Letters to My Ex-Boyfriends: I Am Sensitive and You Changed My Life, But Also We Were Often Drunk Idiots

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Please read this, I won't write anything further, and I'm skeptical you'll ever get around to reading the email I wrote you back in July. That letter took a lot to write, and it had meant a lot to think that you had read my words and hopefully understood what I felt. I was pretty crushed to realize that never happened. I'd like to pretend otherwise, but it's been hard for me these past months to act as though we no longer exist to each other. I think about you and the times that we had, and I miss you. From hearing you talk, it sounded like I was pretty forgettable, and that made me feel pretty stupid for how much it all meant to me. It was hard to hear you so nonchalant, it was hard to feel as though I was so easily non-existant to you, and probably had been for some time. I was angry because I was hurt, because I wanted my thoughts and feelings to matter. I wanted to matter. I believed you that time in January after that first big fight, and we were outside the park when you told me all those really kind things, and I cried, and you hugged me for a long time. I believed you every time after that when it felt like we got to a moment where we could stop being defensive, and instead talk to each other sincerely, genuinely, as people who cared about each other. I believed the things you told me in your hammock- how much I meant to you, how much you cared, and that I never give up on you. You were right. But here we are. I still don't believe you're the nonchalant, disconnected, colder version of yourself that you've put forward. I know you, and that's not who you really are. That's the jacket you wear when you want to appear unmoved and unphased and untouched by anything. You are not hollow on the inside. You are sensitive and feel things more deeply than most people, and I think because of this, because it wells up inside you and you don't know what to do with it, it gets projected outwards in ways you don't always mean. You can never stay still, always need to keep going, because it's the only way you know how to externalize the chaos building up inside you before it swallows you whole. You've submitted to the chaos, and it's leading you to push other people, repeatedly, until everyone is acting out all the time and things become explosive. You were one of my good friends, one of my best friends, and we used to talk about anything and everything together. That's what I've missed. I think we were really lucky to find that, because it's rare. It feels sad to think back on that. My hope was always that someday we might be able to talk again openly, sincerely, genuinely, even just to catch up. It's the surface-level niceties, the casual "what's swingin?" that get me upset, because we were never just casual acquaintances, because there were things that needed to be repaired before moving forward, and casual feels like an attempt to avoid any effort and hope it all gets forgotten. Life is short, and to be loved, by anyone, is a gift. How special it is, to have people in our lives who care about us that much. Having met you, I am better for it. You taught me how to surf, and it's changed my life. It's one of the greatest gifts someone could give me. It taught me how to be brave again, how to feel strong, and how to do the things I'm afraid of. Some of my favourite memories will always be of our surf adventures, and maybe also the time you hid in my closet for upwards of 20 minutes to scare me. You have so much capacity for great things, please believe that. Don't do what's easy, or convenient, or fast; go headfirst into all the things you're terrified of. Stop using low blows, stop saying things to hurt, stop pushing, stop making the situation worse because you don't like confrontation. Listen. Just show up, and listen. Be open, be honest, be vulnerable, be kind, because that's who people want to know, that's who they like. And if it turns out that we never see each other again, just know that I'm so glad I met you. It's been one hell of a ride,

-Natalie

Letters To My Ex-Boyfriends: I Am Sensitive And I Think You Hated My Underwear

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This isn't about someone being good, or bad, or right, or wrong. This is about in the ways that matter, I don't think we are the same. And that makes me sad.

I don't know what the old you was like. I'm not sure I know the new you all that well either. But I think you are trying, and the beauty is in trying. We're all trying, in our own small ways. It's our grace, our way of reaching out beyond ourselves, and when I see that in you, in the way you move, I can see the goodness of who you are. I wish you could see how beautiful it is.

I was mad, so mad. I was mad I let you into my heart, and into my home, and when that scared me and I said please don't do this unless you mean it because it will hurt too much if you don't, you held me while I cried on your kitchen floor and said, "It's okay. Trust me. I'm not going anywhere." But then you became unsure, and it was like being held underwater and the air has been squeezed from your chest, your body limp. I was so sad. And I didn't know what to do; it was everything I was afraid of. I think I felt betrayed because I had shown you my vulnerability, because I had said, "Please don't hit me here." And listen, it's okay you changed your mind, it really is, it just hurt is all. It felt like you didn't want me anymore, regardless of whether that was true. And to be honest, I don't know if that is true or not. It doesn't matter, I'm not mad anymore.

But I think what is true, because you said it, is that you aren't sure if you are attracted to me. That's confusing, and I admit that hurts a little too, because I've been in your bed and you've been in mine, and I think what maybe neither one of us wants to say out loud is that if you aren't sure then you probably aren't. That doesn't make you bad or wrong, it's just what is, and that's okay. My heart's a little bruised, but who can blame it for wanting love? There's beauty in that too, I think, in wanting to be carried and asking to be loved, even when our darkest shadows tell us we won't, even when our voices are too hoarse to ask.

I don't know if you hear me when I say these things, I don't know if you understand my language. And that's okay too, but I can't get very close to you. The only thing that makes sense to me is to surround myself with kind, sensitive people who can give their compassion freely and easily; I need it like air, like sun, like water, like blood. It is my lifeblood. These are the people that keep me alive. I can't sustain casual friendships or relationships because I'm too thin-skinned and intense and prone to my feelings falling out of my mouth. So I am saying goodbye.

Goodbye, keep trying, keep breathing, goodbye, you will love, you will be loved, goodbye, goodbye, you will be so happy your heart will break open, goodbye, I don't want to do this, goodbye. Goodbye. I'm sorry. I will miss you.

I will remember you at the beach, sitting in our wetsuits on that log with Charlie sprawled across us, watching the waterfall, watching as the water split. It was a moment that temporarily halted time and space. It was worth it.

Keep reaching for the light, Zen Flower.

- Natalie