Debris hurling,
shrapnel striking,
as my very being exploded.
The damage was
unintentional,
unwitting,
regrettable.
You withdrew.
Looking back,
it is now
understandable,
and understood.
Sincerely,
I am sorry
you felt assaulted
when my life spun
out of control.
It was long distance.
I was cautious.
He was convincing.
We fell head over heels in his beautiful coastal city.
I said things like, you make my heart skip a beat.
He said things like, everything in my life brought me to you.
In 48 years and many relationships, long term, short term I had never fallen in love like this…. from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.
We hiked to the top of giant mountains.
We made up stories about old couples in restaurants.
We fell down laughing at least once a day.
We did not leave the bedroom for three months.
We tell each other everything.
He called me twice a day for a year and a half.
I met his family.
He met my family.
Suddenly without warning he said he was done.
He sent me notes saying how hard it was…
A month after we broke he started dating a girl with my name and she was my doppelgänger.
They lasted four months and broke up…
He told me that he was a disaster…. we held each other…. then I gave him space to come back… with some sex here and there.
I was in it for the long game.
The following is my long game:
7 eBooks on how to get your boyfriend back
5 books on how to move on from heartbreak
2 ashrams
3 psychics
2 healers
293 yoga classes
986 down dogs
5 Eckhart Toile Audio Classes
7 dresses
14 pairs of shoes
7 letters to Oprah
1 yoga retreat
1 witch doctor
2 voodoo dolls
1 Juice cleanse
2 almost boyfriends
2 nights of bad sex
47 Ambien
57 Xanax
3 Magic Brownies
84 nights of Valerian Root
97 Melatonin cocktails
20,002 sighs
900 pieces of chocolate
9 nights of good sex with my ex (him)
37 prayer candles
Eight million tears
5000 hopeful thoughts
6048 hours of my life
And then came the text….
I’m sorry I hung in there so long.
I’m sorry I lied.
I’m sorry I lied to you every day of my life. 3, 4, 5 times a day or more. I told you I would take care of you. Good care. I told you I would change. I wanted you to just roll with whatever I sent your way and never suffer any consequences. Not wanted, expected. After all, you were mine. I owned you. You were nothing without me. I drove you, I moved you, I kept you up late and made you get up early. I took you places. I drank. I ate. I ate. And I ate.
I tried it all, all the fixes. The healthy ones and the unhealthy ones. I desperately wanted one of them to work. Everything from a liquid diet to therapy to a 12 step program. It all ended in disappointment. And in my world disappointment was equal to devastation. Trying became too hard.
So I abused you even more. Because it was too intense. Or lonely. Or fearful. Or joyous. Or empty. Or excited. Or uncomfortable. Or habit.
It didn’t fucking matter.
Occasionally I would take care of you: a massage, a facial, a personal trainer, a few random trips to the gym always with promises of more. There was that time when we did yoga every day for a summer and we both looked and felt great. But it never lasted. And it was always nothing more than a band aid for the real problem: I couldn’t handle life.
I mistreated you. I punished you. I asked you to hold all my feelings inside for me and to make sure that happened I fed you so there was no way for them to come up. I fed you so that I wouldn’t need anybody else. I am a rock, I am an island. The fear turned to terror when I realized I was no longer capable of handling even basic emotions. I was an adolescent trapped inside the body of an adult. A very well masked adult.
When you couldn’t take it anymore you broke.
I cried. Sobbed actually. More promises. I would change. I would fix this. I promised through heaving chest that THIS time would be different. I knew I had been letting down all the people in my life, myself included. Tomorrow was going to be different.
All lies. Tomorrow will never be different.
But today, today is different.
I’m sorry for what happened to you. You didn’t deserve the abuse (physical, mental and sexual) at all. I’m sorry that I’ve been bottling up your justifiable anger at what had happened. I didn’t want to believe she could do that to us. It was bad enough that dad beat us for things that weren’t even our fault or doing. I know we can’t forget (no matter how hard I tried) but I’ve finally start to come to grips with it, and begin to heal from it and that means healing your wounds as well.
I know you’re still angry and it’s hard for you to open up. I want to tell you that you can finally do so. Neither of our parents are nowhere near us nor can they harm us.
I do want you to know that I love you…
Dear Aunt J.,
Because there isn’t anyone who can stand in front of you and tell you they are sorry for the pain you’ve experienced in life, I choose to do it for you, for Life Itself. Not because I am a big person, and not because other people don’t care or couldn’t say it too, or say it much better than me, or that it wouldn’t mean way more coming from someone else either. I’m doing it because I really don’t think anyone ever HAS. Because how could they? Why would anyone accept responsibility for apologizing to you for the cards you were dealt in life? How does it make sense to apologize to you on behalf of Life Itself? Yet here I am, someone who could never truly possibly know or fathom how much pain you have been through, trying desperately to give you SOMETHING to that affect. Because I love you.
Because no one should have to outlive their child.
Because no one should have to outlive BOTH their children.
Because no one should have to outlive both of their children from a degenerative disease which slowly robs them of who they are. And then on top of that to have their husband drop dead of a heart attack while mowing the lawn one day, leaving you with two invalid boys that you have loved with your whole heart and soul, for whom you took up nursing to help clear out their lungs because they would wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe.
It isn’t fair and I don’t care that a fucking million trillion *gabillion* people have said that about difficult situations before in their lives. Because they aren’t you and it needs to be said for *you*.
I WILL SAY IT AGAIN, TIMES INFINITY. IT ISN’T FAIR. AND I AM SORRY.
I will say it as many times as you need to hear it. You can squeeze my hand until it breaks every bone and then start in on the other one if it gives you even an ounce of relief for what you’ve been through. Fuck karma. Fuck “this is your mission”. This isn’t even my pain and yet my heart goes out to you for how beyond difficult this must have been and someone should damn well answer for it. I don’t know how the hell you do it and do it with such grace. Has ANYONE ever told you that? And truly MEANT it?
It must have been so terrifying and devastating to get horrific news not just about your young, firstborn son – but then also to have his little brother, seemingly healthy and rambunctious and full of life, receive a death sentence too. And then go down the exact same path and live the whole thing over again with your second son.
I mean – what do you do? Do you try to console yourself by saying you’d never have had kids if you’d known about such a rare genetic disorder? Do you say that’s what the good Lord intended and it’s all God’s plan? Do you say you’ll turn over every stone trying to find a cure, looking in every crack and crevice until your fingers bleed and your impassioned heart gives out?
When you guys came to visit the Mayo clinic and stayed the night at our home as a stopover, and I saw him bumping around into furniture, a youngster who couldn’t see anything clearly in front of him in the middle of the day, walking all funny? And you corralling his little boy energy, a little boy trying to navigate a sea of what was once familiar and all the sudden has become completely foreign? I had never witnessed anything like that before in my life. I didn’t have the words or capacity to be able to reach out to you. I was a self-serving, angsty, sheltered teenage girl who couldn’t see outside of herself. Someone needed to smack me up side the head and tell me to get over myself and my first world problems and step up to try to be supportive to you. I am sorry for that too.
Later that year we were all at Grandma’s for Christmas and you were sitting on the couch with him, I only sort of got it then. I saw you cradle an 8-year-old like a little baby because he could barely move his own limbs. I saw you try to calm him down, and feed him through a tube, and none of us had any clue what his garbled unintelligible speech was. Yet somehow you knew. Somehow you understood every word he was saying to you even though it was completely incoherent crying coming from a barely moving tongue and mouth. You were his mum and you knew.
It took me so many years to attempt watching LORENZO’S OIL to really try to understand what your life was like. I was such a coward. And even now, I’ve only watched it twice. When they get to the end of the film and its credits and they start showing the real-life footage of all the kids who suffer from this awful disease, I ran into the bathroom both times, sick to my stomach. But you live(d) it every day. I had to force myself to go back and hear what those kids have to say, see their bright and shining faces and know of the life that they will never have and never know. It was hopeless for them and it makes me want to punch something for you repeatedly until my arms break off and then I would still want to punch some more.
I am so, so, so, so, so sorry that this is the way life unfolded for you. You have managed to find happiness and remarry an amazing man who is incredible to you and accepts you for who you are. He is a saint. And so are you. You really are the biggest hero to me in my life, even though nobody knows who the hell you are except our family.
But it still doesn’t make it right. And that is why I think you deserve this apology that Life and nobody else will ever be able to give you properly. Actually you deserve so much more than this feeble and pale apology that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the existence that you were hoping to have and had pictured when you married my Uncle T. You deserve to have your two little boys dancing around you, graduated college, healthy and spry and taking care of YOU as you get older. Not memories of years and years of caring for sons who were hanging on as vegetables. I only hope and pray that these two little spirits can find their way back to you next lifetime, in a way that lets them do everything they Life was promising them and more. I am sorry this is how things turned out, and I will be praying with hope for that.
Love,
Me.
To Nick’s wife, daughter, and son … You don’t know me, but I owe you this. It is an apology delivered to you on so many levels, that I’m not sure which one to address first. I suppose my FIRST apology to you is my anonymous interference in your life. Secondly, I’m terribly sorry that this will come across as rushed and desperate. Thirdly, even though there may be a comical element to the outsider looking in, I recognize and agonize over the fact that you are not on that same page.
They say that an apology is the “super glue of life”, so I’m giving it my best shot.
I’m a diver much like your beloved and departed Nick. so please try and read this with the filters of a kindred spirit.
I’m in Honduras diving. I’m by myself and went out last night for a night dive to a shipwreck about 100 ft. down. No one else was there. It was dark and all I had was my little goofy flashlight. Weather was moving in so the water was pretty stirred up. About 30 min into the dive I came across a blue box on one of the ship decks. It was about the size of a brick. It looked a lot like the casing that my dive computer came in except it was blue. I picked it up and tried to open it, but was getting tossed around from the current so I just stuck it in my dive vest with the intention of turning it into lost and found back on shore. I figured someone dropped it out of their dive bag or something. I finished the dive and when I got to the surface, I anchored myself against a floating dock so that I could try and get it open; I was just curious at this point. I finally broke the seal and got it open. There was weird random stuff (a few poker chips, golf tees, a Vietnam Vet pin, and a lot of what I thought was just sediment that had gotten trapped inside and dried. The “sediment” all pretty much blew away cause it was super windy out. I closed it up and carried it in my dive vest till I got back. I tried to give it to the little Honduran man that I turned my tank into asking him to give it to lost and found. He got all freaked out. That’s when I learned though a manic Spanglish cursing that I had disturbed and desecrated a dead guy’s memorial. He frantically wanted to know if I opened it and, of course, I lied (yes!! LIED) and said “no” because I could see where this was going.
I am of weak character.
Anyway, they wouldn’t touch it and told me I had to go right then and put it back. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. It was late, pitch black and would have taken me back out into the ocean by myself for another hour or more. My Spanish isn’t good enough to totally understand what they were saying as I walked away with your dear Nick in the box, but I’m guessing they were certain that I would be visited by demons that would pull me into a watery grave much like the one I just desecrated.
In the light of my room, I could see that there was a name and date written in marker ink that I hadn’t seen before. That’s how I learned that it was your Nick. So Nick spent the night with me. And, the next day, the ramifications of my ignorance started popping up everywhere in this tight Honduran community. Rightfully so, I suppose, I was treated like an Elvira priestess by the guys that I have to get my tanks from. They would probably be scheduling an exorcism if they knew the truth … that I actually HAD opened it, and against his wishes, Nick’s ashes are all over the Caribbean by now. I told them I would put him back as soon as I could. But tricking the tank boy into thinking I have atoned does not soothe my soul. Nick is all over the Caribbean and that’s not what he wanted and it is all my fault.
If I were standing before you now, I would say: “I am so sorry. I wish you knew even one tenth of one percent of how sorry I am. It was my fault. Can I kill myself here, or should I do it outside, so the stain on your carpet doesn’t just create a bigger mess for you to deal with?
To My Dear Big Brother,
I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough for you. I’m sorry that my choices and taste in clothes made you uncomfortable because I didn’t follow the same gender norms all of your girl friends did. I’m sorry I was depressed all the time and couldn’t pull out of it. I’m sorry I liked riding bikes with you instead of playing with dolls. You were so cool and comfortable; I just wanted to be like you. I wanted what you had, which of course, meant I would never achieve it.
To you, it was simple, if I changed my clothes, more people will like me; I’d have friends and be less lonely. You didn’t know that it doesn’t work like that. You had no idea what you were doing to me. Backhandedly, I think you even thought you were helping.
But that wasn’t me. I couldn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t and that made the loneliness worse. I couldn’t escape the discomfort. At school, I was an outcast, at home, a disappointment.
I’ve always alternated between arrogance and feeling worthless and never being able to make you proud added to that pile. Between rejecting your acceptance and needing it, I left myself totally conflicted. I’m sorry I gave you so much power over me. I’m sorry I trusted that you knew what was right for me and doubted myself for so many years. I’m sorry I was so much for you to deal with…And, I’m sorry I embarrassed you. You really were my best friend and arch nemesis and I could never win with you.
We had glimpses of pulling out of the rivalry and I genuinely believe if we had a little more time, we would have become the friends that were reflected by how close we really were.
I’m sorry you died before we got the chance to work through it. I’m sorry you won’t get to see how I’ve turned out. You didn’t see me get my drivers license or graduate high school and college. You didn’t get to see me thrive in the grimy town I glamorized while growing up with you in that shithole. You won’t meet my kids or joke with the love of my life. You didn’t get to see the world and you’ll never know the joy of getting stamps in your passport. I’m sorry you’ll never see fireworks around the Eiffel Tower or know what it’s like to sleep on a rooftop terrace in Africa in the middle of summer. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see how fun being an adult could be.
It’s been ten years and I’m now seven years older than you were and I’m sorry you missed out on so much.
A Lonely Little Sister
Dear Rebbetzin,
As the High Holidays approach, everyone is taking stock of their deeds- reflecting on their actions of the past year. Your husband, the rabbi, is preparing himself to lead his congregation through their High Holiday season. Your husband is also taking stock of his own deeds in the coming year. He is a well respected man. He is a kind man. He is a thoughtful man. The words he puts on paper, the words he shares with his colleagues, and the words he shares with his congregation have weight. People look to him for knowledge, for comfort, for spiritual guidance. After all, he’s a rabbi, teaching and guidance are part of his job. As a Jew and a rebbitzen, you must also be looking back at this year and taking at look at your own life. I often wonder: what exactly are you doing with the truth?
I know the truth. I know the rabbi isn’t the man he plays on the pulpit or at camp or with his colleagues. I know his lightness is a well orchestrated facade. He is dark. He stepped out of your marriage emotionally and physically. He’s allowed his darkness to control his life and let the power of the facade hide his true self. I know the truth because I was his mistress. I know the truth because I was the outlet for his darkness. I was the place to use his power and his fantasy. I know you know I exist. But, I have no idea if you know his truth, his darkness or the depths of his inner demons. Because, despite knowing that I exist, you’ve chosen to stay. You’ve chosen the facade of the good, noble, kind rabbi. I can’t say I blame you.
What I can say, is that I’m sorry. Through our entire relationship, I thought of you– I hurt you. I violated you. Your face came to mind all the time: When I laid down and when I rose up. I wanted what was yours. I wanted the light he gave you, but I all I got was his darkness. I am so sorry. I am sorry I took those moments from you. I’m sorry I took those nights from you. I’m sorry I somehow thought I could step into your shoes. But the truth is, Rebbetzin, I am even more sorry that you are still living inside his facade And it’s not because I want to be in your place. I no longer want him, or need him, or love him. He is not a good man. He is a false idol. He turned from you when we he wanted to fall into his darkness, and he turned from me when our actions destroyed my life. I know I’m not the only one. There are other women out there in words and possibly in deed. There are dollar bills in strippers’ thongs. There are hotel rooms, dinners, tucked away corners of bars. There are explicit pictures. I don’t think he’s going to stop.
When he’s standing on the pulpit on Yom Kippur talking about sin, repentance and forgiveness, take that time to look at him for his true self. I can’t live your life. I can’t sit inside your head and tell you what choices to make. I can’t weigh the darkness against the light of the life you’ve built together. I know firsthand that piecing together a new life after the one you had has been shattered into tiny unglueable pieces. You don’t need to forgive me. You don’t need to pardon me or grant me atonement. But is he the kind of man who can be forgiven? Is he, truly repentant?
The Mistress
I’m almost sorry for being with you.
After so many one night stands, I thought, “Well, he called back in a timely manner. Why not give it a go.”
At the time, I didn’t realize the thoughtfulness and overwhelming romantic gestures had nothing to do with me. You were in love with the idea of love. You sought admiration. You needed the rush. Boy did we rush. We got engaged twenty-six days later and were married within ten months.
I’m sorry you were such a worthless dick.
You left me seven months later….. over the phone. What a pussy! You cried about how you weren’t worthy of me. (Quite true.) You said you needed to be alone and grow up.
After spending our one year anniversary, eating the top of our wedding cake, with friends, I decided to move on with my life. I found a job, an apartment, and a roommate, 1,500 miles away. Once you found out I had moved on…..you cried and begged and I bought it.
After I took you back, I found out you left me for another woman. You said you were divorced. You became engaged while married to me. Her family even threw an engagement party for the happy couple. How do I know this? It’s not because you came clean. She called me months later once she found out about me.
I’m sorry you continued to be a selfish prick.
I’m sorry I was a glutton for punishment.
I stayed. Maybe it had to do with the multiple times you would show me your gun and tell me you would kill yourself. Maybe it had to do with being molested or the multiple affairs my mother had during my childhood. Perhaps it was due to my father’s five marriages. I don’t know. Maybe I thought I could turn you into a better person or save your life. I was wrong.
You went through our money like water. I would love to say you spent it on me, but I’m sure multiple women enjoyed your generosity. You put us into bankruptcy. You left me both times I was pregnant. Hell. You had women calling to speak to you while I was in the delivery room.
I’m sorry it took me almost nine years to leave your ass.
We just moved into a new home and you actively pursued a job overseas. You left me with a one-year-old and a three-year-old. You also left me with an entire house to unpack. That was the best gift you could give me. It took me months to unpack all the boxes, but five months after you left, I struck gold. I had the privilege of unpacking photos you were too stupid to throw out. These were photos of you with different women. There were even photos of you with their children. And might I say…….They had nothing on me.
I’m sorry I had to announce my intention to divorce you via email.
NOT!
You called and wrote from overseas, pulling the same suicide nonsense. You were full of shit. My house was peaceful and the kids and I were finally happy. I no longer thought it was my job to stand by you or fix you. You were not my fault or my problem. I didn’t need to be a marriage martyr.
But……I’m only almost sorry I was with you.
I am not sorry for the two beautiful children we share. They helped save me from a joke of a marriage, them and your blatant disregard for our vows.
I’m sorry you still can’t find it in yourself to be a better man.
I’m sorry you can’t be the father the kids truly deserve.
I’m sorry I have to protect their hearts from you.
I’m sorry that eventually, they will discover who you really are.
We think this is amazing:
Exodus International, one of the nation’s most prominent coalitions of groups promoting harmful “ex-gay” therapy, announced Wednesday that it was disbanding and apologized to the LGBT community for the massive harm it has caused to many.
Alan Chambers, the group’s president, issued a written apology, acknowledging that his organization hurt many.
In his apology, Chambers wrote:
“Please know that I am deeply sorry. I am sorry for the pain and hurt many of you have experienced. I am sorry that some of you spent years working through the shame and guilt you felt when your attractions didn’t change. I am sorry we promoted sexual orientation change efforts and reparative theories about sexual orientation that stigmatized parents. I am sorry that there were times I didn’t stand up to people publicly “on my side” who called you names like sodomite—or worse. I am sorry that I, knowing some of you so well, failed to share publicly that the gay and lesbian people I know were every bit as capable of being amazing parents as the straight people that I know. I am sorry that when I celebrated a person coming to Christ and surrendering their sexuality to Him that I callously celebrated the end of relationships that broke your heart. I am sorry that I have communicated that you and your families are less than me and mine.”
The board of Exodus International unanimously voted to shut down and announced that it will begin a new organization dedicated encouraging churches to “become safe, welcoming, and mutually transforming communities.”
In an address at the group’s final annual conference, at Concordia University Irvine in California, Chambers noted that his admission last year that people do not actually change their sexual orientation engulfed his organization in scandal. “I’m convinced,” he told attendees, “that the scandal is of God’s making.”
He encouraged the attendees to work to change their churches to be more like a loving, accepting “father church” than scolding, judgmental “older brother church.”
“What that means is we’re not gonna control people anymore,” he told them. “We’re not gonna tell them how they should live. We’re not gonna be responsible for what they’re doing. It’s not our job. You are not the Holy Spirit. I am not the Holy Spirit. The Church is not the Holy Spirit.”
Watch the video here (Chambers begins at about the 20 minute mark): CLICK HERE
