Dear *insert cute nicknames that only we understood* but then I backspace that and type your name,
Writing this letter feels like finally giving our relationship a diagnosis after years of pain. The only difference being I don’t want the cure.
I’ll spare you the it’s not you it’s me part and get down to business.
Today, I learnt something interesting about repetitive patterns. The root cause or trigger of the behavior is something that you don’t even recognize as a part of the pattern. It often lies outside like the invisible oxygen that fuels the fire. However, you won’t be surprised to know which event I am referring to now, would you?
Yes, it’s the one from my childhood (Isn’t it always?)! Bingo!
Well, when I realized that, I was almost disgusted with the idea of being with you, or even looking at you. It’s not that you are the same person as him. It’s not even that you ever made me feel that way. I was safe with you, loved and cared for. But, I just brought that mind-fucking and mind-fucked person out of you. You see, it is some fucked up way of my defense mechanism saying “Hey! We control who fucks with your head (ah! the irony) and we let him. So it’s okay!”
But I don’t want that anymore. See the mechanism goes off when I see something with the slightest potential of hurting me. And we were always fucked up! You know how we thought we fit together like puzzles pieces? You know what a puzzle also is? A mind game!
Well, if you take that analogy literally, then my insecurities were filled with your over compensations and vice versa. I put my incessant analyzing into your bottomless hole of feeling misunderstood. You threw your constant care into my deep dark pit of feeling undesirable. So, I don’t want to be part of a puzzle anymore.
Putting a pin on the wordplay and analogies, I just want to have a fun conversation on a first date that ends with an imperfect first kiss. I don’t want to know the first time I see him if I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I want to give him a clumsy bouquet of flowers on the second date for being late. I don’t want to tell him my deepest fears in a late night phone conversation. I want to drunk text him and fall asleep in his arms after the third date. And maybe still not be in love with him by the fourth.
I want to give my defense mechanism a break. I want simple, for now. And well that just wasn’t us.