Letters To My Future Boyfriends

There's nothing you can do that would hurt me anymore.

The person I loved told me he was an alcoholic and needed to change, and that I was the first person to be so caring with him, so gentle, that I meant so much to him. But then he packed a box of condoms right in front of me for a trip to Bali; a trip where he got so drunk so often he was sick for several weeks afterwards. Oh, and he also fucked a bunch of girls, but maybe I should have seen that coming.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart's already been dropped that way.

The person I loved told me he loved me, wanted a life with me, wanted all the things I wanted too and wanted them together, but then after 2 years I found out he had another girlfriend, pretty much a spouse, and that he had never even been single in the first place, and everything had been a lie. I was the other woman. I was one of several other women who shouldn't think we were anything special, because this wasn't the first time.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart's already been shattered that way.

The person I loved told me he'd never let anyone hurt me like that again, but then he withheld his love, withheld the truth, withheld the respect of allowing me to take my clothes and my shoes and my toothbrush and my pillow and my love from his house because he didn't want to wait to start his forever with someone else, and didn't want to have an uncomfortable conversation.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart's already been severed that way.

The person I loved told me he wasn't sure if he was attracted to me, and that he wasn't sure if he loved me. Maybe he did, but maybe he didn't. So he went to find out. After that he showed up at my work with flowers and asked me to fall asleep with him. But then while I was still at work he slept with his ex girlfriend behind my back and sent me a text message the next day saying he was following his heart with someone else. I only found out about him going behind my back because he was at the party we were supposed to go to together, having the time of his life, and I showed up to force him to have to say it to my face.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart's already been detonated that way.

The person I loved, the one whom I supported, the one for whom I rented a car and took the ferry and drove 17 hours through the night so he could get to his grandmother's funeral and I became a part of his family, that person walked into work and then immediately walked out without a saying a word. He texted me to say he was done and he was dumping me. I got to explain to our boss where my partner had gone. He then deleted every picture of us and me and the dog from all of his social media, and then deleted me. I came home to find he had cleared out all of his belongings while I was still at work and left his key under the mat.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart's already been destroyed that way.

The person I loved told me to call someone to come get me, to get someone to take me to the hospital because he was leaving, because I had just swallowed a handful of his pills in front of him, because I didn't know how else to escape, how to make it stop, and he didn't want to get caught in the mess. He didn't call an ambulance. He did hurt me. He did threaten me. He did try to leave me, alone, on my bathroom floor.

You can't hurt me with that, because my heart already been left to die.

... But it didn't. My heart didn't die. It kept beating, even when it was in pieces, even when it had sublimed into mist, even when life felt like a warm day from a long time ago that I'd never find my way back to. It kept beating, even when the pain threatened to crush it, even when it was splintered and bruised, even the air was running out. It endured. It didn't miss a beat. It persisted. And so did I.

You can't hurt me with any of that, because my heart is so strong. It'll give you more love than you could ever imagine, because it had to evolve into something bigger, something greater. This is the beauty of our suffering- it dares us to grow, it teaches us to reach. My heart was dismantled, but then sown back together with light. And now I can pass you the light to thread your ruptured heart too.

Letters To Angie: Beacons

Angie, my love!

So I started my day with an unexpected cry, but a happy one! I was watching Youtube videos and an ad came on before my video. I was about to skip past it, but then what it was saying caught my attention. It was a Dove ad called "Would you #choose beautiful?" It got me! I had a few little dragon tears! In the ad they set up two doors, one with the word "Beautiful" above it, the other with the word "Average", and women had to choose what door they would walk through. The part that really got me was a young girl said she wanted to walk through the Average door, but her mom pulled her away and took them both through the Beautiful door instead. 

Also, I wanted to forward you something I wrote about a week ago, because you are such a big part of what makes me feel this way! It was part of an email I wrote to so-and-so, after I had driven home from Jill's house and we had watched The Voice:

"Driving home from Jill's tonight there was a full moon, and it struck me as a beacon of hope. I look at where I am and I feel so whole-heartedly happy and grateful and lucky. Sometimes I think, how do I deserve this? I feel so much love that the only place it can move is outwards, like millions of molecular-sized fireflies reaching into the night sky to become their own stars, lighting their own beacons. 

To have felt so sad for so long, and to have found my way to the other side, it feels like new life. To look back 10 years, I think, now I understand why it was necessary. The breadth of experience was necessary to understand the depths of both light and dark, and how they cage us, hurt us, scare us, but also free us. And there's still so much to learn, to see, to experience, to love. But I feel like now, I've learned to trust; to put my energy in faith rather than fear, and that letting go doesn't mean you fall, it means you fly."

It's slightly out of context from a larger paragraph, so I hope it makes sense, but I really wanted to share that part with you, because you are such a big part of the love I feel.

Your Pal,
Natalie

You Don't Need To Stay

Girl, if you are crying more than one day a month because of something in your relationship, you don't need to stay.

Honey, if you have so many ulcers it hurts to eat and talk because of the stress of your relationship, you don't need to stay.

Babes, if you feel crazy even though you know yourself to be a reasonable and understanding person, you don't need to stay.

Darling, if you find yourself skipping out of the things you love because you are too emotionally strained and mentally exhausted, you don't need to stay.

Dearest, if you find yourself doing things you probably wouldn't because you want him to want you, you don't need to stay.

Beautiful, if he withholds his love but is still comfortable taking yours, you don't need to stay.

Sweet Pea, if you wake up one day and realize you've made yourself smaller and smaller and smaller because his needs will always be bigger and bigger, you don't need to stay.

My Love, forgive yourself for not going, forgive yourself for not letting go. The miraculous beauty of reaching for light even when we've planted ourselves deep in the muck is what makes us human. It's our grace. You can transplant yourself and still be okay. You don't need to stay.

How To Move Forward:

1) Throw out now-dead Valentine's flowers (and feelings)

2) Throw caution to the wind, embrace your inner hippie, and buy a shit load of crystals 

3) Plant new life in the hollow containers of said now-dead flowers (and feelings)

4) Rejoice! Your friends will marvel at your new pseudo-spiritual zen garden, your questionable and sudden urge to only wear flowy caftans, and will probably think you've read all the yoga/philosophy books on your shelf (You have not.)

5) Don't get all smug about it. You planted some plants, not saved humanity.

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

***

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

***

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