Letter To An Ex-Girlfriend: Louise

The thrill is gone
The thrill is gone away
The thrill is gone baby
The thrill is gone away
You know you done me wrong baby
And you’ll be sorry someday

BB King, The Thrill Is Gone

Our rela­tion­ship was a night­mare of ups and downs.

You had the amaz­ing abil­ity to make me feel good about myself, by say­ing the right thing with intel­li­gence and eloquence.

Yet every time I felt like I was mak­ing progress, progress that took tremen­dous effort and energy, progress for you, you would put me down. Every time I took a leap of faith and put myself out there, you would hurt me. It wasn’t even a case of bru­tal, tact­less hon­esty; you would insult my pride for no reason.

I think it betrayed a sub­con­scious inse­cu­rity. Something you would do to make your­self feel bet­ter. Like your con­stant need to prove that you’re busy and mov­ing on. It’s as if your life is empty, void, and you’re des­per­ate to fill it with something.

I had to end things when you went too far.

There were no regrets, because I did my absolute best to make things work. Even though I suf­fered, I ignored the pain, and tried work­ing through it. I only gave up when you proved too stub­born to change or understand.

The rela­tion­ship wasn’t a total loss. It was an inter­est­ing intro­duc­tion to the sub­cul­ture. It was pas­sion­ately sex­ual. It also made me more con­fi­dent, although I real­ize now that it wasn’t because of you. You barely gave me any trust, and every step for­ward I made, you pulled me back two. It was me who fought through all the inse­cu­ri­ties and rose to the occasion.

When you came back in January, with­out a word of apol­ogy or men­tion of the wrong you did, I had no inter­est in con­tin­u­ing the rela­tion­ship. After that, I thought of you when­ever I heard the song Buried Myself Alive by The Used.

Then, with all your let­ters and your apolo­gies and your tears, two years later, you asked “nicer than that”.

Unfortunately, it was at an unsta­ble time in my life, so I asked you to back off and wait. Your idea of back­ing off and wait­ing is leav­ing me creepy com­ments and dat­ing to fill the time. I just can’t under­stand how you keep mak­ing these mis­takes. It’s almost like you pur­posely sab­o­tage yourself.

I don’t want to be involved in the drama any­more. Nothing is ever sim­ple with you. Even though you say you’ve changed, it’s not worth the risk to me. You had your chance, and it was a damn good one.

You’ve wronged me too many times. The last time you left my house, not know­ing when or if you’d come back, I felt nothing.

I knew then that the thrill was gone.

A few other things:

  • On the phone, your voice could be so cute that it would make me weak and for­get every­thing you did.
  • Out of all my girl­friends, you were phys­i­cally the least attrac­tive, yet you were the most con­ceited about your looks.
  • It was very much appre­ci­ated when you brought me flow­ers at work, and the times you’ve dropped off food and other good­ies at my door. No one else has done this for me.
  • The way you would remem­ber events was often com­pletely wrong. It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t com­pletely con­vinced that your inter­pre­ta­tion was cor­rect. It made things rather scary, like dat­ing a schiz­o­phrenic. You could totally fab­ri­cate how things went, the way you wanted to remem­ber them. The root of an argu­ment would turn into my fault, instead of yours.
  • You were a knock­out in bed.

The Letter To An Ex-Girlfriend series

  1. Introduction
  2. Ashley
  3. Michele
  4. Christie
  5. Jackie
  6. Louise
  7. Bronwen

11 comments

  1. If she was just bad and cal­lous and sour across the board, there’d be no sweet hook. Life would be so easy if there were good and proper vil­lains. (Or maybe that should be evil and improper vil­lains.) Live and learn and take the learn­ing with us is the best we can hope for sometimes.

  2. I used to be like that too. Believing the events as I wanted them to hap­pen. The rea­son was still clear to me. Because I wanted some­thing out of some­thing and I can’t have any­thing gone wary.

    Sometimes, believ­ing that some­thing will hap­pen the way you want and has hap­pened the way you want, facil­i­tates oth­ers to fol­low suit. Like walk­ing in to an party com­pletely unin­vited but act­ing as if you are the guest of the host. I always won­dered if this self reflec­tion and check­ing process will put a ham­per on lead­er­ship and confidence.

  3. @Pearl — You’re absolutely right about life being easy if it was a sim­ple case of bad across the board. I think that’s why I stuck it out for as long as I did.

    I remem­ber a poll once of the top 10 favourite movies, and all of them had very polar­ized “good” and “bad” sides. No com­plex char­ac­ters, just pure good or evil, like Star Wars. It’s eas­ier to hate the vil­lian when they have no redeem­ing qualities.

    @Causalien — There’s a dif­fer­ence between being con­scious and being com­pletely unaware that you’re doing such a thing. I’d say in your case it’s more of “pre­tend­ing” (a con­scious thing) than “believ­ing” (sub­con­sciously). Those who pre­tend are mak­ing light of a bad sit­u­a­tion; I don’t think this would ham­per lead­er­ship or con­fi­dence. Those who believe are the ones who can’t accept the truth, hence the fabrication.

  4. I like your (some­times bru­tal) honesty.

  5. Thanks Vi, this is one of the few places I feel com­fort­able speak­ing the truth.

  6. Allow me to joke for a second.

    A slightly less than attrac­tive girl named Louise would have to be a knock­out in bed.

    And allow my jok­ing to cease.

    Thank you.

  7. Hahaha…you’re right though.

  8. Ouch. i hope i never date any­one who has a blog like this. your pen (or key­board rather) really is might­ier than the sword.

  9. Don’t hope you never date any­one with a blog like mine. Hope you never treat any­one so badly, and you won’t have to worry about such a thing.

  10. i sup­pose you have a point. i would never treat any­one as such and i do enjoy your blog, its just that it would hurt me to read things like that writ­ten about me, espe­cially on the inter­net for all to see. it reminds me of an ex who told every­one in this mutual club we were in that i was crazy, because at the time i was suf­fer­ing from gen­er­al­ized anx­i­ety /panic dis­or­der (which i know you can relate to). It’s true that i was a hand full at the time, but i was a good lov­ing girl­friend, and he made peo­ple think that i was hor­ri­ble before they could make the deci­sion for them­selves and later on i found out that he had cheated on me while we were dat­ing. it’s all sub­jec­tive i sup­pose and all’s fair in love and war.

  11. I don’t write to hurt peo­ple. I just write the truth, and some­times the truth hurts.

    I’d say that if peo­ple think you’re hor­ri­ble and crazy based on what some­one else says, they’re just as much at fault for being too sequa­cious to believe it with­out get­ting both sides of the story. People can (and should) make deci­sions for them­selves at any time, even after they’re given infor­ma­tion. It doesn’t mat­ter if your ex made up lies about you and already told them. The bur­den of proof is on them to find out the truth. Unfortunately, most peo­ple don’t and sheep­ishly believe any­thing their told. Just remem­ber that a truth is worth a mil­lion words.

Leave a Reply