DISCLAIMER: The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
Dear Len,
This is what I would tell you if I could tell you the truth…
You have more on your plate than I can consume but I wanted to anyway. I wanted to eat you all up. Maybe it was your sadness – if I could heal yours, then maybe there was hope for mine. It was definitely your vibrance, your comfort in your own body, the way you owned yourself, your enthusiasm, the joy you had when you talked about things you loved, your attention to me and how you seemed genuinely interested in who I was…initially at least.
I was so broken and bruised from my past that I was deformed. I’ve mended with deep scars and fractures never cast. I knew that getting romantically involved with anyone before stabilizing myself could lead to a massive break, but I was enamored by you and excited in every way. Against my intuition, against my better judgment, I jumped in headfirst without a paddle.
My life had been an epic failure, progressively declining since 2017. Moving to NB was a last-ditch effort to get back on track. I lost nearly everything and then threw away what little was left, from career to friends, family, and lovers. I arrived in Fredericton with nothing but a droplet of hope that the area’s natural beauty, or the raw power of a total life change, could inspire the strength I needed to start again.
It’s no lie to say that, in a way, meeting you was the best thing to happen to me in a very long time. Initially you treated me with dignity and respect, and I fell for your caring and attention. It was easy to talk with you; we would get so immersed in conversation that waitresses would have to come back to our table 3 or 4 times to ask if we’d looked at the menu. You claimed interest in my work, you wanted to hear about my art, you texted constantly and sent weird but cute selfies throughout the day. You wanted to spend time with me almost every day and even acknowledged that you could be a little intense at times. You said that you didn’t want to fuck this up and gave me space when I needed it, affirming that you would be there when I came back because our connection was too special to throw away.
You asked me to participate in activities with you and made it seem like you were planning to have me in your life in the future. You sent me a link to the Atlantic Ballet Theatre of Canada’s summer recital series, a full six months away, and asked me if this was something I’d like to do. I responded by saying that I’d already been but yes, I would love to go again, and then said that we should hold off from committing to anything and if we’re still in each other’s life in 5 months we’ll buy tickets. You said you didn’t like the sound of that. I took that as you didn’t like the sound of us not being together in 5 months, but in retrospect maybe you meant something different.
There are so many things about you that I liked. You’re funny and fun. You said you’d do silly things with me like drive around to look at the Christmas lights and play bingo. You said you were interested in healing and open to meditation and didn’t get spooked at my God talk. You love being outdoors and would’ve gone hiking with me and, believe it or not, I was really looking forward to winter camping – terrified but looking forward to it – because it was going to be with you, and I knew we’d have an amazing time together and you would keep me safe. I was lonely and desperate for connection, and you were a shiny, sexy ray of sunshine that was filling the gaping hole in my chest.
Looking back, it’s clear what a danger this was. My loneliness and desperation led me to ignore that little voice in my head, that very first night we met, that spoke up in alarm when you shared what most would consider private, intimate details about your mental health and illnesses. I ignored that little voice as it sounded the alarm about your new divorce, PTSD, intense pharmaceutical regime, and recreational drug and alcohol use.
That list should have been enough, but it wasn’t until you divulged your affinity for porn, and your serious desire to make your own, that I started to really panic. We had taken an edible that night, and when you first started to talk about it, I thought you were joking. I laughed, hard, because I was stoned, but the joke didn’t have a punch line. In my increasingly paranoid state, I finally asked if you were just kidding. You very enthusiastically said, “NO!” and proceeded to pitch the idea like a pimp to a new recruit: you would make me into a porn star, we would make so much money, I was so hot that “they” would all come to watch me, we would block out my face so that no one would recognize me. You exuberantly explained how we could easily make 10 thousand dollars a week.
It was the most degrading experience I’d ever had. I’ve dated some real winners, but no man ever disrespected me so much that they were willing to exploit me in this way. I couldn’t believe what I was listening to; worst of all, I couldn’t believe that I was even listening to it. Nauseous, shocked, and sad, I stayed up all night after you left, replaying the conversation like a broken record.
There was a shift, I felt it in my body. Something fundamental changed. I needed to talk to you sober about that night. I needed to know what the fuck was going on and what the fuck did I just listen to? I swore to myself that I would bring it up, but I was too scared. I was scared to be left alone and scared to hear what I already knew was true in my heart. So I waited as my heartbreak stewed and anger percolated.
When you stood me up a week later to spend the evening chatting up your new crush, who is here on asylum from a war-torn country, who barely speaks English, who has two young children and a husband fighting in that war, I spun out. When he’s released, do you think her husband is going to shake your hand and thank you, a recently divorced man spending time alone with his wife and children in a country an ocean away, while he is risking his life fighting a war he didn’t sign up for?
I sent you a text that night that went something like this: “Having fun snorting cocaine off your woke hippy coworkers’ hairy asses while you make porn?” You were offended and replied something like: “I would never jeopardize my relationship with my coworkers by asking them to make porn.” This was the answer to the question I was passive-aggressively avoiding. How very Canadian of me, and you. I was the whore, and she was the Madonna.
I should have listened to you that very first night, when you said you just wanted a fuck once a week. You flat out said that you weren’t looking for anything serious. Of course, I completely understand why you didn’t want anything serious. Had we been run-of-the-mill friends, I would have agreed that jumping into something wouldn’t be wise given your current life circumstances.
After it all fell apart, our mutual friend apologized to me for ever introducing us. I told her it wasn’t her fault, she was just being a good friend. You gave her some watered-down version of the story, stripped of detail, making me seem like an overreactive queen who freaked out when you just wanted to hang out with your friends. Of course, she was shocked once I told her what actually happened. It must have been the medication, she claimed. She said that she’s known you for 10 years, that this was completely out of character. I believe that she believes this. She cares about you and wants to see the best in you – that’s what friends do. I can’t help but suspect that the version of every story she’s gotten from you throughout the years was a similar idealized version of what really happened. I would even wager that, in your mind and in your stories, your ex was always the one overreacting. But maybe that’s just my way of protecting myself from being hurt by you ever again.
Knowing myself the way I do, had I been in a stronger frame of mind that first night we met, I would have taken a taxi home alone , leaving you to explore whatever debauchery you could find in the crowd of 20 somethings. After listening to your traumas, something deep within me already knew that you were in no place to love a woman like me. You are in no place to love anyone. You are too immersed in your illnesses. You’re looking for a distraction, a woman that will coddle you in your pain and baby you in your suffering and transform your victimhood into a gold medal, because that is your fuel right now.
Still, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I said or did anything to hurt you, I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry that I didn’t ask more questions and I’m sorry that I didn’t explain myself clearly. I got wrapped up in my own pain and took advantage of your enthusiasm. I could have handled it differently. I could have given it a minute, or maybe not. Maybe it was all inevitable.
This experience has provided me with invaluable healing, helping to dissolve traumas long buried from childhood. I feel a freedom I’ve never felt before and know that I can surrender my life to God and be guided by God’s Grace, every step of the way. I no longer make choices out of loneliness or desperation, but rather in faith. I deserve to be treated with love, respect, and dignity and I no longer tolerate bad behavior for fear that this is all there is. Because of you, I have learned how to listen to my intuition more keenly than ever and know in my heart that a life dictated by loneliness and fear is no life at all. Because of you, I can take responsibility for myself and my choices, wholly and completely, and as I’ve extracted the pain of our interactions I’ve replaced it with the space needed to find healthy loving relationships with humans who value me and recognize my worth.
I hope that I’m wrong about you, Len, and that our friend is right. I hope that it is the medication. That would mean that you have a wonderful opportunity to build a better life for yourself and the people around you. A beautiful life, one where your daughter will grow up knowing how a good man treats women. You can legitimately heal and live better and be better in every way, exemplifying what a good man represents.
I forgive you Len. I wish you all the best in your life. It must be hard living in your consciousness, and I genuinely hope that you find healing. You are only your traumas if you choose to be. You and your family are in my prayers.
God Bless
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