Dear June 11th,
I wish you knew how excited I was to finally meet you. To be able to see you with my own eyes, to touch your hand, and maybe steal a kiss or two. You said it yourself there was a connection and it had returned, but what you didn’t know is that it never left for me. There was so much you didn’t know. I’d always thought of you, wondered where you were, how you were doing. I often played the awful game of “What if?”. What if I had gotten on that plane to come see you all those years ago? What if I had taken that leap and made the life changing decision all those years ago to move closer, to be with you? Ugh…What if? The connection had come and gone for you, but for me, it was like being kicked off the server, and constantly hitting the “Try again” button, hoping to reach you this time around. I was happy we reconnected. Almost allowing myself to believe that maybe I could still have that fairy tale ending I’d always dreamed of.
I spent the days leading up to you, imagining what a first kiss would be like, and how I would feel when we hugged for the first time. I went through every stitch of clothing I owned to find something suitable for meeting you. At some point, I remember looking in the mirror and saying to myself, “losing about 15 pounds before you get there wouldn’t hurt, chubby.” I was excited to see you. So very excited.
But what you didn’t know then, and I’m not really sure I’m ready to tell you now is that, up until the moment I knew you had landed, I was on the verge of cancelling. Not because I didn’t want to finally see you, but because I didn’t feel like I was worthy of that moment. I wasn’t good enough for the fairy tale I so desired. You didn’t know what the last 5 months and 11 days had been like for me, and if you did, you might not have wanted to be anywhere near me.
We hadn’t talked much in the last several years and so much had gone on. So much that you didn’t know. I could never have explained to you the weight I was carrying on the day we finally met. It isn’t exactly desirable to know that the woman you are about to spend your day with has been struggling with not wanting to live in a world in where she can’t ever hug her Grandmother again. I didn’t tell you that for weeks, I had been fighting suicidal ideation. I mean how do you tell someone, “Seeing you has been one of the few reasons I haven’t hung myself the last couple of weeks. No pressure though.” Better still, how do I even tell you that after battling postpartum depression, it turned into a few varying diagnoses that have re-shaped my entire life, and my actual being. I could see that look. The look I get often when I try to be honest about my struggles so that no one attempting to be romantically involved with me is blindsided when I withdraw because I don’t want to live, or go outside, or function as a human that day. I’ve seen that look so many times. It reminds me that I am great to look at (for some), awesome to play with, but I can never be the “one” because I am tainted, too much, and not worth the cost or effort. But enough about me.
When you shared what it was like for you, how you felt after ending your last relationship; When you opened up to me about feeling insecure and fighting your way back, I wanted to shout that I knew what that was like. I wanted to tell you I have been there, I am still there. I wanted you to know that I would never treat you that way because you were my dream come true. In that moment I wanted you to let me love you. Let me love you so that I could change how you felt about yourself. Let me love you through your “darkness”, like I’ve needed someone to love me through mine. My heart broke for you because I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone. But in that moment, I just wanted you to let me give you the love I’ve always thought you deserved. The love I’ve always wanted to give you.
I don’t want to rehash all of that night because it was mess and it didn’t end at all the way either of us wanted it to. I just wish that I had been able to share with you that alcohol is not my friend. I am usually fine in the moment. I can relax and my anxiety subsides for the moment, but as the time passes… I don’t drink often because I shouldn’t. It triggers this pendulum of emotions that drag me back and forth through anxiety riddled thoughts and moments when I want to melt into the floor. I felt about 1,000 of those moments that night. I don’t want to say that I can never drink, but I have to be cautious of how much. That day, I drank because you were. I drank because I was so nervous and worried that I wasn’t going to be “fun” enough for you that I went beyond my limit. I pushed myself because while you and everyone else were ready to “Turn up”, I was ready to go to bed. To leave the day behind, and hopefully just be with you so that I could tell you all of this. so that I could convince you that it would be ok if we just found a way to love each other. I wanted to show you that it wouldn’t be that hard to love me, that I could love you in a way that you would never doubt yourself again (because that is what you deserve). We both know that isn’t what happened, but boy, do I wish it was.
I just wish you knew more going into this. I wish I had been able to tell you all the things I wish you knew. So because I couldn’t, I am here. Clicking “Try again”, waiting to connect with you. They say that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, but if there were ever a time it did, I pray this would be it. A second chance, third if I am really counting, to love you the way you deserve to be loved and hopefully being loved the way I’ve always wished to be.
Signed,
The girl who just wants a chance to love you.
