Goodbye the old me. Goodbye B

Dear B,

I’m not going to contact you or write to you, because that’s against everything I’ve been taught as an adult. I write. But this is not going to be in your inbox.  I don’t write to you via email anymore. You don’t deserve my attention. This is about me saying goodbye to the old me.

I no longer feel the needs to be with you anymore. I no longer feel the anxiety. I still feel sad but it’s not the sadness associated with wanting you but sadness associated with me wasting my year and half of time spending countless hours thinking about you, trying to get to you, the core of you, hoping to convince you that I could be loved by you.

That’s the sad part. To lose myself. To completely letting myself go and hinging my happiness on your willingness to see me. To imagine that you cared about me at all. To imagine that I meant something to you and not just some pathetic woman waiting to be fucked. I had given myself to you. Willingly, freely, and all I ever wanted was to have some attention from you, yet all I received was a glorified booty calls arranged at your convenience and even that was short lived and often interrupted and rescheduled.

Do you realize how much effort I’ve put into this relationship? Do you realize how ridiculous it is for you to be so dismissive about it in the end and condescendingly telling me that you knew “this relationship has been difficult” for me? Do you realize that you have absolutely lost every ounce of my respect?

If fifteen years of limited interaction and friendship meant nothing to you, what about the last year and half? What about being just a decent human being and afford me the opportunity to say the final goodbye? What about the possibility of being just a friend like we used to be? What type of person are you to disappear like that? Lies. Millions of layered, snowball lies. That’s the essence of you. And, you are someone who really never gave a crap about me or has any respect for me.  What happened there? What happened to all the promises? What about love? What about telling me that you loved me and how lucky you were to have me in your life? Lies, more lies.

Don’t lie. Don’t lie to a woman repeatedly.  You already had her. You did not have to lie to her.  But why? What kind of twisted person are you to lie repeatedly? You never did love me. I loved you. I showed it. You were my priority.

I’m angry for having fallen for you, for having lost myself over this, and for having wasted a year of half of my life on you, when you were simply a shallow, sad, indecent, coward person who couldn’t handle a real, adult conversation, and you lied. You told me many times you loved me. How could you love me? Do you know what love is?

I’m not perfect, I’m flawed. But I once loved you. I once wanted to be with you and I was loyal to a fault. You just kept on pushing my envelope, squeezing out the every last ounce of my dignity and self-respect, discarded my feelings and treated me like some helpless hopeless person who was at your mercy.

Life should not be like this. I should not be treated like this. I should have told you that I deserved more. I should have told you that you mustn't treat me like this or I’d leave. I should have told you that you should stop lying to me by telling me that you loved me. And yes, I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago.

I’m moving on. This is quicker than I had anticipated. But I don’t want to move onto other people. Other men. I want to be me for a while. This happy, productive, loving, caring person who is decent, cool, funny, and smart. I want to stop wasting my energy on men. I want to take care of myself and stop feeling insecure or wish to be loved. I am loved. I need to see that. I need to feel good again.

I always knew the moment I let you go, I will need to buy a country home in France. It’s what’s been calling me. A place where I could finally be free. Perhaps I’d write. Perhaps I’d travel more. Perhaps I’d be myself, smoke a cigarette, and hang out in a café in Paris, and be me. Be entirely me and not worry about what others think of me, or whether you existed. Perhaps at my old age, when you are long ceased to exist even in my ancient memory, I’d be reminded of you. But I’d remember more of my friends. Who stayed with me and helped me to get over you.

It’s been a difficult journey, a year and half of trying to figure out what I wanted or needed from you. As it turned out, what I need is simple. I need to be me.  I need you to be out of my life. I need to surround myself with those who love me and who return my affection. As it turns out, there are plenty of people who want to be in my circle. Men and women, old and new friends. They just want me to be happy. And you made me – NOT happy. They want you out of my life.  My lover has only see the happy side of me. He likes me for who I am. We sometimes just go out and have a drink or dinner. We sometimes don’t see each other for a month. We sometimes just hang out. We don’t tell each other things that we don’t mean. There is nothing calculating about our relationship. It’s just a fact of life.  

It’s nice to hit the bottom and know the worst is behind me. Anyone who can’t make me feel me, has no business in my life. That includes you, B.

Goodbye, B. Goodbye, old me. Goodbye, sad me.

Hello, the evolved me. The struggling, but evolving me.  

I know I will smile again, because the worst is behind me. I am no longer under the control of a sick, twisted, manipulative, disrespectful, coward, heartless person. I'm free.