A Letter to They Who Will Not Be Named

Photo by Sharon Tay (

Today’s post is markedly personal — a letter to someone who will not be named, but will know it’s meant for them if they should ever read it:

Dear You,

I don’t know if this is goodbye or an explanation, although I don’t owe you one. I wish our relationship were different, but I can honestly say that we will never be able to engage in a meaningful way. Every communication we have is an eggshell, or a thin thread of silk, always on the verge of tearing. I can say with certainty, hand to heart, that I have tried everything I can to have an honest, mature, and understanding conversation with you — not just about the past, but in general terms. To you, everything is a personal attack, and you are unwilling or unable to accept responsibility or hold yourself accountable for anything that might not place you in a very positive light. This has been a problem for you for as long as I’ve known you, and means that you burn bridges easily. It’s hard for others to accept this kind of behaviour because it, well, isn’t acceptable.

With regards to your friendships, the ones that have suffered, you still believe they are entirely the fault of the other person. You refuse to see the other point of view, even just a little, just a smidge. You have a deep sense of feeling wronged and a hefty sense of entitlement. I’m a writer so I’d like to think I have a way with words, but my carefully constructed emails have been wasted on you, only to be taken as written assaults, and responded to as if they were. This in turn, spurs enraged responses from me or causes me to retreat. It’s as though your goal is to win, and not to communicate. Conversing in this way is toxic and impossible. I will not do it anymore.

To you, love is keeping tally of perceived wrongs, refusing to have authentic conversations, expecting reward for poor behaviour. You keep track of when you perceive to have been wronged, yet refuse to talk about it, using that very thing against me at regular intervals. This leaves me, and us, nowhere to go. If you won’t discuss it, and you won’t let it go, where to? The only way is down. Your apologies scream it’s actually all your fault and I’m not really apologising, your ‘unconditional love’ has impossible conditions … everything is backhanded (more skilled than the tennis shot itself).

Cardboard relationships are not my thing. I like to connect with people in honest, or at the very least enjoyable, ways. The decision to block you from emails and text messages has not come easy. What I can say, with 100 percent accuracy, is that the kind, sincere text from you will not be lost in my phone’s cyberspace, because it simply won’t exist. It’s a fantasy that will never make its way into reality.

Do I grieve what our relationship could have been? Yes. Do I sometimes dream of us having a nurturing connection? Of course. But I’m also wise enough to know the reality of the situation. You’ve missed out on me, on being in my life. And I could have been there for you, if you’d have let me. I want you to know that.     

And lastly, sadly, reading this will only fuel your misplaced beliefs about me — another win on your scoreboard; just one more thing to hold against me.