This letter will be longer than you or I would want it to be.
You fucked up my experience of relationships probably for ever. Sorry to be extreme, but its 10 years later and the madness still haunts me. And half of its on me for being 19 and not even understanding what a relationship is, or what it means to love someone. Back then, I thought if you found problems you fixed them.
First, I seduced you because I thought you were cute and crazy. I made you chocolate chip pancakes in a dorm that didn’t have a kitchen because that’s what you wanted for your birthday. And we hadn’t even kissed then.
Finally you relented and we became real lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend, meet your parents, talk on the phone over break, real fucking lovers.
You’d never had an orgasm. Your Dad had somewhere between died and killed himself, an alcoholic. Your Mom is still alive and still an alcoholic. I wonder if you are too.
I’m not sure when I realized it needed to end. And even when I did, I was so addicted to our sexual chemistry (you’d had an orgasm by then) and to thinking I could fix you. There was no way. For so long. This was when I lost faith in myself: as someone with the power to heal; as someone with the discipline to leave situations that harm me; as a friend, your friend, as a friend and lover. I learned to think that sex was addiction, that sex could harm, that I was asshole for wanting to fuck you, even though you wanted to fuck me more, even though, after we broke up, you literally begged me to fuck you. I can’t believe that happened. That you stooped so low and I went there with you.
It took moving to another country to really end things. I was so weak in the face of your sex and madness that only my compulsion to study abroad could overcome my compulsion to fuck you. Thank god for studying abroad.
After that things gradually wound down. 7 months cured my addiction. But not the fucking trauma. Not the horrible view of myself and of women. That shit I still live with, struggle to overcome slowly but surely, struggle to accept will never be fully overcome.
If this blog becomes big enough and you ever read this, I want you to know that I really don’t think its your fault. And not mine even. I hope. I just wrote in this voice for catharsis. To try to quell the demons of self-hate that still fuck up every relationship I’m in. But just so you know, I’m getting better, healing over time.
I can’t fucking believe we’re friends on Facebook and we act like its normal. I won’t write it on your wall, but I’ll write it here: I love you. I hate you. I pray that your life is good. And, if you care, I’m doing ok.