An Open Letter to the Man Who Broke My Heart

I write this, safe in the knowledge that the likelihood of this ever being read by the person in question is quite infinitesimal.

This relationship has been going on and off and on and off for nigh on three years. We have been through a storm of trying times together and apart, but we seemed to always find our way back to each other. We couldn’t help ourselves. We couldn’t walk away.

Until now.

There has always been factors against us: age, history, mental illness, his family, infidelity, but we battled through because we didn’t care about anything except how we felt about each other. We were too strong together. We loved each other.

We were about to go on a new relationship adventure together when suddenly things changed. For him. The off switch has been flicked, and I suspect it will stay off. I cannot turn it back on again. Not again.

So I write, because that is what I do. I write to express, to let go, to say all those things my heart can’t articulate in spoken word. Maybe it is voyeuristic for you to witness, dear reader, but I have never been one to shy away from open expression.

So here it is.

I want to eradicate you from my life. I want to rip your memory from my body; trade in the parts you claimed to love with such ardour. I want to erase every whispered sentiment, every passion filled exclamation, every declaration of love. Because, as you claim, every such utterance was a lie.

And oh, how you lied! Oh, how I believed. I thought I could be free and safe. I thought I was secure in tearing down the walls of self protection to let you see the flawed yet beautiful creature within.

How wrong I was. Lulled into that false sense of security by a selfish, scared little boy who talked big but walked small, I failed to see the deception. I failed to notice the apron strings of a self righteous, judgmental mother tangle their way through our tenuous single bond. I failed to see how weak you truly are, and how you could not have survived half of what I have lived through.

I never claimed to be a heroine of epic proportions. All I wanted you to see was my humanity. I never wanted pity. I never wanted concessions. I wanted to be understood. I wanted to be loved.

I found comfort in Martha Wainwright’s exalted, melodic assertations, you bloody mother fucking asshole, but then I remembered your devotion to her brother, and now even the music I retreat into is sullied by your presence.

I wish you failure. I wish you protracted periods of darkness. I wish you to ache for me, for what you have done. I wish for you to feel so alone that even the sun seems to shun you. I wish you separation from your family, disconnectedness, and an overwhelming feeling of being forgotten. I wish you isolation. I even wish you despair.

Interestingly enough, I do not wish you these things with any antipathy or malicious intent. I actually wish them with love. This even surprises me. Because through all this betrayal, all this cruel back and forth, erratic behaviour that you have exhibited, through all this pain you have heaped upon me in unrelenting waves, I wish for you to grow. I wish for you to understand yourself to better understand others. Only then will you be a man worth loving. Only then will you be a man.

And so I walk away, taking my sore, embittered heart with me. I remove my light from your world for the simple reason that you never thought I would. And if you think your absence from my life will cause me to fall, to harm myself, or even to utter a cry of anguished sorrow, hear this:

I have survived without you before. I will again. Effortlessly.

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