Mr. Poison Returns

27 Nov


It’s the day after Thanksgiving – my first one away from family and friends in a long, long time. I spent the day making a huge, foodie feast for myself and watched Audrey Hepburn movies all day. It was fabulous.

I had just finished an invigorating run, excited for my new friend date that night and hopeful about the general possibilities ahead, when I signed into my email. Mr. Poison had written me.

Dear Dszenifer,

I miss you. Law school has been tough, made even worse because I don’t have you here for support. The apartment isn’t the same without you. Thanksgiving wasn’t the same without you.

But, I do thank you for giving me the space I needed. It brought me to a whole new level of clarity. I think I’m ready to give you another chance. I’m ready to re-commit to you, to start working on our relationship.

I heard you were out west for a while – good for you. I can’t wait to see you in cowboy boots.

Boston misses you. Come back. We’ll be great again.



My blood pumped and I could feel how intensely focused I read the lines. I barely caught the words as I raced through for the big confession: I miss you. I was wrong. I love you.

For so many days, I’d hoped in my moments of weakness that he would reach out to me, give me the validation I needed – that I was still important to someone, that I wasn’t alone, that someone loved me. I hadn’t changed my email for this very reason, though I could never say it out loud.

My thoughts spun and I started typing. Soon I had a long, emotional response. I explained to him what it felt like when he said those things to me, what it felt like to leave my whole life in Boston behind. I went on and on about how angry I was at who he was and how he treated me. In between, I admitted that I missed him too, that my heart hurt.

Before I sent it, I stopped, stood up, paced my apartment, stepped on the balcony, and ruminated.

And then I realized something: He was awful.

Mr. Poison was a selfish, self-centered, pretentious prick who made me feel like shit.

The whole time we were together, I was depressed and anxious, always waiting for him to make the next move, to decide our future for us, to decide my future for me. Now, I am Jenny G., and it’s my turn to decide that I don’t want someone like that loving me.

I sat for a moment, pondering what the International Woman of Mystery would write back. I deleted everything and then typed a single line: No thank you.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: