I’m attempting to clean my desk. As we’ve seen in the past, maintaining a clean desk is quite difficult for me, and yet after cleaning and organizing and Christmasizing Casa de Sabala this weekend, I’m somewhat inspired to be in a place that doesn’t make me have to take a Xanax to function in. (That, and they’re making me move out of my cozy office with a wine fridge into a cube upstairs wherein I start inventing new swear words to try and scare my new ‘neighbors’ with.)
In doing said task, I figured I’d tackle my file-thingy that I keep random crap in to pretend that I’m organized even though really, it’s just a metal mesh thingy that keeps the aforementioned random crap (that I never look at, btw) from taking over more desk space. I don’t think I’ve gone through this metal mesh thingy in four months, so I decided that the perpetual pile-r would actually GO THROUGH the stuff in the metal mesh thingy and throw things away. (Yes, you read that right. I WAS GOING TO THROW THINGS AWAY!) In doing so, I came upon an envelope of pictures of me and an ex from a few years ago, immediately sending me back to a quasi-relationship that made me feel as insecure as I did when I was *IN* the relationship. There are pictures of us together, appearing happy, appearing coupley, but in viewing them I was struck with the memory of always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Then I found the letter. It was addressed to my ex, stamped, yet remained unsent. It was also sealed. I had a vague recollection of not sending it for a reason, but couldn’t exactly remember why. So I opened it.
It was dated October 10, some time in the past.
I remember now. We broke up on October 11th. Or, more accurately, he broke up with ME on October 11th. So *THAT’S* why I never sent it.
The thing that gets me the most is that it’s an apology letter. An APOLOGY letter, saying I’m sorry for pressuring him to say what’s on his mind, to say that he missed me; basically, I’m apologizing for trying to get confirmation of his feelings. Part of me must have known that the end was near; after all, if your boyfriend can’t utter those three words (and no, not THOSE three words; the "I miss you" words) he probably doesn’t & you’re in for a quick trip to dumpsville. I ended the letter with the following phrase:
Not going to bug you anymore for not saying it, but going to say it myself since that’s me.
I Miss you – Aubrey
In looking back, had he not broken up with me the next day, and had I not known enough to withhold sending this letter first thing in the morning, he should have dumped me for this alone. Can you say PATHETIC? I won’t go into the rest of the letter, but suffice it to say it followed suit in its insecure, unsure-of-our-relationship talking-in-circles self-protection vulnerability. In looking back, I can understand why I would have written it, yet I’m embarrassed and somewhat appalled by my ability to be walked all over. I’m far from perfect in relationships these days and yes, sometimes too much remains unsaid, but at least I don’t find myself apologizing for things I should never apologize for, things that I should be demanding in the relationship in the first place.
With all due respect to parties whose names I’ll withhold, what I should have said was:
Our conversation last night was shit. You are one hell of a pu**y for not being able to speak your feelings; I deserve better. If you don’t miss me, or can’t say it, then I’m clearly with the wrong person. Go find yourself someone who’s ok with your emotional retardation because I’m certainly not.
I wonder if I could get a false postmark dated a few years ago and send the revised version anyway…