Dear J,

From the time I saw you, I should have known it would end badly. That first meeting, when you told us that you were married to a man but pretty sure you were gay. I should have known you won’t ever be comfortable enough with your surroundings and yourself to settle down.

I was so attracted to you. You were smart and passionate–and you appreciated the same in your friends. We could talk theory and literature, or lapse into giggles about nothing. You called me beautiful, and always reminded me that I was intelligent–especially when I felt like I couldn’t write another word.

The first night we kissed, sitting on your living room floor watching a movie about French lesbians, I could hardly breathe. You kissed me. As much as we were flirting, I wouldn’t have made the first move. I was far too scared.

From that night on, I was yours.

The first night you told me you’d had sex with your husband I thought I was going to throw up. You assured me that it didn’t mean anything, that sex was just a perfunctory obligation of your marriage. I should have known then that at some point you’d treat sex with me in the same manner–something you didn’t really want but you went along with.

When you ended it, I wasn’t sure I would make it through the night. It was one of those nights that I spent praying for sleep and not finding it. I didn’t sleep for three nights–by the night you called me, I didn’t have anything left. You were going to try and make it work with the husband-but more than that, I wasn’t enough for you. I wasn’t advanced enough. I was too young, you said.

Do you realize how much you invalidated my suffering that night?

We came together again as equals, as much as we ever were. You as a divorced woman, and I living alone in the mountains. When you walked off that plane in Colorado I was both panicking and completely calm. You were in my town, in my apartment, on my mountain. You came to me, and you wanted me.

 We had love, and we had passion.

The next time you ended it, I was in your space. You were cruel–you had moved on. Again, I wasn’t good enough. But this time, I was blindsided with a two hour drive home. You asked for a hug, and I gave it without thinking. It was automatic. Of course, I loved being in your arms.

When I was 20 miles away, I realized that not only had I been broken up with, I’d given you exactly what you wanted. I’d left–but before I left, you had the gall to ask ME for comfort? You selfish, cruel woman.

And yet I let you into my life again. Only to have my friendship thrown away like spare change. No wait, you value spare change more than you valued my friendship. After 5 years of dating and friendship, you didn’t even want to speak with my anymore? You couldn’t handle my hurt anymore?

Fuck you. I am good enough.


(I’m participating in The Scintilla Project. Day 6: Write the letter to the bully, to the cheater, to the aggressor that you always wanted to but couldn’t quite. Now tell them why they can’t affect you anymore.)


10 thoughts on “To that Woman

  1. This is seriously amazing. Just from having followed your few posts about this woman – and knowing that it’s still such a fresh memory/event/hurt – it’s so impressive you were able to articulate all this. Really well done.

    1. I completely agree with Sara. This is a really very well written piece, really touching, and probably theraputic too. Breakups are hard. Know that I am here for you, if you need a friend. we can commiserate together over drinks. And you are good enough, you are special and you deserve to be loved and treated with respect. You deserve someone who appreciates you and who doesn’t toy with your emotions. I’m proud of you for writing this.

    1. I’m not sure if I should send it to her–the angry part of me does, but the compassionate part of me feels like it’s unnecessary. We’ve cut off all communication following her telling me she’s pregnant and trying to work on a relationship with the father… so I feel like it’s selfish of me to add to her troubles right now.

  2. What a selfish, confused woman. She will never be worth your time. I’m sure writing this felt cathartic, and I hope it can help you forget about her. Well written.

  3. I was wondering how you were doing. This sounds like it was really cathartic. (DAMMIT I just saw someone else used that word. Whatever, I’m not changing it. It was the word I wanted. So THERE.)

    Sounds to me like you’re finally recognizing your own worth and are much better off. You don’t need someone that’s going to toy with you like that.

    1. Thanks for checking in! It was cathartic. (which is totally the best word for the situation.)

      I am trying to recognize my own worth for the first time in a long while. Looking at it from the other side, I can’t believe I let it go on so long. And yet, part of me still longs for her call.

      But… PROGRESS–she only comes up in my head about once a day! So much better!

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