Dear B,
I love you. Please let me go.
I love you because you were often absent. You travelled a lot. You told me one thing but you never realized it. You said these things and pretend that they were never said. I couldn't trust anything from you. Every time I saw you I didn't know when I'd see you again. I saw you so infrequently and I saw you rarely. Each time when I left you it felt like mini-break up. Each time when we were back at seeing each other again, it's like we had gotten back together.
You act nothing transpired. You act as if time did not pass, we were never separated. You act as if everything was normal and everything was alright. They were not ever alright. You hurt me each time for not returning my call, not emailing me back, and not caring about what I think of you. You take our relationship for granted.
When I was young I was abandoned as a child. Regardless how I look today, I was never made whole. So for each time when you were here and then gone, I reenact my childhood trauma. I am drawn to that trauma. It is part of my DNA. It's cyclical. It's the only way I could feel anything. I think it's love, but it's perhaps the only way that I could feel anything, it's all those many years of hurt, all those many years of psychological trauma, which I reenact when I'm with you.
I love Dexter. The TV show. I know why now. I have an demon that I cannot expel. I am drawn to emotional drama whereby it allows me to feel unwanted, I try so hard to please you. I spend hours on an email sometimes and write and rewrite. I want you to be proud of me. I buy things for you wherever I go. I need not to do that. You don't do that for me. Why should I do it for you? I just do. Because I want to please you. It's the only way I know how.
One year, when I was young, when I 12, my fear came true. That one time, the person I loved the most, my father, decided that he would rather be with his secretary and never came home. I suffered an actual heart break, I thought I failed as a daughter. Even though before when he came home we didn't know, we = mother and I, if he was in good mood or bad, if he was going to reward me with chocolate or punish me with his fist and his feet, I wanted so hard to please him that I endured. As long as he came home. Until he didn't.
The only male model I had, as I was growing up, was my father. Who loved and abused me, who was never around, and who abandoned me in the end.
I never learned to love, the proper way. I was drawn to you because you were never there. You never cared about me. You said that you did but then when you'd leave you. You never wanted to be part of my life. You never included me in your life either. You told me things and then you disappeared. In between our meetings I waited for you to ask me to see you again. In between your visits I counted the days, I cried when you failed to show on what I thought would the longest duration of separation, I cried when you failed to respond to my emails. I cried when so many weeks had passed and I did not know if I'd ever see you again. Each time an reenactment of my childhood trauma. But when you were near and when you were with me, I felt the love. I knew that I was loved and for that I was the happiest person in the world. Then you'd leave, the room was once again dim with no lights, no air, no life. I was a rag doll that had been put back into the drawer. I was no longer whole. I was abandoned. I was again, the lonely 12 year old in her pig tail, waiting for her father to come home. Then one day, he never did. And I fear, one day, you would not return.
I love you. But perhaps I loved you because I could never be sure you'd return. I loved you in spite of all that, or maybe I love you because of all that. You represented my father, and I needed you to feel those pain, over and over again. When I saw you, I felt that I could please you, and convince you enough that you won't leave me again. Convince you enough so that you'd hold me day in and day out, and love me and promise me that you'd be with me for the rest of my life. I would in return please you and make sure you were satisfied in every possible way. I simply wanted you to be pleased. I simply wanted to please you. That was the only way I knew how to love you.
But if you do love you back, if you love me at all, then know this is an addiction. I could not and would not be able to walk away from this, from you.
So, please, this time, let me go. So I could be free again. Be free of you, free of my demon, free of my past.
I love you. Now please let me go.
I love you. Please let me go.
I love you because you were often absent. You travelled a lot. You told me one thing but you never realized it. You said these things and pretend that they were never said. I couldn't trust anything from you. Every time I saw you I didn't know when I'd see you again. I saw you so infrequently and I saw you rarely. Each time when I left you it felt like mini-break up. Each time when we were back at seeing each other again, it's like we had gotten back together.
You act nothing transpired. You act as if time did not pass, we were never separated. You act as if everything was normal and everything was alright. They were not ever alright. You hurt me each time for not returning my call, not emailing me back, and not caring about what I think of you. You take our relationship for granted.
When I was young I was abandoned as a child. Regardless how I look today, I was never made whole. So for each time when you were here and then gone, I reenact my childhood trauma. I am drawn to that trauma. It is part of my DNA. It's cyclical. It's the only way I could feel anything. I think it's love, but it's perhaps the only way that I could feel anything, it's all those many years of hurt, all those many years of psychological trauma, which I reenact when I'm with you.
I love Dexter. The TV show. I know why now. I have an demon that I cannot expel. I am drawn to emotional drama whereby it allows me to feel unwanted, I try so hard to please you. I spend hours on an email sometimes and write and rewrite. I want you to be proud of me. I buy things for you wherever I go. I need not to do that. You don't do that for me. Why should I do it for you? I just do. Because I want to please you. It's the only way I know how.
One year, when I was young, when I 12, my fear came true. That one time, the person I loved the most, my father, decided that he would rather be with his secretary and never came home. I suffered an actual heart break, I thought I failed as a daughter. Even though before when he came home we didn't know, we = mother and I, if he was in good mood or bad, if he was going to reward me with chocolate or punish me with his fist and his feet, I wanted so hard to please him that I endured. As long as he came home. Until he didn't.
The only male model I had, as I was growing up, was my father. Who loved and abused me, who was never around, and who abandoned me in the end.
I never learned to love, the proper way. I was drawn to you because you were never there. You never cared about me. You said that you did but then when you'd leave you. You never wanted to be part of my life. You never included me in your life either. You told me things and then you disappeared. In between our meetings I waited for you to ask me to see you again. In between your visits I counted the days, I cried when you failed to show on what I thought would the longest duration of separation, I cried when you failed to respond to my emails. I cried when so many weeks had passed and I did not know if I'd ever see you again. Each time an reenactment of my childhood trauma. But when you were near and when you were with me, I felt the love. I knew that I was loved and for that I was the happiest person in the world. Then you'd leave, the room was once again dim with no lights, no air, no life. I was a rag doll that had been put back into the drawer. I was no longer whole. I was abandoned. I was again, the lonely 12 year old in her pig tail, waiting for her father to come home. Then one day, he never did. And I fear, one day, you would not return.
I love you. But perhaps I loved you because I could never be sure you'd return. I loved you in spite of all that, or maybe I love you because of all that. You represented my father, and I needed you to feel those pain, over and over again. When I saw you, I felt that I could please you, and convince you enough that you won't leave me again. Convince you enough so that you'd hold me day in and day out, and love me and promise me that you'd be with me for the rest of my life. I would in return please you and make sure you were satisfied in every possible way. I simply wanted you to be pleased. I simply wanted to please you. That was the only way I knew how to love you.
But if you do love you back, if you love me at all, then know this is an addiction. I could not and would not be able to walk away from this, from you.
So, please, this time, let me go. So I could be free again. Be free of you, free of my demon, free of my past.
I love you. Now please let me go.
No comments:
Post a Comment