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.)