I spent over a year in a world of unimaginable love, where I looked into your eyes and saw beauty and a deeper, brooding darkness that lured me in like a well. We had an undeniable connection and our love grew gradually. Nothing we did was conventional, but none of it mattered, because you weren’t conventional and neither am I.
All of the family loss, grief, and heartache I encountered – as well as your own – was met with support and understanding. We were our own people, living independently beside each other. I thought you got me; I thought you understood who I was and accepted me as I am. When the time came to tell you I loved you, you said it back without skipping a beat and I waited until I got into my car to cry because I was so overcome with joy, because I felt the realness of your words and felt warmth in the way you looked at me. It was the day before my mother’s anniversary of her death, and the day before your cousin’s funeral in Boston. You played the guitar for me the week before and sang. You maneuvered the frets and let me strum and we made a song together that was beautiful and slow and I knew I loved you the week before I said it. You and I were so sad that month, but I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at you.
You can imagine, then, how surprised and shocked I was when you arrived at my house that warm February afternoon, looking sicker than anything I’d ever seen, to tell me that you’d been cheating on me for the last three months. You told me the whole week before that you felt ill and I urged you to go to the doctor, I brought you tea, I brought you breakfast at home – unaware that she and I were living in each other’s shadow for three months. Your housemates knew, your mother knew, and no one said anything, no one warned me of your manipulation – they all trusted in you to come clean. The Friday before, you introduced me as your girlfriend, only for me to discover you asked her that same evening to be yours. It was pure luck that she found out about me, because you calculated every movement, every interaction, to ensure we would never cross paths. I gave you the emotional intimacy, and she gave you sexual. You had to separate us like a true sociopath.
And when you told me you’d been cheating on me, when you sobbed and heaved and writhed in my arms, saying you loved me, saying you were sorry, I couldn’t help but feel bad for you. I knew I had done nothing wrong over this past year besides challenge you to communicate more, to open up, to express your feelings. You are the one who has to live knowing you lied about my grandfather’s death to her, and you are the one who has to live knowing he died believing you wouldn’t hurt me. I will have to live knowing I was wrong about you, but at least I will live with a clean conscience.
As I talked to your other girl, and as the conversation went on hour after hour, I became more and more dismayed learning of the lengths you went to in order to deny my existence. I am unable to comprehend on any level how you could tell me – to my face – over and over that you loved me. I can’t understand how you could lay with her and then only hours later crawl up beside me and kiss me, tell me how proud of me you were, tell me how pretty I looked, and fall asleep holding me tighter than I ever knew I wanted.
Yet through all of this, my love, I only want you to find peace. I cannot hate you, because I feel you have the deepest loathing of yourself. I believe you hurt everyone around you who challenges you to face a part of yourself that you have denied for years, because you fear the truth. And I agree, the truth is scary – dying is scary – the unknown is scary. You are facing your own unknown, and that could be the death of a part of you that you aren’t ready to release from. But honestly, you need to kill the demon by facing it, and by admitting you need to help yourself. I know that everything I felt for you was real, the love I still and will always have for you is real; I believe – or want to believe – that you do love me, that you did love me at some point, but I also know that we as people are incapable of loving another beyond the capacity which we are able to love ourselves. I can still love you because I grew to love myself – I killed my demons. I hope you find peace. I truly do.