Dear T


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I am not sure you will ever find my blog. But, on the off chance you do, I want you to know I care. Still.

As a COH, as a child of a mom that wasn’t always the best, who hit me with objects, who didn’t like me more days than she did… My heart literally hurts for you. There is more I never told you, even though I bared my soul to you more than anyone I have in the past. Even my husband. I held nothing back, only never answered the questions you didn’t ask. And then at times I think I gave you too much. You could almost say you hold me in all the memories you have.

I watched you go through what I’ve never seen anyone do in person. The middle of the night. Yeah, that was me there. No judgement, no pity, only I felt helpless knowing that I couldn’t help you. All I wanted to do was not make it worse.

You weren’t honest with me. You were self destructive and I get that. As a COH I think I can get and deal with some things that other people can’t. A survivor of abuse made me strong in some ways, except those rare nights were I was so tried trying to keep up with you and my life that I just needed to cry a little.

I wrote down all the things that made you not good on paper. It’s a pretty long list I’m afraid. As I sit here looking at it, all I can do is feel so damn guilty I didn’t stop and talk to you about getting help. I didn’t want to push, I didn’t want to control you. You are so much like me at times. 2 dragons. If I pushed, I figured it would get us to where we are now. Not talking.

I know in my head I am so much better off not being with you. That doesn’t make me feel any better about it you know. The night before our first date you got drunk and passed out in a restaurant and they called me to come get you and because I didn’t know what to do I was going to. Lucky me I ended up not having to. I was just finishing a date that night. I never told you that. And I wasn’t going to go out with you that next day. My instinct told me no. Long story short, I met you and I fell for the hair and the cut over the eye. And how shy you acted and the blue shirt and tie. How hard you tried to impress me even though I KNEW how you were. I could tell that first night! But let’s face it. I’m a screwed up COH who has yet to grow up.

I have to think now, what does all of this say about me? I ignore my instincts, the chemicals rushing through my body shouting, “no this is wrong!” And when I caught you, damn, I go SO pissed off. I just wanted to somehow make you as angry as I was. I reacted. I needed to wait and have a talk with you where you couldn’t hide and refused to face what you did.

So now I write it here in my blog.

This is what I do. I write about shit that bothers me here for all others to read. It’s my therapy.

I have a problem with guilt. I hold onto guilt and I do not know how to let it go. I feel so guilty over not trying to get you to get help. I remember you saying you stopped going to therapy and now I can’t get those words out of my head.

This is what I keep thinking:

You drinking. You drinking more. You driving. Driving fast. Dying.
That night you did what you did… you stopped drinking for a little while. But we went out for the first time in 2 weeks, you drank.
Then you were up at night later on. For hours and I didn’t know what to do or how to get you to tell me how to deal with that. Is that what you go through alone? Is that why you drink? For this, all America needs to get it’s fucking act together. And your parents… How does one COH help another COH with abuse, rejection, PTSD… I never stood a chance did I?

I KNEW you had a problem and I enabled you because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought of breaking up with you over it. I reached out to a few friends and they told me to break up with you.

My daughter – she wanted me to stay with you. She like us together she said. Someone else told me that maybe this was the time where you didn’t need someone to leave you and I should stay a bit longer. Maybe you needed someone to stick?

I was wrong. I’m sorry T.

I just sent you a text telling you some of this. I feel better. But I know part of that is a lie. It’s like a little badge I can now wear saying, “Look, here it is, I TOLD HIM!”

But what else can I do? I care, and I do love you.

I also cared about and loved my mom and look how screwed up I am. It’s the same but it’s not.

I feel good I’m no longer with you. I can LET GO of all that WORRY!
But yet, I sit here in tears because you maybe out getting drunk. Or later, at 3 am you may get scared.

And then I also feel freedom to explore new people and maybe find someone to have a wonderful life with. All I can hope is that they like to explore downtowns and walk thru stored of crap and not buy one thing. To look at things in a new way. Try new food. Live a new life.

Letting go hurts, even if it’s for the best.

Leaving the monster house… that was scary too. But look at me now? I’m a successful (by some peoples standards) person.. even though I spill my guts to the world on a blog.

-The hoarder’s daughter
-Formally T’s girlfriend