An Epistle of Hate and Hurt

Dear Sir,

We both know the sacrifices I had to take in order for me to fly to meet you, to be with you, to love you, and to further our relationship. I had to face all my failures as a wife, mother, daughter, and woman. I was fractured. It was a massive leap of faith and an exercise in pure trust. The largest I had ever undertaken in my life. You were worth it. We were worth it. Love was worth it.

I will never forget the day you made me realize, in all its painful glory, how replaceable I was. How does a person tear down another so thoroughly – especially one they professed to love and cherish and want to be with for the rest of their life? You not only did that to me, but you did it so completely I became self-destructive for years. I was swept under the rug on which you thoroughly stomped and wiped your feet.

You threw it all back into my face. You were not the man I knew. You were not my Sir. You were mean and final. There was no love or warmth in your voice the last time we spoke, at least in my mind. You were telling me you had moved on. You were no longer willing or wanting to wait. You blind sided me. Your beautiful voice was acid to my ears. My world stopped. My heart froze. I felt dead.

Then I heard her. She was there! What kind of cold-hearted snake calls to dump someone with their newest fling in the room? (And Lord knows you’ve had more than your fair share.) You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of disposing of me in private like a man. You turned it into a twisted ménage à trois. You wanted or needed an audience for your grand finale. Bravo.

You informed me that you told her she had “won.” I was aghast. I didn’t even know I was in a competition. Love wasn’t a sick game to me. You two were disgusting. You were no prize. How conceited was your thinking? You were a wolf who finally took off your sheep’s clothing.

After hearing her venomous voice, I don’t recall anything that was said before or after. We discussed recently that you believe I just quietly hung up the phone without saying goodbye. I would have done that. I wouldn’t have wanted you to hear me cry or react. I would have tried to leave with my pride intact. It didn’t work. My fractures instantly shattered.

Immediately after that phone call, I began to doubt myself. What was so inherently flawed about me that made you toss me aside for some women you claimed held no attraction? It couldn’t just be about sex, could it? How shallow. How carnal. How sick and wrong. How soon after me did you fall into her to find solace in your so-called misery? You even made certain to tell me how much I had cost you on a monetary level. What a gentleman to compare me to a high-priced call girl. I was akin to a whore. I hope you earned every penny. What a horrible stain on something I thought was so beautiful. Where did it all go wrong? I was duped by a deviant. Well played Sir.

That was it. Our time was over. Camelot defiled. The end. There was nothing left to say. I became a shadow of my former self. For years I disassociated you. I was afraid to feel. I blocked out nearly everything about you especially your golden eyes. (How humbling it was to have to ask you their color years later.) What was once so special and pure became an acrid stench that I couldn’t rid myself of no matter how many times I tried to eliminate it from my senses and memory.

I loved you. No, I hated you. I wanted you. I missed you. I despised you. I didn’t trust myself. I believed you both were mocking me and laughing at my expense. You allowed her to be part of my humiliation and pain in that fateful day with that lethal phone call. I was your sacrificial lamb and you handed her the sharpened knife. I saluted your fortitude. I was another notch on your infamous bedpost. A number. A body. No one worth investing in. I didn’t know you. Did I ever? I was torn in two. One minute I wished you would be hurt as badly as you hurt me, then the next minute I wept knowing I didn’t really mean it.

Over the years I trained myself to stop thinking about you. I had to stop binging then purging myself with memories of you – of us. You weren’t worth my tears. I had no idea what became of you. I wanted to pay you back every red cent you had wasted on me. I didn’t even search for you. I didn’t dare. I was not a martyr to fall prey to your cruelness again. Once was quite enough. I became safely ensconced and numb in a self preservation mode.

I wondered after your parents for the longest time. It was torture not knowing when your father passed. I assumed it was not long after I met him only to find out he lived another few years! He was a delight to me. Not knowing hurt. You took that from me. Then to find out that the woman of your black heart couldn’t be bothered with him and would callously wish he would die. Damn her. I will never forget him telling you how beautiful he thought I was and to never let me go. My laughter is quite hollow I assure you. I am also so incredibly saddened to hear that your mother has recently passed. Damn you.

They say there is a fine line between pleasure and pain. They were right – whoever they were. And I hated them too.

I was broken, and you were the bastard who was the crux of it all. It took years for me to rebuild my self worth. Fuck you, Sir. Fuck you. And fuck her too.





I am sorry.


©2013 Darling and Sir