Note to readers: This isn’t goodbye to The Great Big Jump! Regular programming for this blog will continue starting next week.
Apparently this isn’t the first time I’ve written about you here. I’m sure one of our friends may have already told you about it, so I’m not going to give you a recap. My feelings may be a little different this time, though, so I think it’s best if you just sit down and listen.
You showed up in my dreams the other night. It was one of those dreams where weird shit kept on happening, but you were there and you had your arms outstretched and I ran to you. You weren’t afraid of me, and I wasn’t afraid of you. And we talked, really talked, in a way that we hadn’t talked when we were still friends. I had my arm around you and you told me about your new job and your new home. For a moment I’d forgotten how much I despised you, how I break out in hives whenever I hear your name. I was who I was, and I was free.
Take note: I didn’t say you were free. I said I was, because I wasn’t acting like I had to walk on glass shards while I was around you.
I don’t remember much about the rest of the dream, except that a friend of mine (who you don’t know) also showed up and asked me, in no uncertain terms, if you were what I wanted.
Really? That guy? After everything that’s happened to you?
Then I woke up, and I actually breathed out the words, “So this is goodbye.”
Frankly, I don’t know what it all means. What I do know, however, was that I do remember being in love with you.
That’s the complicated part, isn’t it? I’ve got friends going through their own weird shit in their marriages, and I tell them the same thing: once upon a time, you loved your husband. And while I’m glad that I didn’t end up marrying you, I do remember wanting to, at one point, so that I could embrace you without fear.
I’ve been scared of men and love before, but I gave up that last shred of hope in my heart for you. Because ever since then, all I’d ever felt was shame.
I still don’t want to be friends with you again, but I have forgiven you, and forgiven myself. I also have a feeling that you’ve forgiven me, too.
Maybe this will make it into my next book: not the “relationship” between you and me, because I’m not ready for that, but all the feelings that have emerged ever since. Maybe one day, when I’m ready, I will fall in love again, and it won’t be tied too closely to my feelings of guilt and shame.
Until then, I am free of you, and you are free of me.