Waiting on the other side of closed doors isn't for everyone.

A letter to the past, present, and future -

Throughout my life, I've spent 730 days, 24 months, 17520 hours, and 1051200 minutes, involved with someone who placed themselves deep within closed doors. They locked themselves behind two wood panels, placed boxes in front of the handle, screwed locks on the inside, and sat hidden away, from the outside world. I can picture them sitting deep in the back of the closet, surrounded by the constant fear of what the world would say about them, how others would judge them, or how they would perceive themselves. I can also imagine myself staring into the thick, rectangular panels, almost identical to those of a prison cell, wondering why I was not allowed in. I constantly questioned what I could do to rip those doors off the hinges, and pull you out from the deep depths of denial, you called home. When the time came, and I could not take the distance between myself, the door, and you, I begged that the locks be ripped off. I asked you to crack open the bars, remove the boxes, take a step forward, and walk into the world together. You handed me lock cutters, matches, and keys, asking me to set you free. I grabbed all the tools I could, preparing for the path ahead, slipping deeper into the shadows as I began to do what I believed would be beneficial for us. I did not know you were replacing locks, building panels, cementing yourself in, and placing more blocks between us. As the pain in my body from the work I did to set you free became too much, I realized that nothing I did could break the barrier that was built. I realized that sometimes, love isn't enough to shrink the distance between the closet doors, and the people on either side of them. Sometimes love isn't enough. Although I wish it was.

As the months have passed and the pain of our relationship has settled deep within my chest, questions, comments, thoughts, realizations, regrets, and memories have filled my being. I constantly think back onto our relationship wondering if the person I dated was created in my imagination, if you were actually flesh and bone, or if you were simply a ghost. I hoped for the second option, wishing that the time we spent together could make up for all that spent apart, but the cold wind of your absence was always near. The room felt near freezing when you spent time away, and I was left to fend for myself, dressed in Summer clothing, for the fear of bothering you with my needs of warmth.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton once said, "Truth is the only safe ground to stand on." She was right. As are you.

I did agree, to the concept of a relationship placed within secrecy. I agreed to the code words, the title of "friends", and the lack of physical attention when out in public. I agreed to staying in most nights, not tell others, and keeping your secret hidden as you felt it was best for you. I agreed to allow our relationship the room it needed to grow, in order to bring it to a place where we could share it with others.

I did not agree, to someone pretending my existence was unnecessary, or unwanted. I did not agree to the hateful words used against me, in order to protect yourself from others. I did not agree to having fake dates to events, pretending we were involved with others, or you not acknowledging me on social media, not even as a small part in your life. I did not agree to the lies, the constant tears, the slamming of doors, phones, or ending of friendships. I reached the end of my rope with you, so I tied a knot and hung on. You, let go as the burn on your hands became too much to bare.

Our lines got crossed somewhere in the mix of hidden secrets, and more locks were placed on the door each time. As you placed the locks on the inside, I broke them from the outside, believing I was doing my part as your girlfriend. Blame became a way for me to make sense of the chaos I felt consuming my heart. Our relationship began to crumble, as did I, as did you.

We became incapable of loving each other, let alone ourselves.

There are many concepts between us that I still cannot grasp; Why others could share the title of your partner, yet I couldn't. Why my presence as a friend within your life was unimaginable, or how the words "love" and "hate" could exist towards the same person. I have come to terms with these concepts, understanding that some questions, never have answers.

As I stand at the same closet door now, realizing that the wood has been replaced with thick metal, high security locks, and chains, I come to terms with the ending of the 730 days I spent getting worth-while splinters. The good memories I have of us leave me stranded outside of the blockage, remembering all the times I foresaw a future with you. The concept of separation sometimes is unbearable, yet manageable.

A relationship founded on love never dies, but one founded on lies, always does.

Marianne Williamson later said, "Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness."

To moving on -

Jo