A Letter Every Woman Has Written To The Guy Who Screwed Her Over (In Her Head)

You are the worst kind of person and yet here I am with you still on my mind.

I suppose what I’m waiting for is for you to do something thoughtful, something sincere, unexpected, necessary and brand new. Anything really. Anything that will restore even the smallest ounce of faith I have in myself, in my capacity to judge, to know what is good for me.

I’m waiting for you to do something that will make everything alright.

I want to believe I wasn’t an outright fool. More than even that though, I need to believe there aren’t people out there like you, people that could come along and purposefully brainwash me through charisma alone. I can’t believe you talked about my family and loving me forever. I can’t believe you opened all those stupid doors and said you were a man of principle.

Why do you irk me, frighten me almost?

Why do I have such resistance to our reality, to the way things turned out? Why can’t I just let myself see you for what you did to me, for your actions, rather than continuously falling back on your big talk, your charm, your family, your promising words and my hope? Why won’t I just acknowledge that what you did was unacceptable, that you are a selfish monster completely deprived of compassion?

I would never hurt you. I would never fool you like you’ve done to me. All I want to do is shake you. And love you. And bring you back to life. I want to wake you up. I want to breakthrough to you, encourage you to never do what you’ve done to me to anyone else. And yet, if you were to treat anyone better than me, I’d never understand it. I guess our romance has always been such an impossible one.

Sometimes I picture myself mailing you a letter, a single sheet of paper with your name in the middle surrounded by lines and lines and lines of the word, jackass. Or jerk. Tonight I’m thinking it should say juvenile.

Maybe you’re just young. Maybe so am I.

I wonder what your takeaway is when it comes to me and the way I opened myself to loving you? Do you even think with such softness and reflection? I’m scared that you don’t and, mainly, I’m just scared about what that says about me and the men I choose to sleep with and love. I want you to know that if I ever did something wrong, something silly and unforgivable, you could have told me. I need to know those things, you know? I want to learn. I’m a flawed person, too.

You probably know that. Do you know, though, that even though I find you upsetting and miserable and cruel and lonely, even though I think you’re an unremarkable human being, I wanted to love you. I wanted to believe in you. I still want to believe.

Maybe I really am pathetically naive. I won’t defend myself against that. I can’t. These are just the crazy, contradictory feelings I have.

I miss you. I miss knowing you before you made everything feel so hurtful and bad. PS: Why did you tell me to never settle? Why did you make me promise you to only go after the best? Did you think I’d return to you? Or wait for you? Are you aware of how badly you can treat a woman?

Were you worried I would never see that, that I would always believe you could change?

PPS: I’m naive and I’m loyal. It probably was always very clear to you. I’m always hoping for the best. I’m always rooting for the good parts of someone. I’m always focused on that. So, thank you. Thank you for pushing me away, thank you for letting me go.