In a transition between my last bomb-drop of a post and whatever is to come, I’ve penned this letter to myself as a retrospective look back and recognize how far I’ve come. There will be more about theater and writing soon, but for now, this is what I have for you.
Dear 2018 me,
Hi. This is you in 2019. Believe me when I say things get better for you. You’ve gotten your first or second significant crush since “the break-up” (which has earned its scare quotes quite strongly, I might say). So what if said crush is on an unattainable Welsh actor who’s been on the periphery of your awareness for the last decade and has now overwhelmed you with their talent due to a certain mini-series which, due to the excitement it will cause you, I won’t name and will leave you to discover for yourself. The point is, the crush – regardless of who it’s for – is an important sign of growth, a realization that your heart is healing, has healed, is moving on.
How did you get from floored heartbreak that you never thought you’d recover from to this? It’s a strange evolution. And one that is difficult to track.
Part of you is still filled with concern writing this. As you scrawl away, you feel somewhere that it is a betrayal of trust, that you have somehow hurt him. You are already concerned that your Instagram stories and posts have hurt him. Perhaps this will too. But on a scale of damage, this is small compared to what you could do, what you have been tempted to do which, thankfully, 2018 self, you do not do. Though you hate to compare different experiences of pain because each experience is different, you have aggrandized his and ignored yours in the past and you cannot downplay the damage he has caused you anymore.
One of the last texts you will receive from him before you stop responding (it will not be ghosting, I want you to know – ghosting is dropping out at the middle or beginning of a relationship, not in the dumpster fire that has been the end in order to make a clear finish and give yourself the boundaries you deserve) will be “sorry that I caused you pain.” You will wish it was a genuine apology – but you will sense that it is not. Not after months of stringing you along after breaking up and promising to have a conversation that never happens. You will refused to go down with this ship. You will not let this destroy you – you will break free and find a better place to journey to and a better way to get there.
Lord willing, one day you will stop writing about this. You very nearly have. You have written a hundred plays no one will ever read about what has happened to you and it has done you so much good – both in terms of your strengths as a writer and as a person. You have discovered whole new stories you never though of writing before – in fact, you are writing now more than you ever have before. You have discovered new books and shows and things to fill your life with that have helped you recover, not just from this but from years of buried memories and abuse. Books like Good Omens, Goodbye Sweet Girl, The Hating Game, Cinder, and Carry On will fill your life with utter joy. Pure joy is not something you have felt in a long, long time and you will be amazed at how good it feels.
You have reclaimed Neil Gaiman as one of your favorite writers. When you were with your ex, it was something that somehow belonged to him. You bought him a copy of a Gaiman book one Christmas, one you hadn’t read yet, thinking he might read it and share it with you. You’re not sure he ever actually did read it. Now you’ve bought yourself your own copy, allowed yourself to delve back into fandom, and have watched Good Omens five times, despite the fact that you were afraid to even watch it once, thinking it would remind you of your ex and one of his favorite authors. But it didn’t. Neil Gaiman was yours long before you ever knew your ex liked him and Gaiman has always belonged to you, as have all the other things you care about that overlapped with your ex. You regret on one level that you gave away a few copies of Gaiman novels and short stories but you’re glad those who took them will enjoy them and you know it was part of a grieving process, one that led you back to a stronger, better you. If you gave those books away, would you have ever bought your own copy of View from the Cheap Seats? Would you ever have made it back to the place where you can happily read Gaiman and celebrate fandom and talk happily about the days when you liked Twilight? How long has it been since you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy things without caring what some would-be partner thought?
You will beat yourself up for taking so long to have these epiphanies and realizations and waking up from what feels like a very long bad dream. It is only after months of therapy, a great deal of arguments with yourself, lots of side-eye from friends and voices of reason, having him not show up again and again and again for you (especially in the wake of a family death and graduation from grad school), and sobbing through a Brandi Carlile concert – which will most clearly define the shift in your grieving process to one of moving on – that you can see more clearly how you feel and what has happened. Time gives a sort of clarity, one that brings a whole new lens to your life. You are ready to remove toxicity from your life – not just your ex, but others who don’t respect your boundaries, jobs that don’t value you, and systems which have made you feel broken and wrong. You will be come stronger, weirder, queerer – and you will feel the most authentically yourself you ever have in your life.
You hope by writing this you are throwing a life vest to someone who deeply needs to leave an abusive relationship or needs assurance that things get better. Or maybe for those who need to see some hope or just need to hear the truth. As one of your favorite actors in the Twin Cities said about your previous post, “You could be someone’s Jessica Jones.” This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about your writing. If anything, you are doing this for yourself, to remind yourself how far you have come, how much you have grown, and how much growing you still have to do. You will no longer shy away from the hard conversations. You will no longer be afraid to speak your mind. You are amazing and you are finally able to see it.
Lots of love,
2019 me
Gina Musto 