Dear Mrs…
I’m Sorry. Goodbye.
You can take all the right next steps and still end up nowhere if you didn’t first forgive yourself…
I lamented over this title longer than usual. I wanted to address you directly, as before. I did not want to disrespect you, yet again, some might say. And, quite frankly, I didn’t know what to call him, your husband, at this juncture of our journey.
But, again, I won’t address you through him. Because this isn’t about him. This is about me, as a woman, like Barbara to Shirley, taking responsibility for… my share of some really bad behavior. Plus, as you can see, every second wasted on the devilish details delays my having to write this.
The thing is, I’ve never been good at apologies or goodbyes. Yet, here I am saying both and struggling nonetheless. When I attempt these emotional feats and the expression thereof, I tend to ramble. I make bad jokes and add unnecessary words. I justify my wrongdoings by reminding anyone who’ll half-listen that we are twin flames. But anyone who knows what that really means understands that we, even more than anyone else really, still don’t get to lie.
With apologies, I get defensive. I bring up the parts we all played in this beautiful collection of lies and omissions. I point out that we were all able to more easily pretend at something as a result of this experience, how we all benefited in some obscure way.
With goodbyes, I get sad, insecure, perhaps, again, defensive. I bring up my power in the situation, that it’s my choice to say goodbye. I like to leave before I’m asked to and catch my own mistakes before they’re discovered and exploited by someone who doesn’t know my good heart.
I tense up, my shoulders and butt especially, and delete a lot. There’s so much backspacing. It’s pretty painful to watch.
Anyway, I’d like you to know that I realize it’s a struggle I brought upon myself. Besides, is there any other way to learn how to say you’re sorry and mean it than to first be so very wrong?
I saw myself through your eyes the other evening. And it brought me to the point of needing to write this. Don’t get me wrong; I’d peeked a few times before. But aside from my occasional knows-it-all-but-does-little-with-it attitude, I could almost understand how you could stomach the existence of this, as long as things never got out of hand, as long as you were never forced to deal with what it all says about your own self-worth.
So this time, after realizing that things for me had trickled over into being about something other than an inexplicable love and attraction, when I saw myself through your eyes, I wanted to spit. I wanted to pop this person in her smug little face and hold up my middle fingers yelling, “Twin flame these, bitch!”
Tonight, I felt your anger. Then I imagined an impassioned battle between us and couldn’t envision myself as the victor, no matter how I set up the scene. Eventually, I just surrendered even as you continued to unleash your rage upon my folded shoulders.
And I realized at some point as I watched the mental depiction of my spiritual punishment that I felt I deserved it. I was suddenly in your shoes, beating me, too. I was so mad at myself. I’d done this for so long, sacrificed so much, lost parts of myself I promised to never lose again, overlooked so much. I was tired. I wanted this to be over. I wanted to feel like a winner again. And I wanted peace.
I still believe it’s possible, for all of us. We have to first forgive ourselves and I do. Finally, I think I hear my happiness calling again. I really want to answer this time. I hope yours does, too, and I hope you continue to answer.
I hope you don’t think I’m simplifying a complicated thing, or making light of a heavy load. This is still an “open letter” and I still ask that you love him (and you) better. Anyway, I’m sure you see why I can no longer be this for any of us anymore. I’m sorry. Goodbye.