As someone who was once remarkably gifted at self sabotage, I understand you better than you'd like to believe. Time has past and we are both very different now. You have a toddler, hair that's too long, and a Quaker sensibility that seems to keep you from the bottom of a bottle. I'm almost married, have slightly more fluff around the middle than you remember, and am still hunting for my life's purpose. The chasm of four years lies between what we shared and who we have become. In my darker moments, I feel as if those are our real selves back there now buried under age and an obligation to let go. Then I remind myself that gaping wounds don't make a person more valid or relevant and thank God I heal a little every day.

Do you have to do that too?

Our's was a destructive love born out of dysfunction on both our parts. Perhaps that is why you were easier to forgive than the others; we are still the same inside, you and I. We've had to forgive ourself and those who have hurt us for a lot. True forgiveness is a salve that heals over time. It is slow and I eventually learned that it is more about setting myself free from the anger and bitterness than releasing those who have hurt me from all responsibility. It just isn't my job to punish them…or you.

You were raised in a culture of lies. Adopted into a family who used your warm body for money, deceived you about your age and origin, and left you to an institution as a teenager, I find it natural that the distortion of truth became your natural coping mechanism. I admit, when I discovered you were with three other women while you claimed I was the one and only, I dissolved. Crushed under the weight of that truth (which to this day we have never spoken openly about) I didn't ever want to let anyone put me back together.

I'm sorry I called you so much that October. Your abrupt disappearance left me lost and I held out hope I could fix you. That was who I had always been, the one who could repair the broken…everyone besides myself. Lying on my bathroom floor dialing your number over and over again seemed like a perfectly rational response to your declaration that we could no longer speak. If I showed you how much I loved you, it would all be made right. It didn't matter to me in that moment how many pills I had taken or how loud I was screaming into your voicemail that would never talk back. All that mattered was convincing you that us being together would make everything right. O, how wrong I was.

The end of us was the beginning of my healing. I dragged my bedraggled body and heart into therapy, hanging on by a strand of hope that life was worth living. I was never really angry at you. I was angry about a lot of things that have happened to me, but never you. I was hurt by your betrayal, but I understood it. Damaged people damage others. It is a harsh fact of life and I've hurt my fair share in my time.

There was never any closure with us; no long conversation where we hashed everything out and apologized through stale tears. There were only a few dramatic phone calls from you (usually incredibly drunk) and a sudden wedding announcement that arrived in the mail. As strange as it sounds, that paper crane was the closest you ever got to an apology. It was as if you said, "That man who hurt you so is dead. I'm starting over and I need your acceptance."

Some might view sending your X a wedding announcement between you and one of the women with whom you cheated on me cruel. I don't. Truthfully, I think it was brave.

I wish I was that brave.

I pray you've found your peace. I believe I've finally found mine.

I just wanted you to know.

 Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)

 Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)