You called me crying again last night. You’re sorry for all of this. Your relationships keep failing because you can’t get over me. You’re sick; you might go blind. You don’t want to die without seeing me one more time. You’re clean now. You miss your family. You miss me. Please let’s try one more time.
I find it absolutely nuts that when you and I first broke up, I would have given anything in this world to hear exactly those words. They wouldn’t have been true then either, but back then, I was taking what I could get. Now, they just make me sad.
Yes. I avoid your calls. It isn’t because the memories of all of this hurt me so much. Not entirely, anyways. No. I don’t take your calls because believe it or not, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. But you keep forgetting that what was done between us can never be undone. You can’t have the parts of our past back that were so happy because the ending changed us both. Put simply, those people don’t exist anymore.
You get mad because I bring up The Moment of Choice whenever you are able to finally get me on the phone. I don’t remind you out of some warped need for revenge. I remind you because you lose sight sometimes about why all of this is happening to you. We stood, you, me, and Tanya, in our living room, in the little house I had found and fixed up for us, and answered, once and for all, The Question. You had spent months lying to both of us, telling me how you were trying to fix this mess you’d created — telling her I was just a crazy bitch trying to break you two up. So we stood there, the three of us, and I told you, now. Now is when you will pick which path you’re going to head down. You didn’t even think much about it. I remember feeling sick, knowing you weren’t taking me seriously.You pointed to Tanya, and told me you were sorry. She was who you loved. And I told you, then that is the decision we both have to live with now. I walked out of our little house, left everything we’d spent 20 years collecting together, and drove away. It was at that moment, I began the long, hard struggle to cut our bonds to one another. You’d damaged them, but I needed them severed.
Nothing about that moment was light for me. I accepted then that what we had was gone now, relegated to the shadowy mist of memory. You and Tanya’s relationship ended rather quickly after that day, and you spent a few months trying desperately to recapture her interest. I know. I watched. You moved on to Helena, then to others. All the while, you would call me and tell me you wanted me back. And each time I told you, no. You chose a different path.
Your new girlfriends seem to find it necessary to contact me whenever you guys break up with each other, to put in a good word for you. I can’t begin to tell you how strange and bizarre I find these conversations. That’s just plain creepy. They tell me you will never be happy with anyone but me; they know because they’ve tried. Here’s a news flash — getting back together isn’t an option for you because that would require me being open to the idea, and I’m not.
Please make them stop doing that. I don’t want to hear from your girlfriends. It doesn’t help. I don’t believe it is true that our happiness rests solely on another person; not if we don’t want it to. I can’t take you back. You think things in your life will be fixed if you can just return back to the woman you left in the first place, but you’re wrong. And maybe it is rather selfish of me, but I am not willing to suffer a martyr-like existence in a relationship with you. I am sorry, but you had your chance. Actually, you had a year’s worth of them, and you didn’t choose me then. You only want me now because I think it has actually finally sunk in — I’m gone, and I’m never, ever coming back.
I want you to move on. I hope you find happiness and peace, but not enough to sacrifice mine for yours. You will either bounce back or you won’t. Either way, that’s on you.
Please don’t make me hurt you anymore. I really don’t enjoy it.