Archive for the ‘You Hurt Me’ Category

You know…I always wanted to tell you what I thought of you. I always wanted to express all these thoughts to you…I just never had the proper words.

That’s not true, actually. I had them…they’re just not words I could say in public. They just aren’t words I feel comfortable saying. They’re not words anyone should ever feel comfortable saying. They’re hateful and angry, malicious and killing. These words are not for polite conversation…but then, polite conversation just wasn’t you, was it?


For the longest time, I planned what would happen when we would run into each other on the street. Portland isn’t that big a city, especially downtown. It wouldn’t be long before we bumped into each other, and I’d see you there, all black hair, Gothic clothes, happy smiles with crimson lips, and snide comments said under a veneer of caring. I would spurn your lies with a snort and a roll of the eyes, and I’d cut you off before you got any further with them. And maybe, just maybe, I’d get you to shut up, stop prattling on about yourself and how you should be loved by all, and consider that other human beings have a right to live in this world without the pain you give them.


Everything you did was a manipulation, after all. Every little word you said, though I believed it at the time, was self-serving. If it didn’t help you, then it didn’t come out. “I still have your things, they’re just in storage.” Explain how I found my gaming books in the used book store then. “I don’t feel safe, they can’t come back in.” No, you just wanted to fuck them over. After I was done being hurt, I felt sorry for every person stuck in your web of deceit. Each and every person who was lured in, as I was, as my lover was and her lover after me. Maybe you felt you had it coming, all the people who believed you, and some past hurt in your childhood gave you the right to hurt others back. I don’t know, and I stopped caring, in your case, long ago.


Okay, that one’s a bit uncalled for, and it’s not entirely true (to my knowledge). As near as I know, you never actually had sex for money. But then, you were never for saying or doing things that were called for, were you? Fortieth term abortion? What made you think you could make such a vile, sick, uncaring joke about her to me, and I would find it funny? What you accused Kevin of, no one who was sane ever believed, for the record. And I don’t hit women–hell, I don’t hit anyone–but if I ever was going to, I would have slapped the taste out of your mouth for that. And I didn’t even LIKE Kevin. Kind of hard to like the man who replaced you. It doesn’t make what you did remotely right, or you any less deserving of an ass-kicking from the cosmos.


Do you see what you have done? You’ve driven me to words I can’t even TYPE. Words so foul and vile that they draw me inward, shivering at my own vehemence. This is what you did to me. This is who you are. You destroyed my innocence and wiped your dirty, grubby dancer’s feet on my spirit. Gods damn you.

These, Alicia–Pauly, call you whatever you’d like to be called–are the words I could not say. These are the words that I wanted to say when our paths would cross. I wish I had had the courage and the backbone to say them when I could. Even now, years later, after recovering from the aftermath of you, after I’ve found a roof to live under that cars don’t drive over and after I’ve found my own happiness, these words have lost none of their potency–only their utility. Because I can’t say them anymore to you. Instead, they fester inside me like an infection just under the skin, poisoning.

So consider this my antibiotic. My ending, always envisioned word for word, may not be poetic. But it is naked and honest in its sincerity:

Fuck off and die. And hope I never follow you to whatever Hell you’re going to, or demons will be the least of your worries.

I’m done.


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I will begin this letter by saying I will always be grateful that faced with me on your lap, threatening to do all manner of delicious things to you while my boyfriend (and your ex-boyfriend) pounded on the door, you chose to tell me that you would like that. For someone as painfully self conscious as you were to come out at all, much less under those circumstances, isn’t an easy thing at all.

And I want to thank you for being one of my only lovers to take me on dates. Walking through old historic towns, park swings, homemade ice cream cones dripping in the summer heat. Most made the assumption that because I could kiss strangers I didn’t appreciate love, that because I refused to have another monogamous relationship I wanted meaningless sex. You never made a single incorrect assumption, save perhaps one. And that wasn’t your fault, if I led you to make it, I am sorry for that.

We didn’t have much time together, only a few months before I moved away, and I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry for the year that you waited, with dates you cut short to come home and call me. “I couldn’t do it,” you told me, over a continent and an ocean. “He wasn’t you. I want you.” And so I came back for you, but I came back scarred in ways I hadn’t been when I left. I came back unwilling to touch, to cuddle, to kiss – and you had finally worked up the courage to risk those things. When you reached out to me and I flinched away…I’m sorry for that too. It was never because I didn’t love you. It wasn’t because I didn’t think you were beautiful. You with your gorgeous eyes and your sharp fox nose. I always thought your nose was the cutest thing, and I have never lusted after anyone else for their nose. So you weighed twice what I did – I was anorexic! It’s hardly a fair comparison. You were beautiful then, and you are now. Especially when you smile.

I’m sorry for the two years that we struggled to reconnect – I should have stayed the first time. I shouldn’t have let shock and grief steal me away from you. I should have fought to stay, should have tried. I should have run away with you to get married. I should have left him sooner, because I never loved him like I loved you, I just knew that he wanted to possess me, to have me, to keep me, and I thought that I would be safe with someone who wanted all me. You did, but I didn’t see it. He didn’t, and I didn’t understand until I was too broken to fight with him. But you left him. You were strong enough for that. You left when he first stung you, but you always said I was the brave one. I wasn’t.

When you did end it, in the safe distance of an IM, I wasn’t angry. I’d already told people we weren’t dating anymore after the second month you returned not a call, not an e-mail, not a text message, not an attempt to reach you over IM. I wish you’d been able to do it sooner, but I know why you didn’t. “Don’t be sorry, you loved me when no one else did, and I’m never sorry for anything I’ve done in the past because it’s helped put me here, and I’m very very happy with where I’m at now.” You wrote that when I apologized to you just after you said it was over, and had been. Earlier, you told me I had taught you how to love again.

Congratulations, again, on your wedding. The pictures were fantastic. You were happy. Glowing. Radiant. It’s what I had always wanted for you. I had just always hoped it would be with me.

And there are the words I never told you. I never let you know just how much it hurt to lose you. I glossed over it, brushed it off as done, told you you were a beautiful bride. I never snapped at you. Never tried to make you consider that once I had waited and coaxed and trusted, until you felt beautiful and loved – and that when I came back damaged you were too busy to even try to reach out for me.

It isn’t what matters anyway. It isn’t the part of it I ever wanted you to hear. Not about the way I looked forward to the dates you couldn’t make, the flowers that wilted for you on my kitchen table in fragrant reminder you had cancelled again for weeks. Nor about the fact that you were the most important person in my life and my friends knew that, but you hadn’t mentioned my existence to yours.

I never pushed you when I came back. I just laid back, closed my eyes, waited for the rain and knew that love was forever. It was enduring. It was the only real thing in the world. I was willing to wait, if you were busy. I was willing to smile when you hurt me. I think it was my unquestioned faith in your love that let you think that I didn’t still love you. It would be the only time you ever read me wrong. And as I said in the beginning, I’m sorry for that too.

All of my love,



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