Dear Aada,
My writing is not to provoke or upset you. It never has been, and it never will be. My audience reaches into the thousands on a daily basis and millions over 25 years. There are people who read that don’t know who you are, just like you didn’t know the cast of characters when you started reading, either. What drew you in then draws them in now. It’s a peek into my life, just as it is. To think that I single you out and write only to provoke you is to ignore that I show my readers what it’s like to live in my head. You aren’t thinking about my audience when I never stop. Do you really think that you are my only reader? My blog is a treasure trove of memories… not always good ones.
It’s not always the portrayal of a healthy mind, because so much of my writing has to do with being mentally ill, and definitely showing the symptoms of it. I know I’m sick, and I know it will take a hell of a lot for me to be well. At no point do I think of it as manipulating you or our friendship, because I’m not even aware when you read unless you tell me so.
You said that people in your personal and professional life are reaching out to you to see if you’re okay. I wonder if they know how many people reach out to me to see if I’m okay after I’ve written?
The answer is “zero.”
Being a writer is a lonely life, and I chose it.
It was less lonely when I could write to you, and now I’m stumbling around in the dark all by myself. Mistakes are being made because our easy give and take is no more. I do not know what I am going to write that hurts you, because until today, I did not know that I could do so…. you told me that there was nothing I could say that would hurt you long ago.
I wish I could put a moratorium on writing about you, but you’ve been the absolute center of my world for the last 12 years. I’m not going to forget about it in a few months. That’s not true to who I am, because I don’t move on quickly or easily.
I did not have joy in busting you in a lie. I was angry. Truth pain burned inside me. I did not laugh the way you said I did, I was in full-on autistic meltdown…. and then I burned out. I haven’t left my house in months except on the days when someone comes to pick me up.
I’m in a group called Cognitive Behavioral Health, where we talk about healthy coping mechanisms. I have found that I am not the only manipulative person in our relationship because as I’ve learned more about the way I work, I’ve learned more about how you do, too. Neither one of us are spectacular friends to the other, quite frankly. But if your therapist really believes that I’m the only manipulative one, then so be it. Nothing I can do about that. I do know that if I was with you and said therapist, they would tell us we’re both wrong.
There are three sides to every story- yours, mine, and the truth.
Just like there’s nothing you can do to take back your lie, there’s nothing I can do to take back my betrayal. What I can do is move forward, knowing that I was wrong and having to carry it with me. The burden is extremely heavy and my chest is tight. At first, I could not breathe. Today was the first day in months where I reached out to people I hadn’t talked to in a long time and asked for a phone call. I took a break from thinking about you only to find out that the one time I’d been away from my computer, I actually did get an e-mail from you.
It ripped me a new asshole, and still I was happy to hear from you at all. There’s a lot I want to address, but I won’t. Now that I know you weren’t exactly telling the truth, that I could indeed hurt you professionally, I think it’s best if I don’t say anything. I’m just writing this here because you said you read my blog, but blocked my e-mail (explain that one like I’m five…. wait, you don’t have to. You either love my blog, or you love me. That seems to be the general consensus in my life. Did I mention writing is a lonely life?).
It is late and I am ending my day humbled, because even though the e-mail didn’t say what I’d hoped, I did get an e-mail from my favorite person. And that’s the bitch of it, really. You ranted at me with questions I couldn’t answer because the last line was that you were going to block me, not willing to even wait for a reply no matter what it was.
There’s only six words I really need to say:
I am sorry.
I love you.
That’s it. That’s all I really can say after what I’ve put you through. I do not like my life without you in it, but I am learning to manage.
Leslie
Stories That Are All True 