J, I want to thank you.
I want to thank you for teaching me that first impressions can be wrong. That arrogance can be creativity in disguise, and charm can actually be interest.
I want to thank you for whisking me away on adventures, for showing me what I’d been missing, for making me feel special.
I want to thank you for your determination to be friends, even after we ended.
I want to thank you.
I want to thank you for teaching me that first impressions can be spot on. That creativity can actually be arrogance, and genuine interest does not require buckets of charm.
I want to thank you for whisking me away on adventures that I thought were unique to us, only to realise that I was one of the many who’d trodden down your yellow brick road. I want to thank you showing me what I’d never needed, for making me feel worthless.
I want to thank you for your angry texts and letters, calling me names for not wanting to be friends, not wanting you in my life, after we ended.
No, but really, I do want to thank you. There are two sides to every story, and I am sure that in yours the positive outweighs the bad. You never wanted to hear my side, to experience my pain.
Knowing about the tears I cried every night while we were together would probably made you feel proud. You’d tell the next girl, ‘she fell for me. Hard. Intense. But she was just a play-thing. Couldn’t hold my interest for long…’ And she’d laugh, and feel smug, and know that she was different.
Thank you for showing me that I was not different. That no one will ever be different.
There are so many things I could thank you for. But most of all, I want to thank you for showing me what I deserve. And for the record, I don’t deserve someone who’ll laugh when my jokes fall flat. Who’ll leave me in a room full of strangers without an introduction, without a steadying hand. Who’ll pull a face when I apply more chap stick, because my meds are so strong. Who’ll insist that I sleep naked, whilst he has pyjamas on. Who’ll make me walk home alone in the middle of the night, blind with tears from another fight. Who’ll guilt trip me into staying over, just for cuddles, yeah right. Who’ll call me ‘man’ like some buddy down the pub, but insist I wear a short dress, not trackies, when I’m dragged over for yet another badly disguised booty call.
So thank you. I wish I could say that the lesson you taught, the wisdom you imparted, was easy. It’s the toughest thing I’ve ever learned: just to love, and be taken for granted in return.
But it’s made me who I am. It’s helped me find myself, my strength, my true virtues. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
So hear me when I say thank you. And goodbye.