12/8/10
Gabriel,
Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist — no one’s forcing you to read this. Besides, if I had honored what you said the day of your accident (“An issue has come up. Please do not contact me any further.”) you never would have gotten a single visit from me in the hospital. Did you really want me to go away forever?
Seriously?
I distinctly remember you telling me that you wished that I would visit you, that you even needed a minute to let it all sink in when I told you that even though I didn‘t want to see you (because I wanted to respect your request, even though I didn’t understand it and my feelings were hurt by being dismissed so finally), I felt that you needed someone there to cheer you on, to forgive you, to support you, etc., and I was willing to do that, so long as you asked me to come back, which you did. Plus, as I have told you before, it was the best part of my day. How many times do I have to tell you that until you believe me? You’re not a sympathy case (more like tons of fun — when you want to be) but you’re definitely the most inconsistent and infuriating person I’ve ever met.
So which is it, Gabriel? Go away, stay here, put up with your bullshit, pick up the phone and call, not get angry when you say you’ll do something and flake, have me pretend that I’m not seriously hurt when you give me the silent treatment after telling me that you felt bad that I would worry so much about the future, read your mind, do as you say — not as you do? You’re telling me that I have drama? How can anyone be expected to be able to roll with the punches you’re throwing? You think that if you‘re quiet you‘re not hurting anyone? Think again, Sparky. There’s no clearer way to say “Fuck you” than to end all communication.
I’m sending you this because disappearing without promise of return is what you do best, and with that in mind, there is absolutely no reason that I would expect you to ever contact me again. This really sucks, you know, because I don’t throw the words “I love you” around, and I certainly don’t throw my body around, and you never seemed to believe me when I said I loved you and I missed you. How fortunate that I mean so little to you that you can just toss me aside like an old worn out shoe.
Worse for me though, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t make myself un-love you. Not talk to you again? Eventually, if you ignore me long enough, but I will always love you. You are apparently spared that inconvenience. I almost envy you for being able to shut down your heart so completely, especially after you appeared so willing to give it.
But enough of that. I told you that you will always have my friendship, and it’s true. I can put up with your bullshit if we’re just friends. I can handle it if/when you flake and make promises you know you won’t keep and make fun of me to my face and toss me aside like an old worn out shoe and disappear without warning and impose your impossible expectations on me and accuse me of having too much drama if we‘re just friends. That garbage doesn’t really matter so much when there’s less heart involved. Then, we could just have fun. But you‘ve got to talk to me first.
So even if I don’t ever hear from you again, I deserve to be able to bring my grievances to you, and since you have so adamantly stated that I’m too much drama for your delicate sensibilities, I don’t get the satisfaction of having closure in person. Not even the daredevil in me wants to jump face first into a swamp marsh of Fuck you. Instead, all I can do is send you a letter and always wonder if you really meant anything you said besides “I need a break” and “Your drama is extremely irritating.” Tell me truly, Gabriel — did you mean any of the good stuff? I sure as hell did.
Having gotten all that out of the way, it would be unkind of me not to state the reasons for my wanting to end our relationship, but as you had asked for a break on the morning I had planned to end it with you, I was more interested in your reasons than I was in telling you mine, so I kept quiet. Since you rarely open up, I figured that if I told you that I wanted to end our relationship first, you would simply nod in agreement but never tell me why you felt the same. You may call that manipulative of me if you like — I call it taking what information I can get, since getting you to be open about your feelings is like pulling teeth from a camel.
Besides, how would I be able to learn anything from whatever mistakes I had made if I didn’t give you a chance to tell me what you thought they were? In short, I believe that if I had taken initiative at that time, I would have lost valuable information from you. So, I kept silent so I could learn, and I learned a great many things about you yesterday morning.
To start, in some instances, you are far more high-strung than you appear to be. Laid back seems to be a perfected facade, presumably after years of practice, and while you may be laid-back in some situations, you give the impression that you are laid back in all of them. I don’t actually have a problem with high-strung or laid back. What is difficult is the deception that is continually practiced. I don’t believe that you find anything wrong with this deception per se, or even view it as a deception at all, but its motive makes you difficult to work with sometimes. If you are high-strung naturally but insist on appearing laid-back, then at its core, the outward personality becomes a manifestation of what you don’t accept inwardly.
My gut tells me that you fight the part of you that panics, gets wound up or wants to react impulsively, seeing it as somehow unacceptable, so you try to change it. Perfect it might be a more suitable word, since it seems like you view your high-strung nature (in certain cases) as some sort of flaw. Have you ever considered that someone wouldn’t mind that about you? If you have never given yourself a chance to accept who you are, chances are you don’t give anyone else a chance to accept you either.
A particularly damaging side-effect of this need for perfection is the tendency to understate how you feel. Since you are so accustomed to appearing cool, calm, and collected all the time, it is not only your words that deceive, but your body language vehemently rejects your words, making the contrast much more vivid than you realize. I made a particular study of your body language when we were dating, because I recognized that you were largely non-verbal, and this is the message that I got, over and over and over:
Fuck you.
I’m hiding from you.
I’m scared to love you.
I’m sad because I‘ve lost so much.
I’m sure that I’m worthless.
I feel out of control.
I’m convinced that you’re going to leave me because I’m too much work.
But I need you, and this frightens me most of all.
And I simply can’t let you know any of that, so I’m going to shut you out so you don’t see who I really am – because if you saw the real me, you couldn’t possibly love me.
This explains a lot about why you thought I didn’t care about you when I first met you again in October. Not only did I write you a 7-page letter, but I put my heart and soul into it, and the same into a 12-Step project for you (two, actually), I gave you a birthday present and made you part of my Step 9. While I didn’t give you these last two until we met again, the rest you had. I’m not saying that you didn’t see that I put my heart and soul into those things. You told me I was a sweetheart quite often, so in that wise I was validated. The problem came in when you honestly disbelieved that I still cared for you after I had already given you all that. And not just my words did I give you, but also my first kiss as a single woman, my body, and my heart.
How could you question my caring for you unless you deny it of yourself? I ran into this behavior constantly. I told you that first day in October that I loved you, and I meant it. I told you that there will never be anyone like you, and I mean that, too. I told you that no matter what happens, you will always be in my heart, and I mean that most of all. All of these words took your breath away. I remember. I remember you holding me so close, so tightly and I knew that you didn’t want to let me go. I remember feeling so safe in your embrace, so wanted, so needed, so appreciated. In those moments you let your vulnerability show, and you broke down enough walls to let me love you. My dear, it was bliss.
Pure, beautiful, perfect bliss.
So what happened? I was a sweetheart, and positively glowing in your presence. I was so happy that you reciprocated my affection after being certain that you didn’t care for me at all that I felt positively giddy with excitement. I love him and he loves me, I thought. What could possibly go wrong?
Humanity, that’s what.
You see, I understand the compulsion to “perfect” what we don’t like about ourselves. Goodness knows I have spent enough years trying to change what I didn’t like about myself. I have immense compassion for you on that score because I’ve been there. I visit there often enough myself still, but my focus is different now for the most part (after much heartache and lots and lots of work): instead of looking at what I don’t like, I pay attention to what I do like. Still, life trips me up sometimes, and I get dissatisfied with who I am. This in turn bleeds into the people I am around, particularly those I am most intimately involved with. My sweet disposition turns sour and I begin to make remarks I regret.
When this happens, I have to step back a moment, apologize for being rude, contrary, and whatever else I may have done that has offended, and take a moment to forgive myself as well. Sound conceited to you? It used to sound conceited to me until I realized that forgiving oneself is part of forgiving other people. One can’t be done without the other.
Your body language often didn’t match your words. You told me you loved me, that you wanted to see me, and, on occasion, they did flow together. On those days, it was incredible, amazing, and I felt myself so enamored I could barely keep myself from smiling like a lovesick fool. But, the days got increasingly more tense, and I am inclined to think that I contributed to this by telling you my mind about marriage too quickly. I get the feeling that I rushed things inadvertently, and for that I apologize. Things ramped up pretty fast, and soon there was more pressure than either of us could handle, I guess. Your body language became increasingly loud, and I tried my best to keep ignoring it (and I kept trying to translate “Fuck you” into “I love you.”).
It wasn’t working.
By this time, my request for a letter on how you felt about me was a serious need, and every time I asked for it and got a promise of it, I thought to myself, Okay, I can wait a little longer. Just give him time. Each time you told me you would give it to me, I was elated, relieved, and each day that passed that I didn’t get it, I questioned your feelings more. Pretty soon, your lack of words matched your body language, and the only message I got was, “I’m hiding from you.”
And so here I am, again disappointed in the promise of a letter. I counted the times you said you’d send it to me yesterday. Four times you said it, but your actions have proved otherwise. My heart has so many jagged incisions on it that I can barely feel it working. I remember though, that I told you not to send it if you feel any differently now than you did when you wrote it, so I guess this means your feelings have changed. I just wish I knew how. I could be so helpful and sensitive if I knew how you were feeling, but you remain closed.
I wasn’t asking for a commitment in that letter, you know, just an idea of where I stand with you. I have no ground to stand on without it, so my movements are erratic and shaky. Could you expect anything otherwise? But, there can be no denying it; your non-verbal communication is over the loudspeaker now and your words are finally starting to match:
Verbal: I need you to give me a break.
Non-verbal: And I am in too much agony to be able understand that your needs are just as valid as mine are. (And don’t forget “Fuck you.”)
This is what I choose to interpret, in any case. If it were another person, perhaps they would hear simply:
I don’t care about you – you irritate me.
I enjoy jerking you around – look at the way your head bobs when I shove you like that.
Mind games help pass the time, and I get bored easily.
Why are you freaking out? I reserve the right to change my mind on any given subject or any given action at any given time. Without giving you advance notice. So quit the drama already – your inconsistency is extremely irritating.
Fuck you.
Besides, you always come back for more, so you must not dislike it that much.
For all I know, this latter interpretation could be true, but that’s not how I operate. I’m not keen on seeing the worst in people. I told you I trust you, and that includes when you tell me you love me. No, I would much rather believe you when you say you love me, and also believe your body when it says, “I can’t do this.”
If you can’t do this, then there is no sense in me expecting you to be able to, even though you say you are. Wanting something and being able to do it are two different things, so it was with considerable grieving and heavy heart that I went to your house yesterday to break it off, because that meant that I had to accept that you couldn’t give me what I needed as a boyfriend, much less a husband, and you also couldn’t accept what I was giving you as a girlfriend, or would give you as a wife.
In the future it might be possible, but there are some essential things that have to be different. You can only love another as much as you love yourself, and right now, you don’t love who you are. You don’t even accept who you are. But, I believe you’re trying, and it’s a hard process to get through which takes time and work and patience. Undoubtedly, friends help us through it all, and that’s where I come in.
I don’t care what you say, what you do, if you never talk to me again, or completely allow yourself to be consumed by your own self-loathing, whatever – I will never give up on you. I’m not telling you this as a parent would a child; there is no superiority in my speech – only compassion. You see, a friendship is more what you can handle right now with me, and I can take a substantial amount of pressure off of you if the romantic element is dismissed.
And it’s not as though you have nothing to teach me. Patience is one of those things that comes naturally to you – you have taught me incredible patience. Soft words are another, and a gentle demeanor is a third. Plus, you have reveled in my body, something I feared would never happen. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for our moments of reciprocity. And fun. I’ve had more fun with you than anyone I can remember. Anyone. I would be insane not to want to be friends with you. I’m here for you because I want to be, because I know you need me, because I can tell you without fear that I need you, and because life is full of needs needed and met, and when both happen mutually, we are happy. And Gabriel, I miss you.
Your body says that I couldn’t possibly love you if I saw who you really are.
I say that I see you already, and that not loving you is impossible.
And so, I‘ll repeat what I said in July – the one thing I want to happen if all other communication between us ends and we both move on with our separate lives. Please, if you only remember one thing…
Remember you.
Violet
© 2010
