I’m angry at you. But, I also love you. It’s complicated. I know you’re sick, and I want to help you. I tried hard to get you the help you wanted, needed, couldn’t ask for, and I wanted that for you. I wanted you to be okay. I saw myself in you, and I sincerely tried to help you. Now, you think I’m a terrible person, and it hurts. Yes, I said some horrible things about you. But you hurt me. I’m sorry for my part in what happened. You won’t talk to me unless you want to insult me, and that fucking hurts. I never tried to harm you intentionally, and I mean emotionally. I didn’t lie to you, even though you keep calling me names, saying I’m a liar, spewing hatred on me. If you figure out this letter is about you, please know this: I love you. I miss you; I want to be friends, sisters again. I don’t have a biological sister, but I had you for that brief moment in time. And now, that grain of sand in the proverbial hourglass is gone. I wish I’d done things differently. I’m angry at myself, but I can’t change the past. I can’t change you or me.
How do you stop thinking about someone who stopped talking to you?
Please talk to me again. I know things are different now, but we can fix it. I will write you a letter, and I hope you read it. I tried to tell you I was sorry, but you didn’t want to hear it, because it was through someone else. I sent you a present and didn’t put my name on it. I’m crying, thinking about us. You understood me in a way that no one did and no one ever will.
Somewhere, we are still what we were. Someplace, things are good, and we’re laughing together.
You’re making “dad puns,” and we’re making fun of man buns. Why can’t you forgive me for a moment of jealousy? Why can’t you believe me that I am sincerely sorry, instead of spewing hatred at me? All I did was love you, and when I set a single boundary, you reacted, called me a bitch, and wrote me off as a bad person. I’m tired of trying to convince you and myself that I’m not bad, wrong, defective, or cruel. If you want to believe those things, I cannot convince you that they’re untrue. My heart aches for that closeness that I’ll probably never find again in my life. I know I’m “crazy,” and so are you. I’m aware that I talked shit about you, and that was wrong. I don’t have an excuse for my behavior, but I have tried to apologize over and over again. But, I can’t talk to you. I’m afraid to see you because you’re angry. And even if I got the courage to try, you’d probably refuse.
I miss what we had.
We weren’t in a relationship.
But you wrote me a poem once.
It was beautiful.
We shared a mutual love for cheese and Wallace and Gromit.
You were there the day that I needed you, the day I regret the most. I’m sorry that it happened at all. You didn’t want it to, but you held me before I made a choice that I was forced to make. It was one of the worst days of my life. I can’t even talk about it. You didn’t leave me. You stay, you held my hand. You took care of me.
I’m sorry I didn’t do what I said I was going to do.
I shouldn’t have promised something I couldn’t deliver.
I wanted you to love me, and I wanted the whole situation to be different, but you can’t control things.
Maybe one day, you’ll understand, when you’re not sick anymore. I hope you get well. I love you always.