I walked past you in the hallway today. You looked through me rather than at me and even after all this time that hurt. For someone you claimed to have once love the things you did to me are to this day unspeakable. Do you know the nights that I have wanted to crawl back to you, lay at your feet and beg for crumbs of your affection like the starving man all too familiar with his oppressor? The nights where I have to rationalize that what you did to me wasn’t wrong, that maybe I was wrong, that I consented to our conversations and everything that happened next was my fault. Even writing this now I sit and wonder if you know, if you care, if you are doing to other girls what you almost did to me. My survival instinct is what saved me, was it enough to save them?
I hate writing down words like abuse and manipulative because in reference to you that doesn’t sound right, you were always too goofy, too sweet to be any of those things. You complimented my dress, made me laugh and smile, and you let me see the part of you that everyone else does. Then when night came, I asked to play a game, and maybe that was my first wrong decision, because what happened after that I cannot speak eloquently about. Looking back on it now, I recognize that what I said, what I did may have made you think I was a happy participant, and the first time I told you I was uncomfortable you backed off and yet somehow we ended up in the same position again because whether you knew or not that was the kind of power you had over me. I wanted to please you. I know that next year we will be together that I will have to reconcile these feelings of guilt and of anger. I know that you probably don’t think about what you did to me, that I was a psycho for freaking out and leaving, but for the brief period of time in which you possessed me I no longer knew what it felt like to be my own. I knew what it felt like to hate the skin which I was born in, but with you I was worshipped. Saying all of this now sounds like I love you, I loved you, but in all reality I hate you. I hate that what you did to me will stain the rest of my interactions for the rest of my life, with worry, with the hatred of you. I am cautious now, not quick to make friends that look like you, sound like you. My first relationship after you ended in tears, and I will never be able to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Isn’t that funny how my life is divided up between before and after you?
There is a girl now, she makes me feel safe, and she makes me laugh and smile like you did. Sometimes I worry that she will want from me what you took, but then she will talk about some book she is reading or how the sun reminded her of me and I feel how I never did with you. She lets me see the part of her that no one else does, and in return I give her the parts of me you’ll never see. She is so unlike you in all the ways I will never be able to count. I will worship her in all the ways you were supposed to worship me, and my love is freeing rather than constricting.
I am writing to let go of all the things I will never say to you, in hopes that never again will you worship me, that one day we may trade smiles that don’t hurt me so deeply that I flinch. I am writing to rid myself of every part of you I never wished to keep. I am writing to put to rest the fear that I will ever bring myself back to you.You will never see this letter addressed to you, it will be symbolically and metaphorically burned at the altar, so that my temple may be clean once again. So that I am clean once again.
The Girl You Don’t Remember
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