It’s been awhile, for the letters at least. Although it
doesn’t even feel that long. The one thing I never wanted people to know was
that I started writing letters because I used to write them on paper, to you.
Every single day. Honestly, I just missed you so much and I had no one around
to talk to. So, I couldn’t stop imagining all the things that I would tell you
if you were here. I brought them to you one time, I think you burned them. I
was so lonely without you. I still am. Lonely I mean. I just think maybe my
soul isn’t meant for this world. It’s constantly been plagued with loneliness
and no one seems to notice. You always noticed. When I was a kid, before you, I
used to lay backwards on my bed with my head beside the stereo, trying to get
as close to the music as I could. It was the only noise I ever really heard,
other than my own breathing. It was the closest thing to peace I knew, laying
in the darkness with the music, the one time where I could be any emotion I
wanted without having to worry what people would think about me or who was
watching. I used to have a light that I would shine on the ceiling. I’m married
now. It’s been a lot. He thinks that whatever the opposite of soulful is and
being not very thought provoking is cool. But 25, really 23, year old me is not
13 year old me and I don’t. He seems a million miles away from every version of
you I’ve ever known. I don’t know. I don’t know if you remember this but one of
the things that made me fall in love with you was this question and I had asked
it to several people. No one gave a good answer, if any. Regular, vapid people
in their regular, unalive world. And I kept thinking that I know that you would
answer. So I asked you. And you answered without hesitation. Don’t tell my
husband, but I’ve still got the screenshot. You told me that you believed in
love, even though most people didn’t anymore. I don’t think he believes in anything,
least of all me. I wish you were here to tell me what to do. Hell, I wish you
were just here to talk to, no judgement, no cutting me off, just me and you, a
couple of stars, a conversation. It’s day four now, I’ve counted, of my husband
cutting me off every time I try to talk. He’s stopped me at least once every
single day. I don’t know why other than he doesn’t like what I’m saying. I think
he just hates me. But that’s just another thing I say that makes him angry. He
used to be nice. Last year was really hard. So hard. But in between those hard
moments, were gentle moments, moments where I felt like I was talked to like I don’t
know, gentle, kind. If we’re all being honest with ourselves, the way you talk
to some broken, fucked up little girl. But now, we don’t really speak, which is
better than being talked to like a dog. Or at least how people that aren’t me
talk to their dogs. Do you remember the day Ranger had to go to the vet? I don’t
remember if he had to be put down or not. I just remember how sad it was. There
was a period last year, where I guess he was just going through stuff, I mean,
I know he was. But he didn’t even exist anymore. He just sat there, he went to
work, but he didn’t help me make sure the bills got paid, like actually having
to go out and pay them, we have one bank account, he wouldn’t spend time with
me, he didn’t want to be intimate with me, like physically, and I couldn’t
speak. I literally couldn’t speak. If I did, then I was mean and evil and
ununderstanding and I don’t know if you’ve ever met me but not saying how I feel
isn’t really my style. You used to like that about me. I told my boss that I felt
like I was drowning. There’s this book that I had to read in high school, I can’t
think of the name of it right now, but I loved it. The main character’s name is
Edna, how ironic. In the end, Edna is so tired of whatever her husband has
going on, and everything around here, and no one wanting to hear her, that she just
walks into the ocean. The end. The end, as in the book doesn’t go into detail,
but she drowns herself. It’s relatable. But the point is, I loved him, just
like I loved you, so I kept holding on for the ride. Everyone goes through hard
shit, right? I still loved him, I still believed in him. But it’s a year later,
so why am I still drowning? Literally every single thing I say is wrong. My
opinions are irrelevant, unless he likes how they make him feel. There was nothing
ever wrong I could say to you, you always listened, unless I was mean, then you
just didn’t want to talk to me. He does this thing, I don’t know what to call
it, every term I use, he hates. I tell him I don’t think it’s very good for me
mentally, he acts like he can’t control it. A harder time controlling emotions
doesn’t mean that you can’t. It really just means that you’re practicing a
little late in life. Everyone teaches themselves how to control their emotions.
But I’m a failure when I can’t tell him how. And that makes the behavior
excusable. It makes me want to change my name to Edna. Self control is learned.
But when there’s always a reason why you can’t teach yourself, it’s never your
fault then, right? The little kid part of me is terrified, he came the other
day and I was just shaking uncontrollably. The internet calls the behaviors
intimidation, which can be considered mentally abusive. He’s not abusive, I
just think he doesn’t love me enough to want to look at himself. Honestly, it’s
hard to look at your behavior. I get it. But at what cost? It’s like every
single thing is about him. And since those months, I feel like it always has
been. He doesn’t agree. Are you surprised? He thinks because he buys me my
favorite treat or flowers or asks why I’m crying, that doesn’t make my life one
sided. But it’s like this, every single thing about me is about how it makes
him feel. He won’t let me speak because he doesn’t like the way my words will
make him feel about his own self. If you don’t stop, I can’t control it. That’s
something the internet brings up and not in a good way, if you catch my drift.
My opinion and feelings shouldn’t be a threat to someone. I don’t understand
why it’s always how my words make them feel. Sails, why isn’t it about me? It’s
never why does Samantha feel that way? It’s like I say something is bad for me,
it continues, I live my life on edge and sad, and then when I say I don’t think
I’m loved, I’m still the problem. It’s okay to cut me off, freak out on me, or
be mean because I don’t feel loved. Like how is that my fault? Why is the
question there not what do I do to make her feel not loved? Or what can I do to
love her different? Or if someone treated my mom this way, would I like it, or
what would mom think about that if it was done to her? Lately, the new question
is why am I crying. I feel like that’s a stupid question. I’ve always been
strong and independent and fuck the world, but I let someone constantly shut me
up, not be emotional, hurt my feelings, do things I really don’t think are
okay, and it’s a big mystery why I’m sad. He knows why. The question here should
be why is she sad, and why is my reaction, since I love her, to ask why she’s
crying, and then pat her shoulder. Seems bananas to me. But my opinion doesn’t
make the world go round. Yours used to though. I just wanted to be so worthy of
your love, I wanted to be the kind of person that you’d be proud to be beside,
and honestly, I just wanted to be the kind of person that deserved someone like
you. Someone who was so sweet and kind and loving, and every thing my whole
life was always missing. I wanted so badly to be that kind of good person. I
must not be though. I’m constantly rejected. I literally feel like my whole
life is not about me. It’s about who my words make someone else interpret themselves.
It’s never why am I hurt. The other night, he asked me why I was crying and
then got mad because I didn’t feel like anything I said or did was ever good
enough. He always says he doesn’t get mad. I don’t really care what you call
the emotion. I was sad that I wasn’t good enough, no matter what I have done,
and then he tells me that maybe were not soul mates. Talk about gut punching,
slit your throat now stuff. I keep asking myself what do I believe in. Do I even
believe in miracles, because you used to make me believe, over and over, every
time I was about to give up, here you come, still making me believe, even when
you didn’t know it. But now, I keep waiting and praying and hoping. I love him,
I wanted so badly to be a good wife. But being a good wife shouldn’t have to
mean giving up the things I like about myself, like my ability to stand up for
myself and speak, and my opinions that never mattered to anyone but me so when
you’re all you’ve got, they’ve got to really matter. I wish you were, I feel so
lonely, I thought a husband, well that’s not true, I thought love was supposed
to be your best friend. I could really use a best friend right now. I feel so
stuck in life. People change, but when is it enough time? When is it time to
quit asking God to heal his heart? Because one minute, he’s sweet and amazing,
and everything that was missing. And the next, I’m emotionally devasted, like
really mentally not okay. He doesn’t even try to come talk about it anymore. He
might apologize but when that isn’t enough, he just starts to avoid me. He
doesn’t even try to make things right anymore. And part of me doesn’t want him
to. He acts like the hurt is okay because I say things he doesn’t like. Behaviors
and words aren’t the same. Childhood trauma isn’t the same. How can you know what
someone’s first years of life were like and not care if you bring them back
there. I sent him photos today, he didn’t even open them. He didn’t care. You
know, the other day he gave me the most amazing day of my life. Night, really.
It reminded me of you. The first time in two years, I’ve been reminded of you.
He swears he acts like that plenty of times and I just don’t remember. He’s
nice, he’s nice part of the week, making me sad the other part. Every week.
What I meant was, it was the first time since the last time I was with you,
that anyone has reminded me of you. It was whispers and forehead touching and
intimate and all of the things that you promised me. There was a night that
followed it too, it was like the most intimate thing to happen to me since I
been married. Every time I woke up that night, he was staring at me. He just
wanted to touch me. But all night. Seems like something you’d do. He never stares
at me or just watches me. He says that isn’t true too. But honestly, he glances
at me. But he never watches me. He doesn’t give me the you look. I used to say
I would never ever get married, until I met someone who looked at me the way
you did. My, how the mighty have fallen. I love him, I love you. But I’m not
the excuse for someone else’s behavior. Unless that behavior is yours, and then
goddamn I want to be the only excuse, and the lower the better, if you get what
I’m saying. There’s this guy on Facebook, he makes his money with this videos,
they’re nothing new or special, and I’ve heard/seen the story a million times.
Girl waits and waits on a man to do the things she wants him to do. They break
up, and he’s doing it for the next woman, and she’s heart broken. But the truth
is, he didn’t do it for her because she wasn’t the one. That’s what they say.
Men will do what they want and change for who they want. So if a man wanted to
be focused on your needs, he would be. And if he does it for the next woman, that
doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. I wanted so badly to be the thing
that he loves. But every day, more and more, I think I’m not. There’s no focus
on my emotions or why I do the things I do or why I think like I do. I don’t feel
like there’s ever a point where it’s like Samantha, I want to understand you, I
want to know you, I want to care about your feelings, regardless of how they
are making me feel because you’re important. I’m too scared to leave. He has so
much potential. So much potential. I can see it in the moments that aren’t
hurt. But I feel like it’s been two years of promising me different and every
time I turn around, it’s the same behaviors causing the same hurt. I spent my
whole life hurt, I can’t endure that kind of pain forever. I just want to be
loved. That’s not even true. I have been loved, by many. But they don’t count. I
want your love, or his love, and if I can’t be good enough for either, I just
want to be with my dad until he dies, pack up and move to a different state,
get artificially inseminated, and raise my little daughter in peace. Just me
and Sailor. And one day, when she meets the right boy, I can tell her how much
I loved you, and how much of a fuck up I was, and how heart breaking it was to
lose you, heart break so big I never recovered from it, and no one was ever happy
again. That love is the only thing matters and to run towards with everything
inside of her because if there is a chance for the kind of love I knew, it’s
the only thing worth living for. Stuck between I’m obviously not the love of
his life, I’m supposed to be though, praying he’ll wake up one day and want to
love me, and wondering why no one on the planet ever cares what’s going on
inside of me. There’s little Samantha inside of me. Maybe there’s still little
you inside of big you. Little you would care. Little you would listen and focus
on what was hurting me. If little you is there, little me misses you. I still
love you with every fiber of my being, as always, no matter what you’ve done or
where you’ve been, you still can come home to me. If you want. I miss you, I
love you, I’m sad without you.
