Sorry I Forgot To Write

Dear A,

I know it’s been months. Please don’t be mad at me.

These past few days I’ve let time get away from me. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to hours, hours to days, days to weeks and eventually, I’ve found myself drafting this letter to you. I’m not even sure I’ll send it. To be honest, I’ll write this, and knowing me, it’ll probably just sit in my Gmail drafts folder for another six months until I have the courage to send it. I know that isn’t fair to you. You’ve been attentive to me for years—never leaving my side even when Buster died. You were really there then. But for the sake of transparency, and for not prolonging this even more than I already have, I’m just going to rip the bandaid off like a big girl. So here it goes.

A, I’m breaking up with you.

I know. It comes as a surprise to me too. Even typing the words feels surreal and confusing. I always thought it would be the reverse: you would eventually grow tired and leave me. I watched that happen time and time again, why should our relationship be any different? But it is. Please A, you can be so irrational sometimes, so I need you to know that I’m doing this out of love. I’ll try to explain, but understand that there are some things I’ll write here that you won’t fully comprehend... and that’s okay. This letter is for my healing, not yours.

When I left six months ago, I promised I wouldn’t let the move change me. Even when my friends and family swore up and down that our relationship wouldn’t work, I shut them all out and still chose you. You were my everything, A; it was important that I chose you over anything and anyone. I couldn’t be close to you like we wanted, so I spent hours on the beach alone watching the ships sail across the horizon, dreaming of you. If anyone came up to me, even just trying to have a friendly conversation, I’d scare them away. I was loyal to you A. That was important to me because it was important to you.

In the second month I cried a lot. I missed home. It was easier being close to my family and you. You that held my hand on rollercoasters and in the middle of crowds. You that kissed me gently and held me tight when I went to sleep right after watching a scary movie. You that loved me and remained ever-present when it felt like the world was against me. You were familiar and this new state, new world, is not. I’m miles and miles away from everything I’ve ever known and at first I didn’t like it, but then I was able to see the good in a few things.

In the third month I decided to start exploring. If I tried hard enough, I could still imagine you, still feeling your presence beside me, especially in wet and gloomy January. But after awhile, it stopped being enough. I’d still feel sad and cry until my pillow was soaked and my face ran out of tears, but then I’d have nothing to do. It was like the bulk of my day used to be you and then, when I left, it became remembering you and when I didn’t have that anymore I didn’t have anything. I know you’re thinking that I’m shallow because it only took me three months to get over you. But that wasn’t the case. I still needed you, I still wanted you around, but not like before. I was growing independent of you.

In the fourth month, after exploring the city for some time, I met a man named El. He was kind and sweet, but he still couldn’t replace you, A. Not yet anyway. He taught me how to fill my days in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Do you remember hugging me in the bathroom of that cruise ship because I’d been looking at the water for too long and I had a panic attack? I could watch boats set sail for hours and hours, looking like ants as they disappeared into the fog, but I could never get on one without losing it. Well, El took me sailing that month. We hadn’t known each other for long, but some folks just feel right. He felt familiar and trustworthy. I’d been burned before, especially by you A, so I was cautious, but, I have to admit, my guard wasn’t completely up. I couldn’t explain why, but I found it hard to believe that El would just leave me on that boat to rot or gain my trust just to break it. He felt different. Granted, it was just a dingy, but by the end of our mini voyage, I felt like I could have captained the S.S. Minnow. And that’s another thing, A. I don’t watch Gilligan’s Island anymore. I don’t watch TV at all. I might in the future, I’m not ruling it out, but every time I turn it on I see you. You’re in every show, even my favorite ones. I can hear you telling me that I need the light at night to comfort me or I need the noise to make me feel less alone when you can’t be with me. But the older I get, the more I have to ask, A, what’s so bad about being alone? Not permanently, but just for an hour or a day or so? The ironic thing is, you were so possessive. You didn’t want me to be alone, but you shut out my friends and family so that when you left and you did whatever it is that you did during the day, I was alone. But A, not only have I found friends, I’ve learned to cherish my alone time.

In the fifth month A, I found this quaint little painting studio. I had been taking a walk with El and noticed a hiring sign in their window. We went in and I was hired on the spot. The best part was that I could paint all day as long as I helped out the customers when they needed me. I’ve painted so many things, A. At first all I could draw was you. Then I started painting whatever I could see. Flowers in a vase, silverfish on the hardwood, my customers at their easels. Someone even bought a painting! I’d only been there a couple weeks when someone fell in love with an abstract piece I’d done. Technically, it wasn’t even meant to be an abstract piece; I was throwing paint at an old picture of you that I’d done and the customer wanted to buy it. We don’t even sell art at the studio and I made $100 from a canvas full of angry paint blobs. I should artistically hate you more often.

A, I’m not breaking up with you because I’ve met someone else. He’s helped me see clearly, for the first time in years, and if you’re making me choose then I’m sorry in advance, but the day I moved, I think we both saw this coming. I’ve changed and you haven’t. I’ve grown and you haven’t. I want to be free and you want to keep me in chains. I want to live a life where I’m not afraid to go to sleep and I don’t shake uncontrollably when I’m alone. I want to be able to enjoy my life. I miss my parents. I miss hiking. I miss not being afraid to dance in public when my favorite song comes on. Because of you A, I missed my nephew’s first birthday. Because of you A, I haven’t spoken to my best friend in years. I was high school valedictorian and couldn’t even give my speech because of you, A. I’ve permanently severed important relationships because of you. I even broke out into hives at the thought of making this move because of you, A. I gave you a nickname hoping that it would make you seem more human, make this feel more normal, but it hasn’t A. This isn’t normal. You may be common, but you are not normal.

A, I’m leaving you because if I don’t you’ll kill me. If I allow you to rule my life A, you’ll lock me into this room like you did the last. You’ll chase away my new friends. My mother will stop calling to see if I’m okay. El will stop coming around because my heart can’t handle two vastly different beings. I’ll stop watching the sun set and rise. I’ll become a recluse until I’m afraid of everything except my own shadow and even that I’ll look at skeptically, wondering if it plans to swallow me whole when the lights go out.

Dear Anxiety, if I keep playing this game with you, I’ll lose.

I apologize for using your full name, I know you hate that, but I had to make it clear that I’m serious this time. No more nicknames; it’s time we got unfamiliar and unacquainted. Anxiety, I’ve held onto you for years. I’ve kept you close to me: shaking when someone gets too close, crying whenever I’m uncertain. But I can’t do this anymore. I cannot have you as my possession and, to be honest, I don’t want to.

So I relinquish you. I grant you your freedom. I release you to pave a new way. I’d like to think that you’ll go off into the wilderness somewhere far away. That you’ll steer clear of any unsuspecting people, but I know you won’t. You can’t help yourself. You destroy everything in your path. You bulldoze over it until nothing is left but the crumbs of what use to be a human being. I know you’ll latch on to someone else and make them feel small and insignificant, like you did me. And when you do, I hope I get to meet them. I hope they’re ready for something better and more enriching like I was. I hope they like to paint like I do. And I hope they’re looking for new friends because I’d love to introduce them to El. We’ve grown so much closer in this last month, you know. That space within me that you used to occupy has been completely filled by El’s patience and understanding and compassion. When I say I’m leaving you out of love, that is what I’m talking about; but I know you’ll struggle to understand that.

You have no power, Anxiety. I thought you did. For years I thought you did. But you are just as small and scared and alone as I felt and I think you’ll always be that way.

This might sound strange, maybe even pointless, but I do hope you find your peace. I’ve found mine.

Sorry I forgot to write, but I won’t be needing your services any longer.

Rejoicefully,

Me.