I just finished reading a spectacularly good novel by Sandra Kring: Thank You for All Things. I’m ashamed (now) to say I only paid fifty cents for this book. That was, without a doubt, the best fifty cents I’ve spent in a long time; because of the timing of the book as well as the novel itself. I needed to read this book, at this moment in my life. I needed to read this paragraph today:
“I learned that what we see in others is only a small part of who they really are. And that good and bad often go hand in hand. And I learned that being hurt causes hurt. What else I learned is that even empty places where a father or a grandfather should be aren’t really empty, because they’re filled with things like longing and hurt and mistrust. And I learned that love doesn’t mean a real lot if it’s felt on the inside but can’t be shown on the outside. I learned, too, that we can, and do, love people who aren’t perfect…”
I read this paragraph today after reading another letter. A letter not intended for me, but found by me nonetheless. A letter you wrote to someone else. A very deep letter professing your love and adoration for this other person. Someone that you’d only met once, that you were willing, according to your letter, to discard us for and pursue. For whatever reason, I needed to read that letter today as well. Better today than, say, last month, or six months ago. (It was written about a year ago.) For one year it sat and waited to be read. Waited for me to accidentally discover it, and for you to initially deny it.
We’ve been through a lot, you and I. Especially this last year. I think this last year was, by far, the hardest year I’ve ever had. I almost didn’t make it. I certainly almost didn’t make it with you. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. But I made my decision, and I learned to slowly trust you again. I learned that you weren’t in a good place, that I was reacting to that negative energy with more negative energy. I tried to change – and you were resistant to the change at first. You didn’t want to go there. You didn’t want to see a different me. Now I understand why. It’s so much easier to blame, so much easier to see me as something less than perfect so you can cover up your own imperfections. So much easier to justify your actions when you misread and capitulate falsehoods about mine. It was so much easier for me to raise my walls and protect myself than it was to see over the wall to the other side.
Then, I had had enough. I decided to change. I decided it wasn’t worth it to be hiding; combating negative energy with negative energy. It wasn’t working. I wasn’t working. So I changed. Bit by bit, I got better. I’m still working on it. I’m not at all perfect, nor where I should be. But reading both the letter and then the paragraph above today helped me see why some things happened the way they did. They helped me see that not all of it was my fault – as you led me to believe. Not all of it was even about me. That was a relief of sorts: to know I’m not as bad as I feared. Not knowing whom to trust about it, or who was brave enough to tell me the truth about myself. Not trusting my own feelings/emotions/thoughts/fears/etc. Certainly not trusting you(rs) either.
The ironic thing here is, I actually have started to trust you again. I have decided to open my heart for one last time. I think it was being tested today. Tested and, thankfully, a bit healed as well. I know it was over for you a while ago. You said you are a “different person now” and I’m going to choose to believe you. For now. I can only do one day at a time, and I can only take so much pain at once.
I have warned you: this is the last time I open my heart to you again. I won’t do it again. I can’t survive another stretch like this. I am not attaching any anger or current frustrations to the letter – it was, after all, written a year ago. What I am going to do is remind you that this is IT. This is the last opportunity you have to live your life with me. If you wish to go down that path again, fine. I won’t stop you. But I won’t take you back either. You have to show me that you really mean it, otherwise, I will show you the door. I will help you pack. No, screw that: I’ll throw all your shit on the grass.
Ironically, when you said you wanted to burn the letter, my first thought was “Why? So you can hide the evidence?” I wish it had been “Yay, good for you!” So that does make me a bit sad. I also know you will never read this even though you know I have a blog. I’ve told you several times. So I know things aren’t perfect, and I’m not living in a cloud. But I am living now. I’m more alive than before I woke up this morning. Things are clearer to me now. I’m glad you ‘forgot’ about that letter. I’m glad I found it. I’m glad I had to have a really good cry today so that all these old emotions could come to the surface, be examined, and then discarded. I’m glad I can purge with my written words. I don’t know how to survive without purging this way. Okay, I threw up in the bathroom too. That helped as well. I admit it.
I also received a text today, after all of this, with some very good news about a friend’s health. He was elated. I tried to hold onto his elation as my own. I tried to capture the peacefulness of my backyard, of the change of the seasons, and of the laughter of my children. This is what I will hold onto now. Not the anger and hurt and frustration. I’m done with those tears and that negative energy. I feel like this, the here and now, is what helped me seal the wound. The wound that was just festering away no matter what. I wasn’t quite sure why it wouldn’t close, or what more needed to be done to heal. Now I know. I didn’t need to do anything, but I did need that last piece of the puzzle. That last little reminder of the past, and a clue as to why for it all to fit. Now I’m whole again. Now I can look forward. Now I can say I will heal.
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