andrew

The letter I wrote for my own clarity, but will not send. From my heart to the universe, a prayer to move forward. 

Dear Andrew,

When I think about you—or about anything you’ve said to me, or that I might want to say to you—it stirs something intense inside me. My body reacts with a kind of inner chaos: excitement, confusion, unclarity. It’s not a grounded feeling. It feels out of control, and that state feels unsafe for me. I know that’s my reaction to what happens between us, and I don’t want to assign it to you—it’s just what comes up in me.

When I’m around you, I often feel unsure, insecure, and “not enough.” I find myself working hard to be liked or interesting enough for you to want to stay. There’s a recurring sense that there’s a time limit—like at some point, you’ll be done and ready to go—and I start anticipating that before it happens. I notice that I feel you seek me out when you want or need something, and then you leave once that need is met. I’ve rarely had the courage to ask directly for what I want, partly out of fear of rejection, and partly because I don’t trust that I won’t feel like a burden. When I have asked, you’ve sometimes shown up and helped, and I appreciate that. But most often, I stay quiet and wait for you to come toward me.

The truth is, I can get thrown off course for days or even weeks after interactions with you. On one level, I know it’s because I so deeply want your love, attention, and validation. The moments when I receive those things feel incredibly good—and also incredibly rare and unpredictable. That leaves me feeling desperate, needy, and heartbroken. I long for a kind of care and steady presence that I realize I don’t currently have in my life, and sometimes I’ve tried to make you that person, even though you’ve been clear that you’re not, and that I’m not that person for you.

I see how I’ve tried to make something fit that doesn’t. That’s not love; it’s not friendship—it’s grasping, trying to shape reality into what I wish it were. I’ve told myself I could grow through it, that someday I’d be strong enough to handle it differently, but it hasn’t happened. I still find myself easily hurt, disappointed, and spinning stories in my mind about how I want things to be.

And maybe, honestly, I never wanted to “be your friend.” Maybe I was trying to hold onto you in whatever way I could. I’ve been caught in this question—Do you care about me? Am I important to you?—and even asking directly hasn’t brought clarity. I can see that sometimes my ways of trying to understand that have been unhealthy or manipulative, but the outcome is the same: I don’t know where I stand. Maybe I cling to the uncertainty instead of accepting reality. And living in that uncertainty finally feels like something I don’t want to do anymore.

I see how much of this comes from my own insecurity—how I compare myself, how jealousy creeps in, how I keep hoping things will change. I’ve been having an ongoing internal tantrum about it, trying to hide it, and it’s exhausting. The whole pattern I’m recreating is toxic for me. I see and feel my patterns of co-dependence and often feel powerless in it where you are concerned.

That said, there are so many things I genuinely love and appreciate about you. When I’m with you, I can feel incredible joy, warmth, and connection. There is nothing else like your hugs or how it feels when you cuddle me. Few people seem as excited to see or hear from me as you seem to be. I love hearing your thoughts, your stories, and learning small glimpses of the way your mind works. I’ve wanted more of that because it feels good. But I haven’t shown that I can handle it well or stay in my own energy. I’ve dropped things that matter to me, bent myself out of shape, and lost track of my own center just to make space for time with you. That’s on me. It’s not sustainable.

I don’t feel like I’m healing in this dynamic. I don’t feel like I’m moving closer to the kind of love I want in my life. In fact, I see that I can’t move toward that love without letting go of the hope that it could come from you. I know that might have been obvious for a long time, but this is the moment where I’m really accepting it and taking action.

I feel regret about some of the ways I’ve handled things, though I truly was doing the best I knew how. I’ve believed that honesty and vulnerability were the path toward real connection. I think that’s true, but I’ve struggled to be honest and vulnerable with myself in this instance. Whatever it is that I cannot yet see or understand has felt confusing and painful.

It finally occurred to me to try giving up. And then stick to that decision anytime I think I might want to try again. To remember that I decided to give up. 

No matter how much I may feel that I love you and want to be in your life, I have to love myself more and be honest with myself. Being a friend to myself, I let go of all the ways I was trying to be in your life. The truth is that I never had to try to be your friend, but I wanted to try to be more than your friend. It was a long misguided effort that I told myself was love, but it wasn’t. That might be the saddest part.

I think of all the energy and life-force I poured into the space between us. I wonder about the other ways I could have used that energy. The lesson I can learn for now is to love and honor myself more.

Love,
Abby

P.S. I sometimes come back to this to read and edit the parts where I observe myself telling stories that aren’t true. Each time I am able to see a few more threads and continue to soften even as I keep moving forward. Disappointments of the heart can be very powerful and enduring, I have so much compassion for myself. 

Today I changed the image from a massive crack in the earth which felt like an impossible divide, to a view of the water from inside a cave. I’ve been in the cave making truth out of what I could see, not thinking about all that exists that I could not see. My new prayer is to find a way to exit the cave or the box I’ve been living in where love is concerned.