I don’t bother holding it in. I let it all come—the fear, the sadness, the anger, the hope. And beneath it all, the swell in my chest that’s sodamnproud of him.
It’s hard, hearing it from his side. Harder than I expected. Just like it was when he drove me to my dad’s a few years ago to finally talk to him. To hear him out. To let him ask forforgiveness. I’m just glad I didn’t wait a decade to hear Jensen. Toseehim, raw and broken, but trying.
I pull out week two and read.
Dear Alley,
This one’s more hopeful. He writes about Max, and how it’s validating to talk with someone who understands.
Max isn’t a bad dude. He just lost his way. Like me. He didn’t go out there one day searching for a way to destroy his family. He just wanted to forget about some of the crazy shit he’d seen. He’s a good guy.
The letter makes me cry and smile at the same time.
Week three is longer.
Dear Alley,
God, I miss you. Every second of every day, I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you again. I’ve only been here three weeks, and it feels like an eternity without you.
I talked to Matt yesterday. He said you’re still in Chicago. He made it sound like you might be moving there… permanently.
Please don’t let that be true. I keep trying to talk myself out of it. You wouldn’t move. You love New York. Yourjob. Your friends. You love me. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I don’t really know what’s true anymore.
Getting clean has been so fucking hard. Reality and memories blur together. Things I don’t even remember. Moments that feel like dreams. It all gets tangled up with the truth. It’s confusing, trying to figure out what actually happened, and what’s just in my head.
But you moving to Chicago? That can’t be real, can it? Because that would mean you’re leaving me. Leaving us. And the “us” I remember is so damn good, Al. Too good to walk away from.
I know sorry isn’t enough. But I am... down to the marrow in my bones.
I wish I could go back. I wish I could erase all of it. Tell you I was hurting. Go to the doctor. Get another surgery, even. If I could go back, I’d do anything to make it different. I would’ve never touched that first pill.
I was desperate, babe. I was in so much pain. I tried to power through. I was so worried about you being married to a cripple in ten years, I never stopped to think I could become an addict.
It’s not who I am. It’s something that happened to me. I picked the pill. But the addiction picked me. I didn’t go looking for this. But it found me anyway.
And I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting what it did to you.
I’m working the steps. Taking it seriously this time. Step Four is this week: Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself. It scares the shit out of me. To really look at myself. To look at the harm I’ve caused. But maybe something good will come out of it. Maybe I’ll start to understand why I am the way I am.
I’ve always struggled with AA. The whole “higher power” thing never clicked for me. But here they frame it differently, and it’s easier to connect. I’ve been reading a lot of books on stoicism. The teachings make sense to me, so I’m clinging to them. It helps.
I guess I’ll let you know how it all goes next week.
Love,
Jensen
I close my eyes, chest aching. This was denial wrapped in desperation, but also the first glimpse of Jensen staring hard truths in the face.
Week four felt much the same—hopeful, healing, but still clinging to the fantasy that I’d be waiting for him in New York.
And then I open week five. The tone shifts. It’s like something cracked open in him, and things begin to move forward.
Babe. I get it now. I finally get it. Today in group we had to name a deal breaker in love. I said cheating. Then they told us to close our eyes and imagine the person we trust most doing it—over and over, lying about it every time.
And then I pictured you waiting for me at home, and me not showing up. Jesus, Al, it broke me in a new way. For the first time, I understood what I put you through. I was supposed to be your safe place. And I lied. I let you down. I hurt you.
I set the letter down and close my eyes.God, empathy. Finally.
