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Speaking Out
May. 27th, 2005 09:30 amDear Joss Whedon,
This isn't easy for me to write, but there are some things that I feel really need to be said at this point. I love you, you know that - I have since I first met you, and I probably always will. But at this point, I have come to realize that ours is an abusive relationship.
I love you, and trust you, and you promise me flowers and chocolate and whirlwind romance, and I believe you. And you give it all to me, for a while, and everything is marvelous. Then, just when I've opened my heart and soul widest, you rip my heart out and stomp on it, and beat me like a gong, and shatter my spirit in the name of love and art.
Each time you do this to me, I promise myself it'll be the last time, and I turn to leave you. But just as I put my hand on the doorknob, you call out to me, and promise me that it's over now, that you'll make it better, that it wasn't your fault and that circumstances made you do it, and even that deep down inside it's what you know I really want and deserve.
So I believe you, and I come back, and it repeats over and over again. I even find myself making excuses for you - that you're just sensitive and artistic and I need to be tolerant of that, that even when you hurt me you're better than the other guys out there, that if we didn't have these deep painful lows that the highs wouldn't be so sweet, that you can't have passion without pain. I've even learned to like the hurt, to anticipate it in the back of my head, and even as I'm aching, to lick up the angst and call it good.
Watching 'Serenity' last night, though, put everything into perspective for me. It was beautiful, and marvelous, and everything I've come to expect from you - and it hurt like nothing you've ever done before. I don't know whether that's because I had come back to the point of trusting you not to hurt me again, or because this time I know that when I walk to the door you won't call me back because there's nothing to come back to, but it did.
I'm in pain, Joss. And I give you kudos for accomplishing that, I guess - I had come to pride myself on my ability to roll with your blows, to anticipate and compensate and appreciate the wounds that come with being in a relationship with you.
I need some time alone now, though. If you want to find me, I'll be over at the Battered Viewers' Shelter known as 'Veronica Mars.' If you call me, of course, eventually I'll come back.
I always do.
This isn't easy for me to write, but there are some things that I feel really need to be said at this point. I love you, you know that - I have since I first met you, and I probably always will. But at this point, I have come to realize that ours is an abusive relationship.
I love you, and trust you, and you promise me flowers and chocolate and whirlwind romance, and I believe you. And you give it all to me, for a while, and everything is marvelous. Then, just when I've opened my heart and soul widest, you rip my heart out and stomp on it, and beat me like a gong, and shatter my spirit in the name of love and art.
Each time you do this to me, I promise myself it'll be the last time, and I turn to leave you. But just as I put my hand on the doorknob, you call out to me, and promise me that it's over now, that you'll make it better, that it wasn't your fault and that circumstances made you do it, and even that deep down inside it's what you know I really want and deserve.
So I believe you, and I come back, and it repeats over and over again. I even find myself making excuses for you - that you're just sensitive and artistic and I need to be tolerant of that, that even when you hurt me you're better than the other guys out there, that if we didn't have these deep painful lows that the highs wouldn't be so sweet, that you can't have passion without pain. I've even learned to like the hurt, to anticipate it in the back of my head, and even as I'm aching, to lick up the angst and call it good.
Watching 'Serenity' last night, though, put everything into perspective for me. It was beautiful, and marvelous, and everything I've come to expect from you - and it hurt like nothing you've ever done before. I don't know whether that's because I had come back to the point of trusting you not to hurt me again, or because this time I know that when I walk to the door you won't call me back because there's nothing to come back to, but it did.
I'm in pain, Joss. And I give you kudos for accomplishing that, I guess - I had come to pride myself on my ability to roll with your blows, to anticipate and compensate and appreciate the wounds that come with being in a relationship with you.
I need some time alone now, though. If you want to find me, I'll be over at the Battered Viewers' Shelter known as 'Veronica Mars.' If you call me, of course, eventually I'll come back.
I always do.
