Me again. God, I am overwhelmed with wanting to send Mike’s emails to Leah. Or even just the last one. WTF is wrong with me? I’m close to 30 days in – the SECOND time around no contact (NC). Surely I should be getting past this by now shouldn’t I?
I feel like I don’t want to send them because part of me feels like it would seal the fate of any possibility for a reconciliation with Mike ever ever again. (I know, its pathetic but something I feel). My spine and my mind know perfectly well that is a complete non-starter. I grieve for what was and what might have been. I feel so sad sometimes I can’t imagine ever having felt any different….. I’m 57 as of thursday last week – how could I be here again??
I also don’t do it because what if they allied themselves with each other, and ganged up on me, and he came to her defense blah blah blah. She could probably tell me a bunch of horrible stuff about me that could only come from him. So much could backfire.
I also don’t want to do it because it is such a petty thing to do. Revenge is such a low class energy — on the level of cheating, maybe even lower. Surely I am better than that and have more class, don’t I?
Shouldn’t I be getting better by now? I feel absolutely consumed by wanting to hurt them. Please tell me this will go away – and that’s it better for me to just walk and let the universe handle things from here.
Isn’t it better to act from one’s better nature? I like to think I have one. Although, right at this moment, I’m not so sure.
Hey, it’s only been what — a month of no contact? You’re in the bludgeoning hope stage — pure grief. It’s sort of like having the flu. You know when you have the flu and you feel like it’s never going to end? Tissues and snot and coughing. Dragging ass. You feel so crappy that you imagine vomiting just for variety. For novelties sake. Puking would so demonstrate how exactly horrible you feel, whereas blowing your nose, not so much. You want some operatic gesture — puke — that says I SUFFER!
That’s what sending Leah those emails would do. It’s puking your pain in her direction.
Now, we could argue Leah deserves to be puked on. And we could also argue that puking your pain to Leah is pointless, she doesn’t care. But more important, puking your pain to Leah isn’t going to end the pain. That’s your struggle. (We’ll get to that in a moment.)
Part of you wants to tell Leah that Mike is a two-time manipulative cake eater by showing her those emails because you want her to have INSIGHT! Look Leah! He’s a schmuck! You think you “won” but he’s playing you!
But Leah probably doesn’t lack insight. She can probably sense that he’s shady or that he was overlapping his relationship with you. Leah doesn’t AGREE with your assessment that he’s schmuck. She thinks she did win him.
To borrow from Dr. George Simon, his little rhyme, “It’s not they don’t see — it’s that they disagree.”
It’s very helpful to ask yourself in situations — is this person truly unaware? Or do they just disagree with me? I would put my money on Leah disagrees with your assessment of Mike.
And Erika — who can blame her — because YOU don’t even agree that Mike is a schmuck! How can you convince Leah of something you yourself don’t quite believe? If you had really internalized that Mike is a toxic waste dump of human capital, you wouldn’t want him. But you do. You still hope (that damn hope, DIE hope! DIE!) that you’ll reconcile with Mike. You still at some level think he is a PRIZE.
We all read that letter, Erika — Mike is not a prize. Mike is a mindfuck.
So Erika, I think you’re just grieving. And grief is hard work. You aren’t missing Mike, you’re missing who you thought he was, what you thought your future might be as a coupled, happy person. You’re mourning the dream.
Because actual Mike? That guy is a sicko.
Erika, dream new dreams. Reinvent. It’s okay to have hope. I only want you to bludgeon all hope for Mike. Not hope for your future. I just spent the holiday weekend going to a friend’s wedding. She’s 76. The groom was 73. It was one of the happiest, most moving weddings I’ve ever been to. It’s never too late for a new beginning, Erika. Never ever.