I hate writing these emails. I put in effort, knowing it will likely fall upon deaf ears, but write it I must before the storm hits (we are entering the second half of my cycle and I already feel a little turning of the tide, so I wanted to write this whilst my head was still somewhat content and logical). [I'm talking PMS here people].
Now, onto business:
I have surprised myself with how readily I accepted the end of 'us' and indeed the possibility of never seeing you again. Don't get me wrong, the first three days were extremely hard: I cried. I had sleepless nights. I tormented myself about [the baby I aborted] over and over. I lamented to mum. I'm not going to lie, it was hell. But I've traveled this road numerous times before when I thought we were splitting previously, so I know the drill. Now I'm out the other side of the grieving process and just starting to see the possibilities. I'm back to being that girl you met in March. The girl who got genuinely excited about pressure sensors.
At one point (about a month ago, around the time we lay naked on the sofa, bodies pressed together watching Stranger Things) I wanted nothing more than to start a family with you, marry you, never sleep with another man, never kiss another man for as long as I lived. I fantasized about a safe and loving family life with you, [list of my kids, his kid and the one we fantasised about having together]. The feeling was pure contentment and excitement.
But I was living in a Disney fantasyland. I was clinging to a vision of what *I* wanted our relationship to be like, rather than appreciating how it actually was.
Only now, after being apart, can I see how unforgiving that environment was. The pressure to perform, the feeling that I was never "good enough", that you were never satisfied no matter how hard I tried, that there was always something I could be improving about myself, in other words: that I simply couldn't just relax and be me, flaws and all. That was an anxious rollercoaster of an existence.
I'm off the rollercoaster now. I'm actually....*whispers it so as not to jinx*... enjoying life. I'm making mistakes (binges) but I'm not beating myself up about it because, guess what, I only have myself to answer to. "So what, you binged, no big deal, you have so much fantastic things in your life that binging is inconsequential" I say to myself. It's liberating. The feeling that I'm not letting anyone down, not disappointing someone; that I can simply live my life and succeed *on my terms*. I love it. I'm not scared anymore. I feel "good enough" just as I am. I cannot over-emphasize the feeling of comfort and relief that comes with the recognition that if I mess up, the only person it has consequence for is me.
I surround myself with people ([list of family and friends]) that offer support and advice, but don't lecture. When I binge or freak-out they sympathise with my plight but realise this is my battle and my personal ###$ do not reflect on them. They let me be me, imperfect, flawed, and they still love me. It's nice, - joyful even.
That's not to say that you and I didn't experience joy together. We had a special and unique connection, very different from any connection I've had with anyone in my life. You understood me, you got under my skin. You're the only person that could turn me from deep sadness - to tears of hilarity in a matter of seconds. Our connection is powerful, passionate, volatile. It truly is an unspeakable force. I am reluctant to erase that connection from my life altogether.
I think we need to re-envisage how we perceive our relationship. I sincerely believe that we would make much better friends (perhaps even "with benefits") than spouses.
My idea of a spouse is one of: safety, comfort, acceptance, routine, companionship.
You and I are: competition, stimulation, banter, passion, playfulness.
Both are awesome relationships. But different. You cannot put a square peg in a round hole.
I love you. I find you handsome, adorable, exciting, magnetic. But I don't feel accepted as spouse-material. I'm tired of trying to be someone else. I feel hurt and resentful at the pressure I feel from you to change when I'm actually pretty awesome and acceptable as I am (my imperfect evolving self).
I want us to be the best friends I know we can be.