A Letter I Really Don't Want to Write.

I think that writing to you is counterproductive because I doubt you will read it and, most of the time, I prefer not to think about you. I'm happy. Really, truly, genuinely happy. I'm married to the best man in the world. The man I married is worth a thousand of you and I love him too much to explain. I lucked out when it didn't work out with you because I went on to better things.

I can't believe the things that I did to get you to love me. I can't believe how hard I tried. It seems especially ridiculous now that I am loved by someone who wants nothing from me in return. I bent over backwards. I put up with endless bullshit. I loved you. You loved booze. You loved to party. You loved drugs. You were the angriest person I have ever met in my life and you don't do a very good job hiding it. You have a grudge against life and a grudge against the world, and the saddest thing is that it has gotten you nowhere. Even today, at close to thirty-years-old, you haven't accomplished much if anything.

Your anger has consumed you and you almost took me along for the ride. I was so busy being into you, that I didn't realize that I was becoming you. I could never understand why things were so on and off between us. I could never understand why, for short times, it was so great and then all of a sudden, you were gone. You never left me for other girls, you left me to drink and to party and to do drugs. I became angry. I became bitter. I became desperate. I sought your attention in a really unhealthy way. Had my life not taken a sharp turn, I might still be in that drug-fueled, alcohol-induced craziness that you existed in.

I thank God every day for that sharp turn. I thank God for leading me away from you. The irony is that when the lines turned pink on that pregnancy test, I was sad because I knew it was the end of me and you, but the truth is it was a gift meant to deter me from the curse that was you. I see you on Facebook and I see you around still and I remember that moment when I realized that there was no hope left for the two of us and it still makes me sad.

You have so much potential. I think we had so much potential. I would have loved to say that I married my first love and to tell a story about how we met when I was fifteen and have been together ever since. But I wouldn't want to be married to you. Not to the person you were or the person you have become. You haven't become much, in fact. You are still a lost, angry kid. I hope that someday I see you and realize that you are happy, the way that I am happy. I wish you only the best and have no hard feelings. I've moved on. I grew up, fell in love, and settled down. I hope the same happens for you, but I know that it won't until you let go of all that rage.

I wish you peace and healing.