another letter to you

This is another of a series of letters I’ve written to you over the past 2 weeks. They are more for me than for you—a way of getting all of this out of my system and, maybe one day, feel ok again. Maybe one day I’ll mail one of these, although I don’t think it will make a difference to you

I love you. I have loved you, even when you were not in my life and in the back of my mind for close to 30 years. Nearly half of my life. Enough that I sought you out after all that time. Enough that I took you back after the last hurt you caused me. Enough that I would take you back if I even thought you would try and fix things between us.

I considered you the love of my life. The time we lived together (before you took up with this woman) was the happiest of my life. I adored you, would do almost anything for you. I loved our travels, our talks, our private jokes. I loved that you would cook and tell me how you “liked doing things for is”. I loved making love with you, touching you, snuggling on the couch with you. Laughing with you, planning with you. Working with you, helping you. Being part of you.

When you came back from Ireland I knew that you had been carrying on with other women online even while you were telling me you loved me and were going to make it all up to me. It hurt me, but I let it go, figuring you were away and lonely. We had a fresh start.

I remember the email (I wish I could find it—I printed it out someplace) where you told me that neither of us really wanted to be with anyone else, and we belonged together. We both wrote down what we wanted from each other. That meant a lot to me. I felt we had a plan for a life together.

Then one day I saw the text about the “love letter” and my world collapsed. If there was anyway I could have ignored it I would have, but your asking someone to write you a love letter so you could
dream about them”, while I, the woman you supposedly loved was sleeping next to you hurt me more than you could know. You told me it was just a “diversion” and “didn’t mean anything”. I asked if you would end it, and you said you would. I asked you about it later on—if you had ended it, and you said you had. I asked what you had told her, and you told me that you were “too busy working”.  I didn’t believe you.

Then you put passcodes on all your devices and stopped leaving your phone around. I don’t know if you thought I was stupid or not, but that screamed to me that it wasn’t over with her. And your continuing lying about it hurt even more than the cheating.

Because you did cheat. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t a physical relationship—you were spending time, and emotions, and sharing your life with someone who wasn’t me. Who wasn’t (your words) your partner, your lover, your best friend. You said I hated it when you were away—yes, because I knew that was your time with HER. It had nothing to do with the people at the gallery. Did we fight—yes, because I was hurting so badly, and wished you would be honest with me—if you were maybe we had a chance to fix this, and bring us back together again. I don’t know what you expected from me. It hurt me every time I saw you on your phone, or your tablet—not knowing if you were with her or not. It hurt me that we rarely made love anymore—that was one of the most precious parts of us—how much we loved pleasuring each other. I was in emotional pain every day, and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be with you so badly—if we could have talked, could have worked together, if you were honest with me, maybe we could have saved us. But all you saw was the fighting—not the pain behind it.

When we were in England, and you didn’t have your phone or tablet, and it was just us, I was happy. We made love 3 times during that short trip. We laughed and talked and we were also US again. But that was just a brief time. And when we came back you were hers again.

I stayed on, in hope that something would change. I tried not to get upset—you may not believe that, but I did try. But the pain in me was too great, and your continuing to lie too damaging. I didn’t know what to do. I felt totally helpless and hopeless.

I’d been ignoring the cell phone bills. I didn’t want to know. If the amount was what I expected it to be I just paid it. But when I got the last bill I couldn’t help but note—I had about 150 calls/texts. You had over 3,000. So I looked. Calls, texts, pics sent, every day, multiple times a day. Thousands of times you were with her, and taking yourself away from me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to end this. The hurt I experienced was too much to bear.

But even then, had you shown any remorse for what you had done. If you told me you loved me, and were sorry, and would try and make it right I wouldn’t have left. I searched your face for a sign—some hurt, a tear maybe—something that told me that I still mattered. “I still care about you” wasn’t enough. I wanted you to tell me not to leave, or, after I did leave to come back. I would have—had you asked me, while I was driving home that night to come back and we’d talk about it I would have. I would have done almost anything.

Leaving that night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. I loved you so much. What we had was so precious to me—we meant so much to me. It hurt me beyond pain that I had become that unimportant to you. It was like cutting off an arm—it hurt horribly, and I knew I’d never be the same again.  The physical pain I was feeling was horrible. The love I had held for you all those years got tossed back in my face like a wet rag. Meaningless to you.

I was up all that night. Crying, screaming—gathering up your things—I couldn’t bear to see them. The next day I told Jane what had happened and she and Leslie (I’d talked to Leslie the night it happened) and begged them to come over and help me. Packing up your things and sending them to you—I couldn’t have done it myself. I couldn’t bear to even look at them—I just wanted it all gone. Jane and Les took everything to UPS or Goodwill for me. I felt like I was throwing away my soul doing that.

I’ve been trying to convince myself that I can do this. I can make a fresh start.  The day after I left you I ordered a new mattress, went shopping for new sheets and towels—the thought of having anything that touched your body intimately was unbearable to me. I ordered new pots and pans, since I always thought of you cooking for us, and telling me how you liked doing things for us. I deleted all of your texts and emails. Deleted all pics of you off my phone and laptop. I blocked your calls, your emails. I hd you removed from our phone account. Asked to have you removed from the lease. Sent our vacation pics to the “cloud” so I wouldn’t keep bumping into them. I’ve been working on changing the apt to look at least somewhat different. I got rid of things we’d bought together—time to make this “my” place—no longer “ours”.

I called my assistance program at work, and cried to the counselors there—they were my lifeline those first few days. They listened to my pain, and consoled me, and convinced me that my life was not over. I joined two online support groups—I’m amazed by how many other people went/are going through the same thing I was. It helps to talk, to vent, to share stories. I started journaling—writing down my thoughts and feeling. Sometimes, like this letter, I wrote them to you. I found a therapist and have started working with her. She is encouraging me to join some social groups so I can meet other women. I can’t deal with meeting men right now. I did join two groups. Maybe one day I’ll actually go.

Last night for the first time in a long time I felt some peace. I wasn’t in pain, wasn’t crying, wasn’t thinking of you, of us, of the loss. I was just me. It didn’t last long, but it was good to know that, as time goes on, the peace will overcome the pain. There will be good in my life again.

I wish I could forget, and stop thinking of, and loving you. I don’t know if that’s possible. Loving you is part of me—like breathing. I’ll probably just in time push you to the back of my mind, like I did all those years we were apart. Always there, always loved, but in the background.

I miss you horribly. There is almost a constant ache in my chest. I hate mornings, when there is that few seconds before I realize you are gone, then the world comes crashing down. Some days I could barely get out of bed. I didn’t go back to work for 6 days—I was in mourning.

If you learn nothing else, learn this. Whatever you think, what you did to me—to us—hurt. It was not harmless fun and a “diversion”. It was a betrayal, it was lie after lie. It ruined what I felt was the best thing ever in my life. Please, do not hurt anyone else. Do not think you can be involved in a relationship as a grown man. You will always chase the fantasy—always take the easy route—always run away when it gets too hard.

I love you. Always. I wish we could be.