An Open Letter

Dear Roommate,

Oh wait, let me correct that.

Dear EX-Roommate,

For months, I sat back and dealt with the fact that we were dating and sleeping with the same man.  For months, I tried to hide my jealousy at the fact that even though you only had one firm “date” night a week, that you lived with him.  You saw him, laughed with him, ate dinner with him and hung out with him, five nights a week.  But I tried my best to understand him and the situation.

On the nights that you had your official “date” night, I gave him his space.  I didn’t text him, call him or snap chat him.  Even though I didn’t like it, I respected HIM enough to give him his time.

You could never do the same.  Every time he was with me, no matter what we were doing, you would text him.  You would send him snap chats.  You would even send him messages on Facebook.  Even though he wouldn’t respond, you would keep it up, every time we were together.  Every. Fucking. Time.  I tried not to let it bother me.  I tried to understand.

I knew the situation going in to this relationship with him.  He was honest with me about where he was in his life and what he was doing.  He didn’t want a serious relationship and I understood that.  He told you the same thing.

But there was something there between him and I.  Something different.  I knew it.  He knew it.  And apparently, you knew it.

You tagged him on Facebook, every chance you got.  I did not.

You posted pictures of the two of you together.  I did not.

I saw them and cringed.  I saw them and cried.  I saw them and started fights with him.

I finally got to a point where I was comfortable enough to post a picture of him and I together on my Facebook.  I didn’t even tag him in it.  Yet, within minutes, you texted him to tell him that it hurt you to see the pic of us together and made you really sad what MY friends were commenting under it.  You told him to tell me to block you on Facebook.  That you couldn’t block me, because you always had the opportunity to unblock me.

Here’s the thing, ex-roommate, if you don’t like what you are seeing on my Facebook page, quit fucking looking at it.  Quit stalking me.  I already had to block you on Instagram because you were stalking me.  I drew the line at Facebook.

Shortly after that, you did block me on Facebook.  YAY!!  I don’t have to see your shit anymore!!  It was kind of a small victory to me.

Remember the night you and E got in that huge fight?  Oh, you remember.  The night that you got pissed off and walked out, because he told you he was falling in love with me?  Yes.  That night.  He messaged me and asked me to come and pick him up because he was drunk and didn’t want to be home if you came back.  I went to pick him up.  He told me all about the fight and said that he had gotten pissed and broke his phone.  I talked him through it, helped him pack a bag and took him home with me.

On the way home, I told him he needed to message you on Facebook, to let you know that he was safe.  His exact words to me? “Fuck that bitch.  She doesn’t need to know where I’m at.”

That night was the night you decided to unblock me from Facebook.  Do you remember that?  You sent me a message, telling me that you had gotten home and he wasn’t there.  That you were SO worried about him.  You told me that he was drunk and didn’t have a phone.

I responded with a simple message.  “He’s safe.”

You proceeded to tell me some things about you and E and your fight, that I didn’t want to hear.  I remained calm.  I remained factual and tried to do the right thing by him.  I even sent you my cell phone number, so you could call him if you wanted to.  You responded with a message saying that you would never call my cell phone number and sent me yours, but told me to tell him to only call if he REALLY wanted to talk to you.

You know what bitch?  You got your way.  BLOCKED.

The next few months were a lot of the same.

He told you he didn’t want a physical relationship with you anymore.  That you were just friends and roommates.

You cried.

You cried every time he left the house to come be with me.

You cried every time you had a beer with him and he brought me up.

Yet, I still respected the times you guys were together and didn’t message him.

Eventually, he made the decision to be exclusive with me.  Even though he hadn’t been with others in months, it was official.  He asked you to move out and told you that he was moving in with me and that I would be his future.

Here is where things get weird.  Here is where you freaked the fuck out and let your multiple personalities show.

In the two months since this decision was made, you have been a complete bitch to him, cried to him, been sarcastic to him and tried to sleep with him.  How’s that for respect?

I guess there are three things about your behavior that have surprised me the most, since he told you he was moving in with me.

First, you still have a total lack of respect for my relationship with him, for his decision to commit to me.  You send him pictures of you laying in bed, with just the tops of your boobs showing.  You call him babe and sign the picture with xoxo.  I don’t give one fuck how you feel about me, but how disrespectful is that to your “best friend”?

Second, you are so wishy-washy with the things you say to him.  You have told him to tell me to unblock you from Facebook.  That it’s important for you to see the things I tag him in and that you want to know he is happy.  You told him that you want to apologize to me and make things right.  That you want to say you are sorry for being a jealous bitch for all those months.  Here’s the thing, I am a grown ass woman and I will make my own decisions about unblocking you or listening to what you have to say to me.

Lastly, you tell him that you want all of us (me, him, you and your new meal ticket) to hang out.  To have dinner together or possibly go to a concert together.  Yes.  That sounds like something I would want to do.  Right behind poking my own eyes out with a dull pencil and pulling my hair out, one strand at a time and choking myself with it.

I know that losing someone you love isn’t easy.  It hurts like a bitch.  I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartache on anyone.  I do have empathy for you and how you must be feeling.  However, with that said, I do not believe you are handling it the right way.  You can choose to move in two different directions.  You can walk away completely and cut him out of your world.  Let your heart heal.  Mourn the loss of him and the loss of what you had.  OR you can be his friend.  Be happy for him that he has found me and that I make him smile.  You say you want what is best for him, but does that only count if you are the one he chooses?

Stop trying to control what I do in my life.

Stop trying to turn his other friends against with your broken heart.

Stop trying to make him feel bad for falling in love with someone other than you.

Stop trying to win him back by sending him suggestive photos and calling him pet names.

He has asked you to stop, respect him.

He has told you that he loves me, respect us.

And last, but certainly not least, know in your heart that I’m the one he chose.  He wants to spend his life with me and I will do everything in my power to keep that smile on his handsome face.  He loves me.  He is in love with me.  I am his world.  Bitching, crying, naked pictures and begging are not going to change the way his heart feels.

Move on,

Me.

Dear Love,

Dear Love,

I am writing you this letter because it’s easier to put my thoughts down in writing.

The minute we met, there was a connection.  I can’t explain it, nor am I sure I want to.  We have talked about it, several times over the last year and I know you felt it as well.

I want to thank you for loving me.  You have always shown your love, no matter my mood or what was going on in our world.  Your actions have mimicked your words, which in the past, was not easy to come by.

Thank you for telling me I’m beautiful, no matter whether I’m dressed up or just rolling out of bed.  In jeans or a fancy dress.  Wearing flip flops or heels or no shoes at all.  You will never know how much it means to me.

You made me smile last week when you turned off whatever you were watching on TV, to turn on the Braves game.  The fact that you know how much it means to me, to see them play, makes me grin from ear to ear.

Do you remember the night we were making dinner and you turned on the music?  You sang the sweet country song to me, while we danced around the kitchen.  You dipped me at the end of the song and told me that no one could ever love me as much as you did.  You are my dream man!  We burned dinner and ended up eating frozen pizza and the night could not have been more perfect.

I know that I have had a rough year but to know that you are going to be there for me, no matter what, is comforting on so many levels.  To know that it’s ok that I cry.  It’s ok for me to be mad.  To know that you will love me anyway.  You just hold me tight and kiss my tears away.

You are my Knight in Shining Armor.  You are the man of my dreams.  I get lost in your eyes and  your kind smile.  I feel the love from your heart, every time we are together.  You make me feel like you are proud to be with me and never ashamed.  You don’t get angry.  You don’t yell.  You never make me feel like a child or like I’m not good enough.  You are perfectly imperfect for me.

One day, a friend told me that someone would hug me so tight, that all my broken pieces would stick back together.  This is you, my perfect man.  You are the one that makes me feel whole and you truly do complete and compliment my life and my world.

I can’t imagine not seeing your handsome face every day and kissing your beautiful lips.  Feeling your strong arms around me and knowing that I can trust you with my life.

So, thank you.  Thank you for loving me and being there.  And most of all, for being YOU.

With all my heart and soul,

Me

P.S. I cannot wait until I meet you and know exactly what the man of my dreams looks like.

Dear 29 Year Old,

Dear 29 Year Old,

I walked in to the karaoke bar, all alone.  I was terrified and nervous to be there by myself.  I thought for sure people were judging me.  I ordered a beer and went outside to smoke.

There you were.  In all your young, handsome glory.

We started talking and flirting.  You kissed me.  You asked me for my number.

That night, when I found out how old you were, I figured I would never see you again.  It was just some innocent flirting at a bar.

You texted me the next morning.  And later that night, you came to visit.  After some good sex, I figured that would be it.  A nice one time thing, with a guy 10 years younger.

Imagine my surprise when I kept hearing from you and kept seeing you.  The communication wasn’t as often as I wanted, but you were busy.  I chalked it up to a 29 year old who was just did not have the need for constant communication.

I told you at one point, very early on, that I understood if I had to “share” you.  You told me that you never dated or slept with more than one person at a time.  That was great news for me!  I was fishing and you took the bait!  At that point, you asked me to let you know if I was sleeping with anyone else, so we could use protection.  I told you I wasn’t.  You told me how uncommon that was and that you thought it was sexy.

A few weeks later, after not seeing you very much, you asked me to come and stay with you out of town.  I did.  I drove two hours to see you and stay the night with you.

Things seemed a little off, but again, I ignored the flag and just chalked it up to you being exhausted from work.  We ended up having a nice night together and a lot of sex.

In the morning, when you left for work, I stayed in the hotel room to get ready for work.  I saw some white slippers on the floor.  They looked like woman’s slippers, but when I tried them on, they were big.  There was no other signs of a woman being there.  Not one.  So again, I chalked it up to my imagination.  They were cheap dollar store slippers.  I thought maybe you bought them to run back and forth to the spa at the hotel.  I never mentioned this to you.

My suspicions started to grow over the next month.  I never saw you on weekends and barely heard from you.  During the week, I would get one or two text messages, when you were out of town or driving.

I told you a couple weeks ago that I couldn’t do it anymore.  That I wasn’t getting what I needed.  That I understood you were busy, but I needed more time and attention.  I need to be in a real relationship.  I told you that the “casual” wasn’t good for me.  That I wasn’t good at it.  You responded to me by saying that you wanted it to work and that we should talk about things.

That was over three weeks ago.

A week ago, you texted me that you wanted to see me and missed me.  I told you again that we needed to talk.  I said the words “I feel like the other woman” to you.  That was on Tuesday, 7/14.  You never responded to that text.

Friday you texted me.  Saturday you texted me.  Monday, 7/20, you texted me and told me you were working up the hill and wanted to stop by so we could finally have that talk.  And maybe stay a night or two with me.

Of course that didn’t work out, because “traffic” was bad.

Tuesday morning, 7/21, you texted me and told me you got off at 5:30 or 6 am and would like to come see me.  For me to let  you know what day worked best for me.  I never responded.

Tuesday afternoon, I log on to Facebook.  Evil Facebook.

I went to your page.

I wish I wouldn’t have.

On Tuesday, 7/14, the exact day that I told you I felt like other woman, you updated your Facebook status to “In a Relationship”.

The girl who liked it, has her profile picture of you and her together.  I wonder if she knows that you spent the last three and half months lying to me.  I wonder if she knows that you are sleeping around and telling people they are the only one.

Maybe she’s a new relationship.

Maybe you just met her and she’s your soul mate.

I don’t know.  But here are a few things I do know:

I hate you for making me feel this way.  For making me feel like I mattered.  For making me feel like I was beautiful and wanted.  For making me feel like this could be real.  And then taking it all way.  Just like that.  One social media post, that you never expected me to see.

I have known in my heart since day one, that this wasn’t going to work.  Guys like you, don’t like girls like me.  You are young, handsome, in shape, not a care in the world.  You can have your pick of girls.  I am old, out of shape and have baggage.  I knew it then and your behavior just validates it.

Why would you play me like this?  What joy did you possibly get out of hurting me this way?  How do you sleep at night knowing that you fucked with my heart and if your girlfriend knew, she’d have her heart broken?

I will never understand it.  I will never get answers because you aren’t man enough to give them to me.

All I ask, is that you thank your lucky stars that I am the way I am.  If I were a mean, vindictive, hurtful woman, your girlfriend would see the naked picture of you on my bed, dated three weeks ago today.

You are everything that is wrong with men.

You are the very definition of a coward.

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Sincerely,

Me.

Dear Mr. Rocker

A friend of mine told me that I should write a letter to Mr. Rocker, get all my feelings out and then not send it.

This has been therapeutic for me in the past.

So instead of writing him an actual letter…

Dear Mr. Rocker,

When we met over a year ago at karaoke, I thought you were a nice guy that sang some fun songs.  I was going back then with the Accidental Relationship and you were pretty careful not to step on any toes.

We soon became friends.  You started to defend me and tell me how much you hated the AR for the way he treated me.  You made me feel like you were a true friend and had my best interest at heart.

During the NBA playoffs in 2014, you asked me to go to the bar to watch a game with you.  I agreed.  I like basketball, I like bars and I like good company with friends. When you showed up, you were wearing a jersey, tucked in to your jeans and driving a PT Cruiser.  I know I shouldn’t judge, but I a little bit was.  It didn’t ultimately matter because we were friends.

There was no attraction before that night and there was no attraction that night.  As a matter of fact, you had no idea that I gave my number to the bartender that night.

On July 1, 2014, all the regulars were at karaoke, celebrating my 39th birthday.   I had WAY too much to drink and as I was leaving with some mutual friends, I kissed you. I shouldn’t have.  But hey, I was drunk and you were being nice.  You brought cupcakes for goodness sake! Believe me, you weren’t the only person I kissed that night.  It happens.  I won’t lie to you, it was a nice kiss.  But that was all it was.  A nice kiss.  No feelings, no attraction.  No nothing.

For my birthday, you had bought me tickets to go see KISS and Def Leppard in concert.  I was excited to see Def Leppard.  I know a couple songs by them.  I didn’t really care about KISS, one way or the other, but was looking forward to it.  On July 3rd, you picked me up in your PT Cruiser and had a dozen long-stemmed red roses for me.  Said “a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers on her birthday”.  Ok, fine.

The concert was good.  I had a good time.  The KISS show was great and when Def Leppard sang Pour Some Sugar On Me, I was ecstatic!  I made the mistake then, of leaning back and kissing you, to thank you for taking me to the concert.  Big mistake.

Things got awkward the rest of last summer.  I texted you to tell you that we couldn’t do this.  That I wasn’t ready for this and you told me that you couldn’t believe I was “breaking up” with you, over text message.  First of all, we were not breaking up, because we weren’t a couple.  Second of all, we always talked about everything over text, it wasn’t like it was an oddity for me to text you.

A couple months after that, you grabbed my feet at karaoke and started rubbing them. I enjoy a nice foot rub as much as the next girl, but at karaoke?  In front of all our friends?  Are you a lunatic?  Who does that?  I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t even think clearly on how to handle the situation.

We were able to get through it and stay friends.  Chatting over text a couple times a week.  Hanging out at karaoke and laughing, as friends do.  It was comfortable.

I know that it hurts your feelings that every time you have asked me to do something, I have made an excuse on why I couldn’t go.  I don’t want to go to dinner with you.  I don’t want to go to the movies or a concert or anything.  I have always had a feeling that you couldn’t keep the line drawn between friendship and romance.  So it was easier for me to avoid the situation.  It is easy to be friends with you, in a public setting, around mutual friends and when I have my own car.  Not a date.  Not a quiet movie or a romantic restaurant.

The thought of it, literally makes me sick.

Fast forward to the middle of June, 2015.  We were at a mutual friend’s house for a barbecue and karaoke.  A few drinks.  Ok, a lot of drinks.  A LOT.

I was mad at the 29 year old.  I was mad about turning 40 in a few weeks.  I had a lot to drink and made the mistake of kissing you again.  More than once, I know.  In the middle of the making out session, I tried to tell you that this wasn’t going to happen again.  I told you that night that you were one of my best friends and that the kissing shouldn’t be happening.

I ended up driving home that night, when I shouldn’t have, because I didn’t want to stay the night, knowing you would be staying there.

I let it bother me for over a week.  I ignored a lot of your texts and when I responded, they were short and maybe bordering on bitchy.  I finally decided it was best to address the situation, before our friendship was forever ruined by something I said or did.

I sent you a text.  Telling you I had been feeling weird about things.  That I didn’t like it.  I told you that I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship, but reiterated again, how it shouldn’t have happened.  Then I apologized.

You didn’t respond the way you should have.  You didn’t respond the way I anticipated you responding.  You told me that we had chemistry and a spark.  That there was definitely something between us and I was choosing not to see it.  Then you told me that you wouldn’t give up.  That you didn’t want to give up.

I quit responding.

Do not ever tell me how I’m feeling or not feeling.  Do not tell a girl who is already pulling away, that you aren’t going to give up.  It makes you sound like a stalker and makes me feel creepy about the whole situation.  Now, I’m struggling even wanting to be your friend.

You texted me on my birthday.  I didn’t respond.

When I showed up to karaoke on my birthday, with my girls and my mom, you actually invited them to sit with you, while I was saying hi to the others there.

Really?  My mom?  And my girls?  What in the fuck are you thinking?

And thank you for the Chris Webber jersey you bought me for my birthday.  I didn’t want to accept it.  I didn’t want you to buy me a gift.  I would however like to know how you knew I’d be at karaoke that night?  Did you somehow know, or did you have a present in your car, just in case?

You texted me today, to wish me a Happy 4th of July.  I didn’t respond.

You asked me if I liked the jersey.  I didn’t respond.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful.

I love the jersey.  I just don’t trust the sentiment behind it.

I wanted to be your friend.  I just don’t trust that you know where the line is.

I KNOW that this is my fault.  I KNOW that I kissed you and because of the way you feel about me, you find it difficult to think that it was just a kiss.  That hormones, alcohol, anger and frustration can all be a reason for the kiss.

But that is all it was.

There is no chemistry.

There is no spark.

There is no passion.

I am not interested in anything more than a friendship.  I am not attracted to you. When I kiss you, it is just like kissing the stranger in the bar.  Nothing there.  It happens.  Alcohol fueled.

To be honest, because of your behavior this week, I’m not sure I even want to be friends.

And to be even more honest, I’m not sure why you want to be friends with me.

I apologize for sending you mixed signals.  I apologize for doing anything to make you think this was anything more than a friendship.

But don’t ever tell me how I’m feeling.

Sincerely,

Me