11/21/10
Dear Gabriel,
I’ve been called mean in the past. You have seen two sides of me now, if you read my last email (my big heart, which I have shared with you and which you say you love) and my anger, fear, and sorrow, which brings out the worst of my eloquence, unfortunately.
Some people deal with their feelings through withdrawing. You do this, I think. Other people immediately communicate their anger and hurt feelings, usually a bit more exaggerated than they actually are through eloquence, like me.
I feel terribly alone when you ask for space, and you may feel terribly hurt when I question whether or not you love me and don’t give you the space you want without telling you first that I’m unhappy about it. I don’t suppose I can immediately change the way I react to things that make me afraid, but I’m working on it. I suppose all that’s left to do is hope that you’ll come back from wherever you’ve gone.
You say that my fears of losing you are black and white, are unfounded, but when you disappear, I don’t have any promise of return, so whether or not you think it’s black and white, to me it feels like it is.
On the other hand, I am not sure you would be able to brush off any scathing comments I have made to you in the past. To me they fit into the category of “Things I Said When I Was Angry,” but they might be as damaging to you as your silence is to me. I still love you, very, very much, but it could be that you question whether or not I do when something not so pleasant comes out of my mouth.
So, for my short temper, which is part of the package I’m afraid, but something I’m working on, I apologize. I will do my best to trust that you still love me, enough to come back, but I will also tell you that it feels like you won’t ever return, because when you withdraw, you are gone completely. Does that make any sense? In other words, I will give you space, but I won’t be able to not be petrified by it.
I hope you will come back soon. Your silence is the one thing I have the most difficulty dealing with. Please tell me that I haven’t lost you.
Love to you,
Violet
© 2010
