Dear Cara,
People keep on telling me that I am ill.
And not in the conventional way, no, they tell me that I am ill in my brain. A mental illness, one might say.
And at first, I didn't believe them. I thought that I couldn't be mentally ill, I thought that there was nothing wrong with me. I certainly didn't feel ill.
But how was I supposed to believe them? I was only 12 at the time, and I refused to believe that the moon landing was real, let alone the fact that I was supposedly 'ill'.
Yet constantly throughout my life, they continued to tell me that I was unwell.
But I carried on ignoring them, and got on with my life.
And then I met James.
It was my final year of university, and I was invited to a party by a girl who I thought was my friend. Turns out she wasn't, but that's another story.
So there I was, at this party, alone in a corner because my 'friend' had abandoned me.
A couple of guys decided to come over and make fun of my being alone, but James overheard them, and very kindly told them to fuck off.
I spent the rest of that night with James, and he quickly became the only person who I could be myself around, although I never told him about my illness - I was still denying it, I suppose.
But I fell in love with him, and come to think of it, I still am.
And I thought he felt the same, and perhaps he did, for a while.
It was when I asked him to marry me, that I started to believe those who told me I was ill.
From the funny looks I would be given when they asked how he proposed, and I explained that he hadn't. From the way I felt if anyone else so much as looked at James. From the way I had to know every detail of his life.
And I presume that that's what drove him away, my obsessiveness.
But everything happens for a reason, right?
So I backed off. I accepted that he no longer wanted to be with me, but I refused to sign the divorce papers simply because I couldn't bring myself to it.
I couldn't completely leave James, and I found solace in my knowing that I was still married to him, and knowing that no one else was.
So when I heard about his proposal to you, well I panicked.
I found out where you lived, I knew your whole daily routine and I was prepared to take your life.
That is the second time I started to believe that I was ill. I thought about taking your life and that caused me even more panic, because of my willingness to do it. So I sought help. I went to various doctors who gave me various medical treatments, I had therapy twice a week, talking to people who could make me better.
So in the end, I suppose this note is an apology.
I am sorry for attempting to destroy your relationship with James.
All that matters to me is that you make him happy, and it seems that you do.
You're probably thinking, why not write this letter to James?
And I like to think I didn't write this to him, because perhaps I am finally over him. I thought that signing the divorce papers was one step closer to that.
But perhaps not.
I wrote this letter to you, Cara, because I wanted to apologise to you. Not to James.
I like to think that I was a big part of James' life, and I shouldn't have to apologise for that. Maybe I'll write him a thank you note.
And in a sense, this too is a thank you note.
Thank you for enabling me to find help.
Thank you for letting me move on in my life.
Thank you for making James happy.
And thank you for not letting me ruin your relationship.
James is truly in love with you, Cara, and I'm sure you deserve it. It would've been nice to get to know you, but I understand that neither you nor James would want me to cause any further trouble.
So this letter is an apology, a thank you, and finally, a goodbye.
Maybe we will meet again, and if we do, I hope that we might catch up, perhaps have a coffee. I would like that.
But if we don't, goodbye Cara, and if you're reading this, goodbye James.
Goodbye sounds so sinister, doesn't it? See you soon, then.
I wish you both the best,
Chloe.