I know it’s late but I just realized I had to tell you something.
I’ve been healing. Here’s what I know:
The reason I’ve been on the move the last few years is to take a pilgrimage. I had done well for myself (+ built a life that I loved) in Portland but needed to leave to feel free. If you ever get that freedom itch, you must go. Love yourself and just go.
Moving to Nashville seemed like a gradual decision at the time (the confluence of a whole series of somewhat ordinary events) but in truth, I had been bombarded with signs. Constant coincidences for more than a year. It added up to enough that I believed it meant something.
I surrendered to the coincidences. I said okay and took my hands off the wheel.
As I write this, I am struck by the enormity of that miracle. I had not believed in much for a long time. I had been hurting and insular and close to my animal self and choosing numbness. The door cracked open November 29, 2011 and I wanted to be well. I wanted to feel like the world was a safe place. Instead, I had been keeping busy – spread thin by commitments – so that I didn’t have any space to fall apart.
My brother’s case was overturned, I surrendered, and a year later I moved to Nashville, Tennessee.
Nashville brought me so much.
Chicago is deepening the work and as a result, I’ve been healing. This healing – spiritual, psychological, physical – is bringing back memory. It’s actually widened my perception of life and given me the ability to see magic. I am more enthralled with life than I can remember ever being.
(It’s really fucking sad to have no access to memories of awe or wonder. After a while it seems so normal.)
I’m accessing memories from 2002-2008… and even earlier, which has rather painfully illuminated how much I cannot and have not remembered up until now. Nothing is very specific in that time period. To be honest, I’m not sure when it begins or ends quite yet because there’s still fog settled in the lowlands. I’m in the process of discovery; it’s like a breeze has just picked up off the coast and is making it’s way inland. I’m hoping the fog clears. I’m hoping to see the sun again.
What I now know is this (and this is the real reason for my letter to you): I wanted to be open because I feel I owe you an apology. I’m sorry that I lied to you and broke your trust and was such an asshole to you. You were nothing but good and kind and fair to me and I can’t say the same for myself. I’m ashamed of myself for my negligence with your feelings. I was too broken to see myself at the time, and I didn’t see you either. It’s not that I didn’t love you. Maybe that doesn’t make much sense to you but I just couldn’t see you anymore. I’m so sorry I went away like that. I really loved you.
And I know, yes, that we were in a mutually beneficial relationship and it is complicated from both sides … but sometimes I get these flashes of feelings or intense sense memories (sometimes in dreams) and I relive this searing pain. It enters my chest and it’s like I can’t breathe. And I know it’s because I loved you and I wronged you and I did something against my own code of honor and decency. So in this healing, and looking at this now in a horrifically long letter, all I can say is: there you have it. I’m really sorry for lying to you when we were teenagers. I didn’t love you any less.