to be free of me for two weeks, but after you got that all worked out, you’d be back with me… I think that you didn’t realize that I would take it badly. Yes, I cried in your apartment, but you don’t even know the half of it. Let’s drop the two week argument. Let’s go to the part where you called me a selfish, immature, insecure bitch. Let’s break this down even further; Let’s take it one adjective at a time.
You think I’m selfish. You never truly explained it to me. So I’ll just take what I know about myself and what our relationship was. I trusted you with so much of myself. I told you everything that you wanted to know. I hid everything you didn’t want to hear. Not once did I call you crying or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I was a damn good girlfriend. I took care of you. I slept on the floor because I knew that I did not want to wake you up. I tried to take your wallet, knife, and phone out of your pockets, accidentally waking you up. That got me nothing positive. It got me scorn and distrust. It got me anger. I was trying to take care of you, and you saw none of that. I cooked for dinner. I cooked for the first time for a male. What did you do? Sat in your room playing your video game. Once it was ready, I heard one “thank you” and thirty complaints. You were also incredibly stingy with your alcohol. You even bitched when I wanted a sprite to drink. That to me is purely absurd. It is insane that you would call me selfish.
You think I’m immature. The truth is that I have dealt with a ton of crap in my life. You don’t view sex with such a heavy burden as I do. I view any sort of intimacy as a big deal. That may make me weird to you, but the truth is, that that makes me a better person. I am not a prude; I just give it the respect and admiration that it deserves. I am incredibly mature when the setting is correct. But let’s not forget that there are times between you and I when maturity is not even a valid concern. I am mature in the real world. I am mature in public, when it really matters. I think that it is hypocritical for you to call me that. I am not saying that you are immature, just that there are so many things that we are on the same level. I am saying that you may have had a hard knock life, but you don’t get to treat me like an immature brat when you are almost exactly the same at times.
You think I am insecure. Well that adjective is correct. I think that the insecure is a great way to describe not only me, but also every other person. We all have our insecurities. Your insecurity, pardon me, is your family. You fell asleep at the mere mention of your family. You didn’t know what to do when I talked about mine. There was so much I didn’t know and I kept trying to ask and hint and beg and plead. And you gave me nothing. That is okay. I honestly respect that decision, even more now that we have broken up. But don’t play me like an idiot. Don’t treat me like I’m the only one with insecurities. Don’t treat me like my insecurities outweigh any normal amount of insecurities.
Speaking of insecurities, let’s converse about drinking insecurities. You have an overwhelming amount of drinking insecurity. You are a poor drinker. You cannot keep a drink in your hand without getting buzzed. And we all laughed at that and poked fun at you. That is why it was incredibly shocking to me that you cried once everyone left. You are insanely screwed up when it comes to alcohol. You’d think that you’d come to realize that people are going to laugh at the idea that big, tough guy A cannot even handle a lemonade with .5% alcohol. You think that it is okay for you to cry about that, but that I cannot cry about feeling fat and or disgusting after gaining twenty pounds.
Now for my favorite part: the noun. I am a bitch, which was an accurate assessment. However, I did everything in my power to be incredibly, even overwhelmingly kind to you. I did everything a good girlfriend ought to have done. Did I make mistakes? Yes. I laughed when I ought not. I was helping MF and texting him, when I ought not. I called you weird, which is why I always apologized for it. I tried my best to correct every mistake that I made. I tried my best to apologize for everything that I did wrong.
On the converse, you were proud. You never once admitted that you were wrong, or at fault. You never once apologized to me… For anything. If you ever hurt me, or made me cry, it turned in to my fault somehow. And I was too crazy about you to even realize what was happening. You really wanted a girl who would not question… A girl who had nothing in her head except bleach blonde dyed roots…
Speaking of blondes… I was never as jealous as you thought I was. I just knew that you laughed at me, laughed at it, or found it to be a compliment. I think it is hilarious that you want a blonde, because blondes are typically shallow, and not intelligent. You want a girl who knew labels. You want a girl who would be able to recognize the importance of a pair of ninety-dollar jeans. You want a girl who thinks that outlet stores are a crime against humanity. You want a girl with money who isn’t afraid to spend it. You want a girl who would not argue with you when you make a crazy statement. You seem to want a girl who is intelligent enough to keep conversation, but not intellectual enough to question you or make you feel stupid.
Regardless of who you ended it with, it was still a bad way of ending it. But now I claim my part of the terribleness that is this break-up. I will claim storming out and slamming both doors. That was immature. But I didn’t want you to see me weep. I didn’t want you to watch me turn into a five-year-old blithering fool. But I think you and I kept talking in circles. I think if someone didn’t break the conversation that it would’ve turned into a vicious argument.
You didn’t want my friends to hate you. Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but they didn’t really like you to begin with. Every one of my friends saw our relationship as a bad one, but, out of love, they kept it as a secret. Six hours or so before you dumped me, Riley told me that she didn’t approve. She said that you had not been treating me properly and that she did not like the A she was seeing. I told her that I didn’t like it either, but I was completely bluffing. I was waiting for you to turn around and see me for what I was. I was waiting for you to come to your senses and be nice to me. But that day never came.
I have been talking to a dear friend Matthew. I don’t know why I feel it is important to use his name, but I feel like if I read this in six years, I want to remember what a good man he has been for me. But back to my point, Matthew has helped me realize that I need to forgive both of us. I need to be able to forgive you, but, more importantly, I need to forgive myself. So this is the point of the letter when I use the past six pages to come to terms with everything, with all the pain and insanity you have brought to my life and with the craziness that I have brought on myself. So this is a gigantic “I forgive you.” But it is also an “I’m sorry” and “I forgive myself.”
Best Wishes for your future.
-Finally at peace