Letters

Irina
Irina
Aug 28, 2017 · 5 min read

Dear outsiders;
This is going to make a lot of you angry, but I’m not going to sugarcoat anything right now.

Never tell someone like me that you don’t understand why I didn’t get out sooner. Because news flash, you don’t get to have an opinion about how I handled a relationship you had nothing to do with. And I know that’s kind of harsh, but I’ve heard that phrase too many times. From parents, friends, people who heard through the grape vine. Any and all of it. I’ve had it said to me.

Don’t tell me you’re proud that I could even get out. You don’t get to take pride in something I had to do all on my own. Don’t tell me what you would have done. Don’t make me trace the steps that occurred before I could realize something wrong was happening.

Please don’t tell me about how happy you are that I’m back. I never left by choice. It wasn’t some weekend away. I was drowning! I couldn’t breathe. Yes I was swallowed by something that wouldn’t let me go, but there was nothing for you to do about it. This was my battle, it was never yours.

Don’t assume that as soon as I left him I was back to “normal”. Because the word normal has had so many meanings in my lifetime that I can’t give it any weight. “Normal” was whatever he deemed that day, sometimes that sense of normal changed from meal to meal, from hour to hour. What was okay one day, wasn’t the next. It could have even been punishable before I knew what it was I had done wrong. All I can say is that my toes are strong now, considering how much I had to be on them.

Dear friends that wish they saw it;
I know some of you have told me time and time again, “I wish I had paid more attention” “I wish there was something I could have done”, what you don’t realize is that there was nothing you could have done. Even if you wanted to. Even if you knew exactly what to do. I never allowed anyone to see anything but perfection.

You saw exactly what I was told anyone was allowed to see; except for when I got a little too tired of fighting and a wall fell. Everything was easily written off to be another kind of problem. He hit lockers whenever he would get upset? Oh he just has anger issues, but trust me, I would never let him hurt me. He is always waiting for me after class? He just really likes spending time with me, we’re madly in love don’t you know. I’m not sure if any amount of friends could have saved me from the distruction that took human form in him.

The pieces were all there, yes. But I would never let any of you put all of the pieces back together so that you might have ever had anything confirmed. I made sure everything was only looked at one by one. Filling my vocabulary with phrases like “He only has done it once” “You know he would never do that to me” “I promise you there is nothing going on”. It held everyone at just a distance for them to put faith in me, while stopping the questions.

Do you know what phrase I hate… “I know how you feel” (or the more commonly used, “I understand”). I’m going to take a guess… and this is me rounding down… 3/4 of you know nothing about how I’m feeling. 3/4 of you have never and will never experience that same hurt. Now of course, no one feels anything the same exact way, so there is that little tidbit. But my point still stands. You understand nothing. The only person who understands is me! He doesn’t even understand the pain he inflicted. So if he can’t understand it, what makes you think you can?

Dear parents whom I’ve put through far more than I wanted;
I don’t think I could ever tell you everything that he has done. I’m not proud of myself for any of it, and the idea of you both knowing everything that happened without being able to do anything I think would damn near kill you.

I get that you tried, and in reality I was the only reason nothing came of your attempts. But I would be such a colossal disappointment to you. It would just make you think of the past and hurt from things you never had the chance to change.

Of course if I decided to tell you any of this now, you’d promise nothing would change, that you’d be happier to know than to try and fill in the missing pieces. But what you don’t understand is that the ways you could fill those missing details become better than the truth once you hear your child say the words you wish weren’t even a possibility.

Dear past me;
Let me start this by simply saying “I’m sorry”. The amount of apologies I owe to myself could stretch until the end of time. Something just to my body would take days, but that’s just where it starts. Next comes my emotions, my brain, my heart, my sanity. Followed by whatever else was destroyed in those 19 months.

As sorry as I can be about everything that has happened, I can’t sit here and lie. I’m happy that everything happened when it did. Could you imagine if you had lived with him? Could you imagine if we were a few years older and you were out on your own. You probably wouldn’t have been allowed to go to college, hell I don’t even know if he would have let you out of his sight long enough to go to a community college. The only real shot you’d have would be online school, under the watchful eye of your “love”. Would he let you away for long enough to have a job, to get your own money? Probably not.

Imagine if he was at an age where he could have thought about children. You would have had them. Don’t even pretend like it’s not true. I know you’ve always wanted kids and I know that he has always wanted to make up for his father’s mistakes. How many different ways you could have had your rights stolen had anything shifted even 5 years. All those signs that everyone swore they spotted; gone. All those people around you telling you that he was bad news; gone. All those times your parents heard you cry until you finally fell asleep; gone. Every single warning sign, burried.

I also want to tell you just how proud I am. We made it out, maybe not in the timeline anyone else wanted, including us; but the point is that you made it. I know how many times you could read that and the joy that erupts inside you; so I’ll say it one more time. YOU MADE IT OUT. More than that, you picked yourself up, and you started walking. So the last thing I want to say to you is exactly that simple. Be proud of yourself. Always remember how much that took out of you to finally let go, and remember above all else that you’re worth more than your past. You’re not given value from anyone else but yourself.

Dear future me;
Let’s keep working together and I know that someday we will be able to grow every piece of us that he cut short. We won’t heal anything so that we can learn from the past. Instead we will start again. We will thrive.

I’m not letting anything like that happen to you again. I will keep that promise to you until the day I die.

)
Irina

Written by

Irina

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer just trying to find ways to make sense of the world and the confusing people in it.

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