Dear James, Part 7

Dear James,

So that last e-mail you sent to me.  Was that really what you wanted to say?  Is that really how you felt?  That I was a cheating liar of a slut who you feared had given you an STD? There were no tender thoughts about me or moments where you thought to yourself, “what have I done?”  Because if you ever really cared about me or loved me, you would have wondered what you had done to me.

normal-people-don-t-go-around-destroying-other-hum

I must have apologized to you on the average of once a day for the entirety of our relationship.  But you could not, in that note, muster up even a modicum of remorse? What about now, though?  What about today?  Are you sorry even a little bit?

If there is one thing I want more than anything, it’s for you to say you wish that you could have been a different man, that you understand what you did wrong, that you wish it wouldn’t have happened, that you are taking measures now to make sure that you never treat anyone this way again and that you are so very sorry.  I need that and, quite frankly, I deserve that.

Me going to the courthouse to get the order of protection after receiving your e-mail? The. Lowest. Moment. Of. My. Life.  Without any doubt the lowest.  And I thought I had already hit that low with my visit to the women’s shelter.   Nope.  Not even close.  But what was I supposed to do with the “you have not suffered nearly enough….”  Who says that to someone?  Why on earth did you say that to me?   You really believe that my life needs more pain?

I can’t live my life hoping for an apology from you that will likely never come.  I have to tell myself that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for thinking that you meant anything sweet that you ever said to me.  For believing that I could manage your highs and lows and unpredictable behavior.  For putting my hope of a happy life in your empty basket.

I am such a fool.  But you knew that from the start, didn’t you.

Me

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