Letters To Us

The First Time I Wrote to Myself

Dear diary,

No one told me it was gonna be this hard. I guess shit did get real, you know? If I could describe the year of 2020 in two words, first I'd obviously say 'shitty' and then I'd say eventful. Above all, that fucking year ruined my life, but it also taught me about one of the hardest things there is about being human. It forced me to confront myself with my ability of moving on, or, in other words, the lack thereof.

I decided to start forcing myself to write to me, in a way that's not as personal. I just address you as my dear diary, even though I know I'm unconsciously addressing the soft bitch inside of me. I think this way I can just leave you behind and don't feel bad about it.

I've always been the kind of person who just doesn't leave a soldier behind. I wanna keep everybody around me, but then I understand that it's the fear of letting go that hinders every aspect of my life. It's the fear of the unknown, the fear of change, the fear of not knowing what the hell is gonna happen.

I've been terribly unhappy lately. I'm still with that same person I told you about in all the other letters, but at the moment we have hit a new low. I didn't even know things could get so bad. It all started on the day I met his ex. Let's call her Marie, just so I don't call her any other of the names I have on my endless insult list.

I messaged her on Instagram, asking her if it was possible to have a conversation with her about him, because she's the one who knew him the best. Needless to say, she agreed. I guess the horrendous bitch inside of her spoke louder than the add she was putting up of being the poster girl for mental health. So, I called her on the way back home after hanging out with my best friend, and I told her what was going on. I don't really remember much at this point, but this was literally the first conversation we'd ever had.

As time went on, we decided to meet up again near her university so we could talk a little bit more in depth about things. I met her at the door, and then we sat down and spoke for about an hour and a half. She told me many things, that he would hit her, that he locked them inside his house and she couldn't get out, that he could never keep his fucking dick in his pants. I must say... I don't really believe the hitting part. Even though he's aggressive, I'm not sure he'd ever physically hurt someone he was suppose to love. I mean, the part about not being able to keep his dick in his pants is true. I can attest to that. I went home after this conversation, with many ideas in my mind. I told her I wanted to do these two things. For one, I wanted to talk to this one girl that never left my mind, and for second, I wanted to put half of a sleeping pill in his food so I could get onto that phone of his to find some things out. Who would have though she would give me advice for when and how to do it. 

And you ask: 'Why would you do that?'. Try being emotionally and physically cheated on and constantly betrayed, and then you'll see what crazy really means. You're gonna go bananas, like I did. I went to the point of developing an obsessive behaviour which basically consisted in talking with girls I suspected he'd been hitting on, and guess what? I spoke to about ten girls, I think, and three of them had nothing to do with him, but the rest... Oh, the rest. If you only knew.

And it was because of this and many other questions I had about this particular human being  that I decided to begin a conversation with his ex. Worst. Mistake. Ever. Not because he could be mad because I don't really care, but because she ended up really being the cold hearted Susie Crazy Ass Pants everybody warned me about. Do you happen to know what's worse than betrayal from an ordinary human being? Getting figuratively slapped in the fucking face by a fellow female, and one with whom you bonded through similar traumatic experiences with the same person. Needless to say, she asked for secrecy and then when she opened her mouth, she never shut up. She kept talking, and talking, until she told him every thing. That's a good 21st century affirmation "Looks like a female can't really trust another female anymore", pun intended. Not sure where, but intended for sure.

Listen, I've been through hell, and this story still has many details which I haven't shared, but I intend to do so. I think I didn't just love the persona he put up, but I also love the real him, who I see clearly and want to help grow, to take care of, and to love. But reality has caught up with me and I now understand he is broken, and he needs to heal, himself and the one he was when I loved her, and not me. He broke my heart the moment he despised me to the point of believing her, and not me. He was supposed to love me, to heal me, calm and protect me. And all he did was hurt me, and that's then how we started connecting. Through pain, and so we uncovered our vulnerabilities very early. We became emotionally attached to the idea of being together and it working. But I can't love and put first a person who doesn't respect me, who doesn't give me as much as I give. It's unfair to have this much love to give and feeling like you're not loved back enough. 

All I wished for was a basic castle, a place where happiness ruled and partnership was a life motto. I wanted the adrenaline, but I also wanted the babylike talks we had with each other, I wanted to fall asleep with my head against your chest, I wanted to be able to say you're mine, and I am yours, I wanted healthy habits and at least a base for trust. But I'm not a toy, and I only became somebody's second option because I did not put myself first.

But never again. My heart broke, my soul shattered, and my will to love was stored away in the deep ends of my brain.

I hope to bring better news tomorrow.

Love,

Mia