Dear CB,

I have to say, again, that I’m deeply sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.  One post in particular struck rather deep.  There are many things you deserve to be told as well.  I’m ashamed it’s taken me so long to say anything.  Please, forgive me; I did what I was told, only because I thought that’s what you thought was best for you.

I haven’t stopped caring a lick since we parted.  In all honesty, I got rocked two days later when my grandmother passed.  Then three months after that, my other grandmother passed.  The pain of losing three very important women in my life destroyed me.  I withdrew from everything to the point of extreme isolation.

Coping hasn’t been even remotely easy.  I always thought, because you left, that you were happy.  You’re right to call me a hypocrite, as I couldn’t bear the thought of you going on dates.  My cheating is reprehensibly shameful, without question.  To add further idiocy to it, the only reason I did it was some half-cocked, hair-brained idea it would spur you into paying me more attention.

So, ridiculously stupid, as well as painfully selfish.

There is nothing wrong with your body, and there never was.  You’ve always been remarkably beautiful.  All of your efforts only helped to accentuate what was already amazing.  I foolishly allowed insecurity and fear to get the better of me.  The better you got, the more I felt beneath you, and perhaps rightfully so; you’re leagues beyond what you were when we first met, and you have every damn right and reason to be proud of yourself and feel accomplished.

Maybe you were right in that putting you on a pedestal was a bad idea, but it seemed the right and righteous thing to do.  I came to see you as flawless, in all reality.

I feel absolutely dreadfully horrible to think I said anything out of line about your body in any fashion.  The ‘boob job’ comment is compounding on itself.  It was never my intention to suggest you needed to augment yourself in anyway, and the “parents pay for it” comment was meant as a deflection.  I only asked you about your level of happiness with your body to try to gauge A.) how badly you might want it, and B.) how big of a fight I’d have trying to talk you out of it.

Just the concept of anyone declaring a woman needs a boob job sickens me.  It’s unacceptably inappropriate for anyone other than the owner of said body to want to modify it, and that was one modification I never wanted to have come up again.  There has been incredible amount of pain in realizing every way I hurt you.  Either through being completely oblivious, or to being consumed by my lesser qualities into verbally/mentally assaulting someone.  I see so many things in retrospect…it kills me.

You were right in telling me I didn’t understand feminism.  I became obsessed in attempting to figure it out, and it eventually lead to an epiphany where everything kind of slid into place.  As soon as I understood concepts like “toxic masculinity” and “rape culture” I felt like the biggest pile of flaming dog shit ever.

Everything I’ve learned lately has been “filtered” through you in one way or another.  I couldn’t function properly for days after I finally understood the deeper depths I hurt you.  I spent days analyzing every interaction I had with you, and the more shit I found I did, the worse I felt.  It was always my intention to never hurt you, and I feel all the worse knowing you got hurt due to my reckless negligence.

I never thought your people were wealthy either, nor was it ever any of my business, nor up for query.

This is why you haven’t heard from me.  This is why it seems like I disappeared, and that I don’t care.  Because I see all the shit I’ve done, and the shame and guilt is unbearable.    From what I could see, you were happier, and better off, so I thought the only right thing I could do is leave you alone to be happy.

When I “wouldn’t talk” about something you were more knowledgeable in, it wasn’t my intention to make you feel like I was shutting you down, or that I was uninterested.  I thought by conceding to your superior knowledge on the subject it would give you any number of ways to branch into talking about it, because I wanted you to ramble.  I said many times I felt like shit for rambling and “monopolizing the conversation”, and, when things started getting weird, I thought one of the ways to maybe improve things is that you felt you weren’t being heard or listened to.  So, when I “backed away” from conversation like that, I was really trying to give you the spotlight to ramble under.  You took my stepping back as being uninterested, and I took you not talking as growing dissatisfaction with me.  I lost control of myself and started to panic; it was killing me to think I was losing you, and I was scrambling to find something to “make it work”.

The texting thing is largely my fault, and I made a bad thing worse by being stupid.  I would be playing the game, and say you’d text at 12 noon.  I would open my phone and start replying, but, because we usually sent 2-3-4 page texts at that time, a new match would start before I could finish typing.  I’d put the phone down, with intention of getting back to it, but I’d get sucked into the stupid game, and next I knew it was 2-3-4 hours later.

I fucked up SO badly.  I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for every smidge of pain I ever caused you.  I’ve missed you terribly.  I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind at all; there’s hardly a day that goes by where you don’t still occupy the majority of my thoughts.  I felt like such a “stalker creep” in “checking up on you”, but the only reason I wanted to do that is to make sure you were okay.  To make sure you were still happy, and that you were better off with me not around.

I felt that I’d failed you on such a massive scale, I just wanted to hide my face.  Subconsciously, I thought you deserved so much better…

This hurts so bad…

I knew how deeply you cared for me.  I was always aware.  I thought so little of myself, I got lost in the train of thought that the only way you could have better would be to give you the freedom to pursue better.  I know it’s backwards, and neurotic, but we both know I’m fucking mental.  I wanted you to be happy so badly, I prioritized it over my own, and I felt that if being ‘free’ from me was going to make you the happiest, then I needed to give you the option.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want you anymore; far from it.  I guess you’re right; I tried to make choices for you.  I pushed you out because I convinced myself you would be happier with more options; that you were ‘pinned down’ or ‘stifled’ because of me.

I know it sounds fucked up, and confusing, and I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to slap the piss out of me.  I don’t know how to explain myself aside from I must have been thinking of people like cars.  That you would have been happier “updating” to a “newer, better model”, as opposed to having to wait around while body technicians replaced the doors, hood, trunk, etc. before a new ‘paint job’.  You deserve the best, and I started to feel I’d failed you in having you wait so long anyway.

I don’t really understand the machinations of “drug brain”, and it’s the first thing I focused on once I was convinced you were happy and done with me.  I saw each and every way I’d failed you, and I was so wracked with guilt from hurting you, that I focused on getting better so I couldn’t hurt anyone like that again.

I hate hurting people (I’d be a terrible bouncer), and I take it exceedingly hard when I do.  And not just you; I’ve been driving myself mad in knowing I could have hurt everybody in your household.  I feel absolutely ashamed of myself and my behavior.

Now it kills me to know how badly you’ve been upset, and how it’s affected you.  You are very strong, exceedingly intelligent, and just all-around amazing.  I can’t stress enough how badly I feel for everything I’ve put you through up to this point.  I never hated you, and I would have talked if you had decided to speak with me.  It’s 4 in the morning, and my brain is a jumbled mess of emotion, and I’m sorry if this is unwelcome.  You don’t have to do anything, but if you don’t wish to talk with me, I completely understand and can respect your choice to uphold that limitation.    The only reason I wasn’t there is because I thought you didn’t want me to be there, and that you were better off with me gone.

I’ve been missing my friend very badly, and hoping beyond everything you were okay.  I’m sorry for everything.  I don’t think it’s going to make anything much better, but I’m sorry for hurting you so badly, and running away when I was needed.

If you really want to talk, you know how and where to find me, and by what means.  I have absolutely zero intention of rejecting you if you reach out.