It's been more than 8 years, and I am still not sure if I am ready to write you. There is so much anger, so much resentment, so much pain... I wish I didn't feel anything when I thought about you. And believe me, it is getting better, but there's still a lot there. I still get extremely upset when I think about you.
A big part of this is due to the fact that I'm upset with myself. I look back and I still cannot understand why I got so in love with you. I was blind, but in a way that I have never been before. My feelings for you were obsession, and I let you do to me things that I would never even consider with anybody else. Both physically and psychologically.
Thoguhout the years, I developed many theories to why I let it happen, why I let it get so big, so powerful and so destructive. I may never find the answer, but I know for a fact that I will never let it happen again. And I do have a never say never policy, but this is one of the few exceptions. I learned a lot about myself, about how I react and where I can be taken, and I will never go to that place again.
I want to forget you, I want to erase your role in the story of my life, but I know that, not only this is not possible, it's not productive. I need to have the constant remind of you and of the person I became around you, so I won't be that person again. I need to feel that pain, so I can be sure never to let anybody hurt me the way you did.
I know, in my mind, that you were not only bad to me, that there were good moments, that you helped me, that good things happened between us two. But those moments are so insignificant, when put close to the suffer you caused me. I try to think about positives, but I can only remember the negatives. I can only see the darkness. How you kicked me out of your place in the middle of the night, after I made a massive effort for you. The way you chose to break up with me, and where you did it - how you hurt me using the things that you knew would hurt me the most, like bringing up the fact that I was unemployed and had no money, that we were from different levels, how you met someone you actually connected with. And how you did that in another country, in the middle of all your friends, where I was a stranger, completely out of my comfort zone, defenseless. And how I had to share a bed with you after being broken up. How, after having disappeared for months, you called me and asked me to travel with you, disregarding my job, my boyfriend, my life, just because you needed someone to be your translator. How you couldn't even remember my birthday. I still remember yours, to this day.
In essence, there's just too much hurt there to even give the good things a chance.
I hope one day I will think of you and I won't feel anything, neither good nor bad. That day is not today. Today, I truly wish you are burning in hell. And bear in mind, I don't believe in hell. But for you, I want hell to exist. I want hell to be real, and I want you to suffer on it.
Does that make me a bad person? Maybe. But I don't care. Or maybe I do. I want to get over you, I want to be indifferent to the fact that you live or die. And I'm sure that day will come, sooner or later. It always does. At least for now I have the peace of mind that my life is better in a way I cannot even calculate. My husband is the one who saved me from you, and he showed me what love is really about. You'll never be 1% of the man he is. It took me a while to realise that, but I got my happy ending. You were only a plot twist to make the audience gasp, but you are nothing more than a secondary character. You would never get a spin-off or sell any books on your own.
Anyway, I've written you more than you deserve to get from anyone in life, so I'll finish this letter here. From now on, I won't have anything else to tell you. I'll just work towards feeling nothing about you. Because that's all you deserve: nothing.
...
No comments:
Post a Comment