I'm not even going to make it private because guess what has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap!




An Open Letter:

You decided to leave our friendship totally untouchable, back in January. The very next weekend, I was on a plane to New York, where I was whisked away to a ball like a freakin' princess and treated as if I were an actual independent woman with valid thoughts, feelings, and ambitions. I went on to have a short romance with my date, but pulled away upon realizing that his priorities and mine weren't aligned. The only time I bit back at him during the end was when he chose to make me feel like a bitch for not carrying our last date out the way he wanted--for somehow disappointing him by not riding with him instead of taking my bike, for waving instead of hugging. That was when I told him the possessiveness was just reinforcing my decision, and he didn't talk to me for two months, which was fine.

You, however, messed up. And you know that, and I know you know that, but the extent of it really just isn't quite enough. Less than a month after you left, I knew liking you romantically was just a role I took on, because no woman in her right mind would like someone who consistently--consistently--made her feel so unworthy and like such a mess. You hurt me, and then you were the one to make it better...and somehow, all along, it was my fault. I made you hurt me, right? I made you leave. You made me feel insecure about the state of our relationship time and time again, constantly throwing out signals that you were jealous of other men, signals that you were interested in other women, signals that didn't make sense, especially knowing you and all that you insisted upon. And then I would express these enormous doubts and somehow my assumptions were silly and based on nothing and just me being insecure.

No, "like" is a strong word for how I felt about you. "Trapped" is a better fit. "Worthless." "Aching."

I went to New York hoping to forget you, and it worked. It wasn't the mini romance that helped, so much as the moment my heels sunk through five inches of snow and I laughed all the way into that New York mountain cabin. It was seeing the Washington Monument from the plane home, and experiencing the thrill of running through an airport to catch a flight. For the first time in several years, I wasn't thinking about you--I was thinking about my frozen feet, my connection flight, the sheer sense of newness...

I raised my ambition in your absence. When I wasn't studying hard and making new friends, I was volunteering for Relay for Life, kayaking on the ocean, helping build gardens for children living in the food desert, moving up in the ranks in my club, taking on a spring semester role in the office complete with giving interviews to new applicants, becoming a true feminist and sincerely aware of what it means to be privileged, tutoring students, finding my true future goals amidst all the false goals born from the fear that I would disappoint my parents, learning to trust again, climbing mountains, literally and figuratively, until I arrived at this point in my thinking where I had to ask, "Why the hell did I stay so long?" and I'm still wondering now.

While you were stagnant, treading water in the mess you made, I was out there living a life so full of color and possibility and thought...

And now you text me and say you're sorry, and all I can say is that it's already done and that you were forgiven long ago. For leaving, I nearly want to thank you, as I have been for months (I pause, for a moment, during wonderful days, and do just that), because I needed that. You were the world's heaviest security blanket; I couldn't move.

I asked if you intended to be friends, and you said you thought that would be very naive of you to intend, after neither of us speaking for six months. I told you it was sure a better plan than leaving, coming back to apologize, then leaving again, but honestly I know you won't stay, and that's fine. Halfway through your long and suffering apology, I realized that I didn't give two shits that you felt bad. That isn't what an apology is about--you don't sit around and express some long and drawn-out suffering that you've been through from hurting this other person. I was so hurt, and in such a bad place, and oh that's too bad, you felt terrible about what you did and thought about it long and hard?

Yeah, it shows in the six months you waited to apologize. It shows in the fact that you didn't once mention that you were sorry for hurting me. You were ashamed of an action, and that isn't the same thing as being sorry.

So here it is: I'm sorry that you're still the person I watched walk away, six months ago. You're still the same person who thought it was necessary to tell me to not kill myself when you left, and you're still the same person who will take any confrontation as a reason to "have a talk about where we stand," which is a fancy way of saying "we're splitting up." You're still the same person, and I'm not...and that leaves us far apart with no reason to draw closer.

You haven't earned my trust, my confidence, or even my warmth. If you ever manage to accomplish any of the three, maybe then we can talk.

Until then, don't text me; I'm busy being amazing.

http://d22zlbw5ff7yk5.cloudfront.net/images/stash-1-50cf889eb02a3.gif
» Zanzibar on 2013-07-07 03:41:09

"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."
» invisible on 2013-07-10 12:40:20

*fist pump*
I'm applauding you so hard right now.
» jabberwock on 2013-07-11 06:48:32

whooboy
» middaymoon on 2013-07-13 04:12:22

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