Letter number 18: Hamilton

Dear Alexandra,

I’m sure if I actually sent you these letters you’d have deducted the codenames I’ve given us. Alexandra is a feminised rendering of Alexander, and Bert is as close as I could get of a masculinised Elizabeth (Eliza). The Hamiltons. Alexander of course was caught cheating with Maria Reynolds. Coupled with the lyric of ‘he flew too close to the sun’ in the song ‘Burn’ that Eliza sings when processing what had happened, it was irresistible given the cloying moonlight and sunlight pet names you have with your virtual beau.

But yeah, Hamilton became one of ‘our’ things. As you often seemed to (and this will be me over-analysing I suspect), when Disney+ added the recording of the stage performance of Hamilton to its roster you put it on for us, I think expecting me to not like it. You quite often used to say that “Oh, I was going to watch x but you wouldn’t like it” — I’d say the majority of the time I did when you gave me the opportunity. I loved Hamilton. We loved it, we used to sing the songs to each other, when a phrase prompted a song from it we’d delight in it.

I can even remember you getting genuinely emotional the first time we watched it together when he cheated. “How could he do that to Eliza?” you said, seemingly genuinely distressed. I think you’d seen it before too, so it’s not like it was new news for you! Anyway, when the resumption of the stage show in London was announced at some point over lockdown I bought tickets for us as a Christmas present. Something to look forward to, the shows were due in June.

I had to reschedule them as I’d inadvertently booked when we were due at a wedding — I didn’t really want to go to it, in truth but you’d been booked to do photography and I was gonna help carry bags and lenses and stuff. I emailed the theatre, they were great and changed the date with no problem at all. Phew! Obviously the wedding has subsequently been rescheduled like I’m sure thousands of others have, but as it turns out, the show will be too — I picked up an email saying as much this morning.

When we were last in the same room together, when I’d had no sleep, when my mind was shattered into a million pieces yet resolved to be reasonable and kind because I was worried about you (I still am worried about you) I did laughably suggest that we still had Hamilton tickets and we should go, or maybe if that didn’t feel right you could take your Mum. I also pointed out we’d promised your sister a trip to see the parrots up here and go for some walks and maybe we should make good on that. Naïve, but well-meaning.

If you recall whilst we ended up agreeing that we’d do the whole splitting up thing, neither of us seemed to know what the ultimate outcome would be. I guess we never could to be fair. The very fact I’ve chosen to name us for a couple who went through an episode but reunited eventually might hint at where my mind was at in the immediate aftermath. Of course Alexander goes on to get killed in a duel, so I think it’s best we keep the parallels where they are and go no further. I don’t want to end up working in orphanages!

After my last letter I was ruminating about wondering if you were okay, funnily enough you texted shortly after to ask how I was, to check in. I’m being a little standoffish in my replies, I think, but I’m being kind. I asked how you were, you told me you’d got a day with the annoying guy at work. I didn’t reply, again, seeing your words at the bottom of the text stream jarred but I couldn’t really think of anything worth saying. You texted again in the morning, you’d had a strange dream (not involving me this time!) — I think I just said that’s weird.

Then this afternoon what would’ve been a massive trigger landed — you texted that you’d been thinking about the Hamilton tickets, that you’d rather we went together rather than you go with your Mum (which in fairness, was the conversation we had a little over a couple of weeks ago). My initial reaction was pretty incredulous — something like ‘what a fucking cheek!’ — before I identified the thought as unhelpful and put it to one side. It really is a useful toolkit, I’m not sure how easy to maintain it is, but it seems to be working so far.

I replied that funnily enough the theatre had emailed to say that the show would be rescheduled in coming weeks, and given that probably opens up the opportunity to get them refunded, I might go down that route. They weren’t cheap (I didn’t say that bit), and in truth, given the wider context of our situation I don’t think that’s an unfair thing to do (I didn’t say that bit either — I don’t really need to justify this I don’t think). You didn’t respond brilliantly, you said you felt I was angry at you and ended with a dismissive ‘Bye, Bert.’

Again, a week ago you’d have elicited a very different response I think — I honestly wasn’t seeking to be petty or vindictive. I don’t particularly want to work out the nuisance logistics of getting into London, whilst I’m sure the show would be wonderful I’m not sure I want to watch it sitting next to you with all those associations I’ve made between it and us, and whilst yes, the tickets were a gift, they were a gift for us, as a couple. We aren’t one of those any more.

So I could have said something like “how fucking unreasonable of me to be angry! You’ve pissed away five and an half years+ of a loving relationship for a fucking online fling with some fucking game-obsessed waster you’ve never even fucking met!” — to be honest, even when everything was much more raw I don’t think I’d have said that. But it wouldn’t be the most unreasonable stance in the world given the circumstances. Except he might not be a waster, to be fair, he could be a lovely fella.

I reassured you I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t being vindictive, it just felt like the best thing to do. I reminded you we’ve talked at length about the impact people feel and the impact the other person intended. I even apologised if that is how it felt. I didn’t want you to feel bad. I didn’t tell you I wasn’t sure if I could stand to sit next to you in a theatre, part of me would love to. It’s one hell of a gamble though isn’t it?

You seemed to accept that — you apologised for being emotional, you blamed it on hormones and said you were getting tearful at random things, reminding me your contraceptive injection is running down. I didn’t really want to get drawn too much down this road, I reiterated that it’s really important you talk to real people preferably who won’t judge — therapist being key contender, maybe Mum, of course you don’t know that your Mum knows an awful lot more than you realise. You said you were, and it wasn’t helping.

I wonder if you’re being honest with the therapist? Are you being honest with yourself? Possibly not — you used a phrase that you didn’t know what your actual feelings were vs. what your hormones are driving. Because of the contraceptive ‘detox’ — deflecting again. It’s always easier when you don’t have to examine yourself too much. Maybe that’s a bit harsh, I do understand the impact of your cycle on you. I tried to suggest you take a step back from things until the new injection takes affect, just spend time with family etc.

Careful not to say ‘Get away from that godforsaken online cesspit’ — you didn’t jump to that conclusion, which is something! I have no idea how that side of your life is going, Sherlock Bert remains shelved, the Twitter blocks unbreached, there’s no point in me augmenting what I’ve already found out with more hurtful things. The last I saw was from last week was that he was revelling in Nintendo date nights every night. I wonder if you’ve told him that these feelings could be simply a construct of rampaging hormones?

But that’s a good example of an unhelpful thought. I’ve said before I don’t bear any malice to this guy. He might think he’s rescuing you from an absolute monster. You told me you’d cleaned your whole house and given your Dad a shock — that’s a great thing, keeps you busy, gives a sense of achievement and is something real and not virtual. Frankly, the place needed it, you both do create a lot of clutter anyway but your room was an absolute tip when I last saw you.

I sent you an encouraging reply — I’ve done similar things (although am lucky enough to have cleaning ladies to do the actual cleaning), but I have been ‘sorting stuff out’ — I set up the dining room table and reunited all the chairs, and plan on doing some decluttering of all those things that are just sitting in cupboards for no good reason other than I’ve not gotten around to take them to the tip. I’m not sure if the tips are open yet, but I’m going to make a point of having a big clear out, then tackling my wardrobe and t-shirts.

You asked after Sonic too. I feel really sad that you’d started to form a bond with him — I think animals are self-centred enough to not really register too much. You probably only saw him no more than a handful of times thinking about it, which given I picked him up early December highlights the challenge of getting you to want to spend time with us. You said you missed him. I sent you a photo of him, careful to keep myself out of shot because I’ve shaved my beard off and didn’t want to upset you. That is how absurd I am.

And do you know what? I don’t feel that crushing sense of loss I used to feel — I don’t mean that in a ‘over it, screw you’ way — because I’m not fully over it at all, not even nearly. I feel sad for you, sad you’ve lost your way so much — I’m worried that you’ll descend to a self-destructive pattern. I care about you, hell, I love you, and I want you to find contentment and happiness. I thought I was the route to that, it appears not — but I’ll always, without descending to the role of doormat, have time for you, as long as it’s not to my own detriment. That’s the main thing I’ve learned.

To stop damaging myself. All those times I’ve felt distraught, unloved, uncared for — those times I started to try to talk about it and you’d either agree but then not change, or shout me down. I should have stuck to my guns, acknowledge that whilst of course I’m very conscious of your needs and want to satisfy them, that I had some too and they weren’t even being considered let alone met. I don’t think it’s overly demanding to expect — say — a half hour on FaceTime every day or so, a weekend visit when the whole country is literally locked down and you get a door-to-door chauffeur service.

So I’ll continue to consider your needs, in the new framework we have with you as a friend not a girlfriend (or pre-ancée if we want to go full cheesy), but I’ll consider mine too, and hell, you know what, mine will take priority. Your Mum messaged me yesterday too, I’m trying really hard to manage what we’ve shared with encouraging her to not be judgmental and to provide you with help and support. I know that’s a daunting ask — she’s angry with you, but can’t show it. You’re really going to need her, I fear. Because you’re pushing everyone else away.

Having said that, I take heart that you’d been reaching out to me. Maybe you’ve started to respond to or reach out to other friends from the real world too. I really hope so, I think it will help you. I don’t think you’re ready to really examine your own role in the decisions and actions you’ve taken, but I don’t think you deserve to torture yourself and feel alone. I don’t think you’re beyond salvation, heh, that sounds overly dramatic. Let’s say I think it’s possible for you to bounce back, to find that wonderful, kind and loving person that I know is in there.

The blog post I put on my personal site has had lots of comments, and a few messages. One person went as far to say it had inspired her to take some positive steps herself, people said it was brave. I didn’t say more than I did say, I hid the post sharing it on Facebook from you because I didn’t want you to get upset, but I didn’t betray anything that has happened between us beyond the end-state. That we’d broken up. I feel great that I’ve been able to help someone else start a positive journey, I invited her to join our Facebook group which has really helped me.

I actually am really proud of myself for how I reacted to your Hamilton text. I could have burned what bridges remain between us very easily, and that would have done neither of us any good. I put my own needs first, but I wasn’t an arse about it even if that was your initial ‘impact felt’ — and when you reacted, frankly, unreasonably to what I think was a fair response, I reassured you — I reminded you I care about you, I tried to help within the bounds I feel comfortable. And I’m heartened that after that initial reaction you realised this and we lapsed into easier conversation.

So yeah, I’m cautiously optimistic that I’m piecing my way through this mess in a healthy way. Physically I feel great, emotionally I at least don’t feel broken any more. Not completely. Putting my own needs aside from a moment what I’d like more than anything is for you to find a similar path to follow — of course what I’m doing might not work for you, but I dearly hope that you can find a way of decluttering your mind and working toward healing whatever schism that has affected you lately. Whatever happened between us you deserve to feel happiness.

I love you, Bert