An open letter.
Today, nearly four years after our six-year relationship ended, I found out you were cheating on me.
Things had started off so well between us, in that first naïve summer when neither of us had any worries in the world. Then I went back to university, and you went back home to save up for your first year at drama school.
Was it then that it happened?
We lived 250 miles away, and it was challenging. It seemed particularly tough for you, who had a job washing pots and was jealous at the thought of me living a more exciting student life in which you worried my head would be turned. But I’m a decent person and I stayed faithful. I wished you’d believed me. You needed reassurance so I texted and called you with regular updates, sometimes 30 times a day. And whether I was reading at home, walking to the library, at a gig, or wherever, I was always honest. Every two or three weeks you knew exactly where I was anyway – with you, at your parents’ house, where I spent my student loan travelling to.
Was it then that it happened?
Later that year we hit a rocky patch. It was my second year living in a big city and I was changing. While it was still tough seeing you wave me off from the station platform after spending another weekend together, once I was at the other end I had exciting stuff going on that you were never part of – and didn’t want to understand. One day in the holidays I tried to end our relationship. You begged me to stay and I wasn’t strong enough to see it through, so we gave it another go. That night I told myself things would get easier when you went to drama school, but to be honest it felt like a missed opportunity.
Was it then that it happened?
And things did get easier. You were busier and happier at drama school. You still wanted to know what I was up to and with whom. You said you wouldn’t get upset when I told you, but whenever it involved a female friend, you did. I would spend hours reassuring you, often missing out on conversations and memories with the people around me because of the lengthy phonecalls and texts needed to put your mind at ease. I tried to lead by example by never questioning where you were going or which friends you were spending time with, but it didn’t work. A lesser man would have just lied to you. Despite that, I was excited to visit you. The train prices had gone up, but I got the one at 5am so I could afford it.
Was it then that it happened?
The weeks and months were flying by and pretty soon I was in my final year. We were both doing well and I was optimistic about our future. I was going to be a writer – you an actress. Together we would embody the virtues of following your dreams, doing what you were born to do, and working your ass off to get where you want to be. I knew we could do it.
Was it then that it happened?
After I graduated I went travelling. I remember being our goodbyes at the bus station. It felt like the end of that first summer – just, wrong. Every day I was out there was a countdown to seeing you again. My fingers were sore from writing about you in my journal. I knew that when I returned, you were the girl I would settle down with. I wasn’t afraid of committing. Being away from you for so long gave me that clarity. I remember the teary international phonecall from a payphone somewhere, when I said I was at the halfway point of my journey, and I was now pretty much on my way back to you.
Was it then that it happened?
When I got back, I got a job in the city where you were studying. For a while I lived with you and your flatmates, but I knew it was temporary, because we weren’t ready to take that step just yet. At least I was in the same city as you, and we could see each other all the time. With everything we’d been through, all the train journeys and long-distance calls, we’d really earned that right.
Was it then that it happened?
A year later I took a job out of the city. It was a career decision and we agreed it would be better to give you that extra time to study for your final exams and performances. Sometimes you doubted yourself, and I’d try to motivate you by saying stuff like “you’re special”, “look at how far you’ve come and what you’ve achieved. You just need to keep at it and it’ll happen. It could happen tomorrow”, and “in the end you either succeed or you give up”. I couldn’t bear you to give up on your dreams. Too many people do that. When you graduated with 1st class honours, you thanked me for it. But I said it was all you.
Was it then that it happened?
You moved back home after graduating, and got yourself an agent! Things were looking up. See, I told you things would work out if we stuck at it. We visited each other every few weeks or so, but before long I was in a situation where I needed to find another flat, and we took the opportunity to move in together. We went for a drink to celebrate signing the contract. When you went to the bathroom I remember thinking how happy I was that you’d convinced me to stay with you all those years before.
Was it then that it happened?
I took care of the rent – you helped out with the bills. It made sense, because I was the one with the permanent income. Even if it wasn’t a very good one, it made me feel good to provide. I was happy to support you in getting your acting career started. You couldn’t get a full-time job anyway, because you needed to be available for auditions. You did a few adverts and local theatre jobs here and there, and we celebrated each and every success.
Was it then that it happened?
You seemed tired when we were coming home from spending New Year’s with some of your family down south. When we got back you looked at me and said you were going to stay with your mum and dad for a while, because you needed to think things over. I thought you were kidding. You said: “I might come back in five minutes, or I might never come back,” and left. Our luggage was still on the floor.
It wasn’t nice not knowing. I didn’t want to tell friends and family in case you did come back and they knew we were having problems. I was in limbo. Whenever I’d hear a car slow down outside I thought it was you. But it never was and I got over it and moved to another city to start my next chapter.
I wish you had told me when you started to want different things, rather than do what you did. But thank you. Thank you for adding another twist in the narrative of triumph my life will eventually become. There will be more knocks to come I’m sure. Along with the bullies at scouts, the doubting school teachers and the father who left me as a two-year-old boy, you are part of the crowd who inspires me to go further and better to prove wrong.
———
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