Dear John

When there’s no undo to life and those moments change what could have been. Here’s the things you won’t let me say, most importantly, I’m sorry.

Sometimes those “Dear John” letters should require a minimum shelf life before consumption, less chance of catching a life-changing affliction that way. My letter was brief and harsh and contrary to how I really felt after the dust settled when I could sift through the destruction.

I had already spent hours that day hurting and crying and pretending; and, on the coattail of the previous week, I remember I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted and needed to be held and to feel loved. I needed the comfort of someone’s arms, your arms, more than I needed to breathe. I had felt discarded more in a week than I had in a decade. And I was “feeling” now, feeling too much, feeling all of it at once, feeling the feelings I probably refused to feel for years. It was too intense to take.

I didn’t know how to make the pressure in my chest stop or how to slow my rapid breathing. My thoughts were ruled by worst-case scenarios. People were too much. The lights were too bright. The wind was too loud. My skin was too sensitive. I was unraveling at the seams and all of the progress I felt like I had made suddenly felt like none at all. I felt no more in control of my emotions than I did my ability to control or rewind time.

The days leading up to this were a series of panic attacks and cold showers. I could feel the glue giving way from what I had haphazardly patched up years before. I felt so alone and so scared, mostly of myself. I’ve always been my own biggest enemy. I was quickly running out of ways to occupy my thoughts and was praying for relief. I was too ashamed to share how quickly I was falling to pieces and too embarrassed to ask for help. Probably more than anything, I was too afraid to admit that maybe there IS something wrong with me. Maybe I’ll never be able to do life on my own without the help of chemicals. Maybe I’ll always be dependent on the things that also take away my spark?

I think that I mentioned in passing that about a month ago I decided to “stop” taking my medication for a few reasons. Really, I had just halved the dose for the first few weeks but then after your visit when I struggled to climax, I decided to stop them completely. It was dumb. I felt like they were “holding me back.” It is all so stupid now. We just needed time and it would have been fine. But I was so afraid of “being the first” that you couldn’t please that I got so insecure about it. That conversation of “Jules, you better not be the first…” kept reverberating in my mind. I felt like there was something wrong with me and I didn’t want you to think that too. It was all so stupid and silly and a conversation would have fixed it.

It was in this aftermath that I realized that I know without a doubt, right now, I’m not ready to be on my own without them. Those thoughts of hurting myself were creeping in and those of despair and distrust. I had this overwhelming feeling that things were going too well and that tragedy was about to strike as it always had. I was driving my own self mad. All of the unreasonable now seemed inevitable. I was losing the light at the end of the tunnel, quickly, and I was even more afraid of what that was going to look like. I felt the confident, calm, poised woman I had worked so hard to become wither into chaos, panic, fear, and insecurity.

I was picking fights with everyone- my brother, my ex, you… anyone I came into contact with. In retrospect, I was screaming for help and quietly begging for someone to ask if I was ok. I wasn’t ok. I’m the master of masks and facades. Everything always looks shiny from the outside, until it isn’t.

The text prompting the “Dear John” letter had no more to do with that letter than a flower has to do with rain. My crumbling was inevitable. I blamed you for not coming to my aid. But you didn’t know. You were tied up with your own life and emotions. We were both operating from behind at 49%. There was no one capable of being the 51%. That unclaimed 2% that was missing ruined us.

On Saturday, I felt like I had been cancelled with less consideration than cancelling a dental appointment. But again, you didn’t know. You didn’t know because I was afraid of rejection. I was afraid of being too much. I was afraid of what that would feel like if you weren’t capable or willing. I was afraid of looking crazy. In my mind, I was now the multiple Julie’s we had joked about which is why I was so sensitive about it. I felt like I had been desperately searching for the me back and afraid I may not find her in time. I didn’t, at least not without leaving destruction in my path.

I’m sorry I wasn’t capable of more. I ran dry. I was on empty. What little I had been running on wasn’t enough anymore. It hurts my heart that I wasn’t what you needed. I can’t undo any of it. I can’t go back and get back on my meds when I knew things were getting too intense. It truly was the perfect storm. You were in a rough patch and I was losing my grip on reality. I wish things had gone so differently. It got to the point where I was so dependent on your words that I overanalyzed all of them, trust me. That’s too much pressure for anyone. It’s unfair.

I can only ask for grace and forgiveness. I am so afraid that instead of being remembered as a light in your life, I’ll be remembered as someone that hurt you like all the rest. The truth is that I’m not like all the rest. I care. I care so deeply about you and your wellbeing. I just had a “moment” at the absolute worst possible time. I made an incredibly rash judgement call based on fleeting emotions. But, please don’t let that moment taint the months we shared. That’s where the meat and potatoes were- all of those talks, the spaces we shared, the embraces we had. That’s what was real and honest. I miss what we had. I miss you. Trust me that it’s plenty that I have to live with the consequences of those actions daily. There’s no need to punish me. Life already is. So, I’d really appreciate it if you can find it in your heart to remember the good. Because when it was good, it was exquisite and words could never do it justice. It was easy and safe. It was the closest thing to “real” I’ve felt or had in a very very long time, maybe ever. I’m sorry I ruined that for both of us. But I am so thankful for the chapter that we shared… I just wish that I could rewrite the ending.