To The Person That Confused Me:
I am not sorry I cried the other night when you told me it wasn’t a good idea for you to come over to my apartment for dinner this past weekend. I am sorry that you noticed I was crying on the phone, but I am not sorry that the depths of my feelings led me to cry.
I will never be sorry that you know exactly how I feel about you.
You’ve acknowledged that you have similar feelings for me, but you won’t act on them. I am sorry that you’ve chosen not to act on these feelings. It’s an even sorrier situation because it seems like you nibble at the edges here and there by flirting on the phone with me.
I must briefly digress by thanking you for spending the anniversary of one of the hardest days of my life recently. That will always mean a lot to me. The memory of you in the pizza place with the loud tie with red, white and blue stars and stripes is embedded in my memory forever. Then to learn that you wore the tie in commemoration of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom made my heart swell with pride.
And, yes, I had such a good time with you that night that I wanted to spend more time with you last weekend. I would have been sufficiently happy just cooking and playing a board game with you. I feel how I feel about you, but I would not have tried anything because I know where you stand. I respect you enough not to go against your wishes. I would have simply enjoyed talking with you.
I cried because I realized that our friendship will not grow because you are not comfortable spending time alone with me. And my brain just gets all clackety clack with that thought because I have a bunch of other related thoughts rolling around in my head: Are you afraid I’ll be “crazy?” Are you afraid you’ll see one of my other selves?
But there’s more to me than this thing we call DID. You created a barrier between us because of this. I know that you intended not to hurt me, but you hurt me nonetheless with your confusing ways. You also contributed to my feeling of not being good enough in this world because of my DID.
Though I am good enough, you’ll just never know it, and never experience it. I may be flawed as hell and prone to dissociation, but I will get to a better place, and you will miss out in sharing that place with me.
I have to move on, and even typing this makes me teary because you already have my heart. But I have to take it back because you do not want it.
You have every right not to want to have involvement with such a condition.
Still though, I cannot ignore the fact that it breaks my heart. If I didn’t have this illness you could see me as me. I wish you could see the me underneath all of this. Part of me wants to say, “Wait! Let me just get integrated in a couple of days, and I’ll be all better.” But I know better. I know that my recovery is a process that I cannot expedite any further. I so wish I could for me and for you. I wish with all my might that I was without this illness, and that I could just carry on like other folks.
But that is not what life dealt me, and all one can do with such a hand is make the most of it.
I wish I was DID free for you. But I am not. Someday maybe, but not today. And for that, I am sorry.