Your Arsonist in The eye of every storm

My therapist wanted me to write a letter to my wife. We separated while I was in rehab.

This is a letter I will never send. //begin transmission

Katrina,

They say time heals all wounds. I’m not sure I believe that. I want to believe it, desperately, but time doesn’t help people forget, just not be as hurt as they were before. I’ve had nothing but time. Most parts of the day are spent thinking about you in some way, shape or form. Sometimes it’s a place I’m at, memories of where a starbucks used to be in Northpark, or something I’ve done that would’ve been infinitely better had you been by my side. Social Media memories have gotten hurtful, not in me seeing them, but in me seeing what I’d lost, what I’d sacrificed for my addiction.

The Middle Eastern place by the train station, one of our best dates, is no longer there. I think about these things, mostly, the things that are no longer there. I am not there, with you, while you are going through your own struggles, and your own therapy. I know its for the best right now, and I understand why you’ve decided it. I respect it.

I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve just been trying to give you the space you wanted. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to you every single day. I want to tell you about all of the sad cups of coffee. I want to tell you about the holy moments when I feel the sun on my skin. I think about the way it makes your black hair shine. We never went outside in the end, and this is my fault, because I was more concerned with getting a buzz, or seeing people that were never really my friends to begin with. I spent so much time escaping the best thing in my world. That I regret. That I am sorry for. But yeah, I want to talk to you, all day, every day, but I know you need the space, and I’m trying to be respectful of that.

Even writing this letter feels like I’m breaking some boundary. I suppose that was the one thing I excelled at- figuring out the boundary, the type of boundary, and how far exactly I could push that boundary. I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t pushing boundaries. I was pushing you away. I realize that.

I’m not going to bore you with more apologies. You know I fucked up. I know I fucked up. There’s no sense in dredging over the how’s and the why’s when it just…happened.

Erin, my therapist, asked me what I would want to tell you, if I did talk to you, if I did see you. Thinking about it, I didn’t want to drown in some sob-war-story like my Father would. I think you know I am deeply remorseful, so there’s no point in going over all that. You know I love you, and I do, now more than ever. I guess what I would tell you is I’m proud of you.

I’m proud that you’ve stood up for yourself. I’m proud that you’re working on bettering yourself, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’m proud that you’re going to dinners with friends. I’m proud that you’re smiling more.

That’s really what I would say. Oh and I would tell you that I hope you never let it go. You’re an amazing human, and you’ve only begun to scratch the surface on the rest of your life. Whether it includes me or not, I want for you to be great in all things, big and small. I love how you’re following your heart.

This letter. It’s probably distracting you from that. I’m not tugging at heart strings. I’m not grasping for straws. We’ve been through so much together during the last four years, so we don’t deserve that. We deserve open and honest communication.

That door is open, anytime you feel ready to walk through it. If you would like to slam it and never look back and walk through some other door, I understand, and can accept and live with that. This was all my bed, my mess, I created for both of us, and I would be remiss if I weren’t comfortable lying in its covers.

Your birthday is this month. Happy birthday.

I guess I want to say “Thank you” as well. Thank you for sharing your life with me, even if I didn’t reciprocate sharing mine in kind. Thank you for being a perfect mommy for Dr. John Watson. His life was amazing, and it’s all because of you. I could have never provided for him the way you did.

I miss our puppy face.

Thank you for the undying love you’d shown me. You’ve stood with me through so much, defended me from so much, and I never appreciated it. It’s time for me to stand alone, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful for the times we stood together. I miss holding your hand at times, usually in the car. I don’t even like Radiohead anymore. Or I can’t listen to them. They’re just tied up in you, somewhere in my head. Sad songs for sad times. I know we danced to them at our wedding.

That was a really good day.

We had a lot of great days. We did a lot of great things. No matter what comes of this, don’t forget the good we had. I don’t want you to spend your life in regret, because when it comes to being with you, I don’t regret a single thing and you were undoubtedly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Anyway.

I’m proud of you. No matter what, I’ll always love you. I miss you.

Your arsonist,

~jonathyn