Anonymous Confession: What I Wish I Could Tell You

I wish I could have seen. My regrets are is redirected self-hatred rooted in how fucking naïve I was, how easily I let myself be duped by your words empty of action, how time and time again I suffocated my doubts when I knew I was right because you told me to. We fought so much from the beginning, I don’t know how I deluded myself into thinking we could be a team. Maybe it was the chemistry. God, you remember how good our chemistry was, don’t you? I didn’t believe the universe would be cruel enough to give two people who shouldn’t be together such good chemistry. I thought we were supposed to make it work.

I wish I could tell you that none of it was real. There were times when we were together when I thought it was just a dream, and not in the “Life is too good to be reality” kind of way, but because of the distance between us as people. I dated you because I was so ready to give and to receive love and you were within Cupid’s arrowshot, but we were so far apart that by the time our love reached each other, it had evaporated and floated away, leaving behind only a silhouette that we each filled in with what we had wanted it to be instead.

I wish I could tell you that she doesn’t threaten me. I know all too well that rebounding doesn’t make you forget, and I know that you did it only so that I wouldn’t “beat” you. I wish I could tell you not to repeat your same mistake of forcing something because you want it to be true, because you want to be over me enough to be into her. I wish I could tell you how sad it is that you have to delete our messaging history after every curt, essential exchange so that you don’t drunk text me. I wish I could tell you that I don’t have to do that because no part of me – not even drunk, lonely, uninhibited me – wants you back in my life again.

I wish I could tell you that I’m okay. You wouldn’t think that from how I acted after we broke up. The waterworks flowed constantly, my sobs racked my body hard enough that you were concerned about my ability to breathe. But like a child who screams upon dropping an ice cream cone, only to stop suddenly when given a cookie, I was fine. I was reacting how I expected I would in this event rather than actually listening to my heart – an all-too-common occurrence throughout our relationship. I’d thought you’d broken my heart when all you’d actually done was give it the opportunity to heal itself through usage, until you finally released it.

I wish I could tell you that you were not responsible for making me better. When you first met me, I was in such a bad place. I was crippled with self-loathing and doubt and shame. I had hoped that having someone love me would “fix” me, and it did, but not for the reason you might think. All that time I avoided ending things because I was so afraid of returning to my former self and I couldn’t let go of the person I had become with you, but I’m still here. See, my confidence didn’t come from you validating me. It came from seeing how much better I am than you and that now, even without you, or anyone, for that matter, I am still happy. I wasn’t my genuine, goofy, gross, flawed self because you made me feel comfortable enough to let my guard down – it was because I didn’t care what you thought.

I wish I could tell you “thank you” for not calling out of work that last day that we will ever see each other. I needed you to do it for proof that you had ever actually cared about me, one sacrifice to make up for the countless disappointments, one piece of evidence that it had all been real. Of course you couldn’t give me that – it was just a dream. There was no other way for it to end but by waking up to reality.