Repentence
Dear Elena
I'm currently in rehab; I'll say first off that it is not my choice to be here, but I am here nonetheless. I felt that to write to you would prevent you from hanging up on me, or presenting me with a violence most foul... or one of those stares you've perfected that could turn any mammal into stone at ten paces. Thinking on paper I realise that it's probably not the best way to say what I wanted to say by insulting your physical presence. I'm still recovering.
Right now I'm going through a stages thing. It's not the twelve steps - too godly for my liking. But it's similar, and does include a stage on repentence. The theory is that if one looks back into the past at all the indiscretions one has committed as a response to/result of/cause of one's problem, then one can make good on those indiscretions and this will lead to a happy, problem free life. Like I said, it's only a theory.
I look back and all I can see is you. Just you, can you imagine that? All those things that happened before, and all of those since, and here I am seeing a past with nothing but you or your influence. It's like those pre-you days were just me building up to meeting you. If anything's causing the problem, it's you. And believe me honestly when I say that I am not blaming you. This problem is entirely my doing... but you were the catalyst.
From the moment I met you I knew that it would be all or nothing. Love or indifference, life or death. It turned out to be love, and it nearly killed me. Unfortunately, you didn't, and don't love me back, and this was hard to deal with. At first. It progressed, and we got close; you know how close we got, and I'll leave it at that. This is a letter, and there are just some things that no one really wants to read.
But you met him. And it changed. You didn't want to talk to me any more, you didn't want to hang out, or hug, or hold me like you did. I felt hurt and rejected, and when I told you this you exploded; calling me childish and ridiculing my own naive perspective of us. And that was the end, wasn't it? You moved in with him, and I'm told from time to time by our mutual friends that you're still with him. Well good for you, it's obviously the real thing. Unless you're just too scared of getting out. Again, no accusations... I'm just saying you've got form for this sort of thing.
Shit.
I'm supposed to be rounding off stage four here, and I'm not doing very well. Repentence. It fucking hurts, bringing up the past like it was a historical journal, matter of fact, names and dates. It's not as easy as all that. History has emotional connections and they're harder to erode than names and dates. The last time I saw you I was filled with a mixture of hatred, love, pain and anguish, and I drank myself stupid over the next few weeks.
That, of course, was years ago. I carried on drinking but not to blot out the pain. And no, before you go hitting the conclusion button, I'm not an alcoholic. But the alcohol didn't help me, let me tell you. I spiralled, I lost jobs, I lost friends, I made new, shallower bonds and I see them occasionally.
What I'm trying to say is this; everything I've done since then up until now is directly or indirectly related to you. And the way we spoke to each other.
But all this is besides the point. This long and garbled note to you is basically a smokescreen for what I'm really supposed to be saying. For all that I said to you, for all that I did that led to the dissolution of our relationship, and for all of my naive, immature feelings that love really exists, I'm sorry. Really.
Love
xxx
posted by Cos Ryan @ 10:35 PM
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