Letters

This is the letter I wrote in therapy that my therapist encouraged me to mail to him.

Dear S,

This is not going to be the same kind of letter you wrote me. I don't think you understand how horrible you made me feel. You would come home from work very arrogant, armed with evidence of your co-workers' and family's opinions about me, and you would tell me I was weak. I would beg you not to air our problems at work, and you told me work was your family (and essentially more important because you chose to tell them instead of honoring me). And I guess I was weak, because not only did I let you tell me I was nothing, but I believed you. I honestly felt this was as good as it gets and I didn't deserve more from a partner.

You write you're sorry. That you couldn't tell me the truth because I wouldn't love you anymore. My therapist (who has worked with both of your rehab facilities) says that anything after "I'm sorry, but..." is B.S. According to the 12 Steps, you are not to make excuses, and you are certainly not to place the blame on me. And the thing that gets me is not that you were never honest, it's that you continue to lie.

I know that you didn't "graduate" from Uxxxx. You up and quit. Your father called them and spoke to them. And my therapist says Sx is not related to Uxxxx, so it isn't the next step in the program like you said. You called me from Gxxxx Hospital and never told me you were there for your tooth; I had to find that out from your old counselor, making me look like an idiot. And he confirmed to your family that you never had "the flu/pneumonia," but chest congestion. It makes me think that you haven't learned anything. He already told me you weren't doing the program at the old place.

And when are you going to be really honest with me? You act like drinking a case of beer a day was some big revelation, but when are you going to admit about the CRACK? I know, S. I'm sure there is more I don't know, but I know about the crack. And your family does too. It all makes sense now: the constant muggings, your inability to control your bowel movements (crack is cut with laxatives; I've gotten quite an education since I left), the disappearing money you would accuse me of taking, my money you took, and my things you pawned. Not in the name of alcohol. In the name of crack. Your alcoholism is an excuse and a cover up for your crack use. I know what all those beer cans hidden in the bathroom are really for. And when I think about how long I've been finding those cans, I am physically sickened. You stole my car, smoked crack, defecated your pants and then drove home. It makes me feel disgust, rage and unforgiveness.

The fact that you continue to lie to everyone around you makes me think you congratulate yourself for your deceit. You think you are so smart for being able to cover up your crack use while living with someone as straight-laced as me. I am a good person, S, and I did not deserve to be put through that. I have to live with the fact that I lived with someone for years and never really knew him.

I also don't think you understand the effect your lying has on others. You think all you are doing is protecting yourself, but you also really hurt others. You would tell me the things I believed were not real. That the truth was not real. It made me feel crazy. Because of your chronic lying, I was taught not to trust myself. This is what happens when someone has a feeling and we're told it's wrong or inappropriate. Or when we confront a lie or inconsistency and we're told we're crazy. I lost faith in that deep, important part of myself that senses truth, feels appropriate feelings, and has confidence in my ability to handle life's situations.

I believed what you told me about myself, that I was crazy and wrong. It made me think, "You're okay. You must be because you told me so. So it must be me. There must be something wrong with me." So I abandoned myself.

Do you understand? Your lies made me lose faith in me. One thing I've learned from my own therapy is that I was right in my feelings more often than I gave myself credit. I'm not as wrong as I thought I was.

The one thing that I've wanted to tell you—that I need to tell you—is that your lies and manipulation of me stop now. That's what you were doing when you called me and told me I had to decide in that instant whether I was going to speak to you again. It was emotional blackmail. And I wasn't ignoring you; I was waiting until my next therapy appointment so I would know how to respond in a healthy manner. I don't want to feel wrong anymore. But you had to have a response that moment, and when you didn't get one, you used pressure to intimidate me. That tactic will not work anymore. Unless you can approach me humbly and honestly, I don't want to have any contact with you. Even one more lie. I'm serious. I am done with the lies. And lying is a symptom outside of addiction, S. Just because you're currently sober doesn't mean you are honest. It is a character trait and a personality trait.

I'm doing well. I've learned to trust myself again. I'm standing up for myself. I'm happy. My job is secure and I love my new apartment. The Femme Fatale no longer hides under the bed and acts three years younger. I'm direct. I ask for what I want and I move on if I don't get it. I expect more from people. I'm not wasting any more time. I'm no longer going to let any man treat me the way you did. You hurt me physically, emotionally and mentally.

I gave you everything, S. My heart. My home. I supported you on several occasions after you had gotten fired from Fxxx and Cxxx. I loved you. And you threw it all away for drugs and alcohol. Not only was work more important that me, but so was crack and beer. And Erica. I sat in our apartment and watched you go out with another girl. You've already admitted to me you were trying to start a relationship with her and I am sick of you now trying to deny it. No more.

By the way, I no longer believe you found that gold earring on the floor at work and brought it home. And I no longer believe that cocaine baggie I found in your dopp kit was old. I no longer believe most of what you told me. Like we were going to get married. You had it made taking everything I had to give.

In the two years we were together, you never made a single move towards anything. Not to get your license back. Or to pay your bills. Or for us to have any semblance of a life together. But I believed in you and thought one day you would turn your life around. I believed I was that important to you. But I know better now. My leaving wasn't good enough for you to get help. You had to wait until you were squatting in an empty apartment with no power and no scooter. You were perfectly happy doing what you wanted and living in squalor.

You choked me. You lied to me. You took swings and me and you bloodied my nose with a book. You write you're sorry, but you never acknowledge any detail, instead just providing a blanket apology. A one-size-fits-all fix-it. I deserve better than all of this, S. I know that now too.

Sarah

This is the e-mail I received from him yesterday.

i received your letter the other day and i have to admit i laughed but i guess you expected that. look i did alot of really stupid shit under the influence of alcohol and drugs. the reason i contacted you when i went into treatment was to appolgize for the things i did to you and us. now i realize how you feel and all of the sudden your completely right and i was wrong for everything. yeah when hell freezes over. my therapist has told me you were just as stupid as i was and i have to agree this time. good luck on your life from here on out because you will need it! and FUCK YOU and your family and i hope you don't see any of mine because it won't be pretty, good day you waste of life!