Last night I wrote about my plan to finish my last cross-stitch for K. As promised, with every pass of the needle, thoughts flowed through my head. Some were the kind that made me smile, but many were ones that brought tears to my eyes. Eventually, I felt myself drowning in all the emotions associated with my thoughts. I needed to write some of it down – I needed to figure out what, exactly, was tearing me up inside.
I started writing a letter to K. At the beginning, I had no intention of ever sending it to her: it was merely a means of sorting through my feelings. I wrote for longer than I imagined. I said more than I thought I had to say. When I went back to read it again, I was almost shocked at my bluntness and honesty. I have never written something so raw and exposed before. As I read it, it occurred to me that maybe she needed to hear what I was feeling. I was hesitant to actually send it because it was all about me and I knew it was a little harsh, and maybe unfair. I felt, though, that maybe I am at a point where I don’t have very much to lose. And so at 1:00am, alone with my tears in my secluded call room, I typed in her email address and hit send.
I felt good about it. I felt free from everything that I was holding inside and not sharing with anybody. I put my head on my pillow and fell asleep to a long and content sleep. When I woke up to my pager a few hours later, the feeling of dread began to set it. I really felt good about getting it out, but what if it was too much? What about how difficult things are for her right now? How unfair of me. And what if that’s what makes her walk away from me for good? The reality is that I do have something to lose, because she is a wonderful person in my life.
I have lived my life always putting other people ahead of me. It is foreign and scary actually putting myself first. I feel selfish and I feel bad. Maybe if I waited until the morning, I would have had better sense – but maybe not. Maybe it’s what needed to be done – but maybe it was inappropriate. Maybe it will all be okay – but maybe it won’t.
I want to say, “no regrets,” but I’m having a hard time with that.