Amends

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Dear Vinnie,

it's been a long fucking time, huh. I don't know if it's been too long or not long enough, but whatever. I also don't know how to begin this, other than to just come right out and say it: I'm an alcoholic. I mean, you probably knew that fourteen years ago when you spent all those many nights carrying my fat ass to the car because I was too plastered to walk. But yeah, it turns out I can't control my drinking, or rather, my drinking ended up controlling me. My sober date is November 27, 2012, and I'm not writing you to brag about having cleaned up my act. I'm writing you because one of the twelve steps is that of making amends to those you've wronged.

To say I wronged you is... Well, is an understatement. From the very get-go, I, god, I was an awful human being. I never trusted you. I mean, I didn't know how to trust another human being, but that wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything, you were nothing but nice to me when we first met. When you said you wanted to "hang out, get a drink", I thought you meant you wanted to fuck me in the bathroom at the bar, that's what men usually meant when they wanted to "hang out" with me. But you didn't want to fuck. You really wanted to hang out, to talk. You listened when I talked. You treated me like a person & I didn't know what the hell that was.

Because you see, by the time I met you, even though I was only 23 years old, I was already older than I looked, I was old for my time. I was old and used up. I knew things I shouldn't have known, things NOBODY should ever have to know. My grandfather raped me when I was a child, and I'd been keeping the secret of that, holding that in, for over a decade already, when I met you. I'd already been lying to myself and everybody else for 13 long years by the time I encountered you, so lying was all I knew. And then there was YOU, with your idea that honesty was so all-goddamned-important. I thought you were kidding about that, because up to then, everybody else I'd known had, well, had been bullshitting about everything.

So yeah, I thought it was OK to be a shitty human being to you like I was a shitty human being to and with everybody else. I thought everybody was a shitty human being, you included. Shitty human beings were all I'd ever known, how fucked up is that. So yeah, I dated your friend James & had a bad breakup with him, and then you took my side in it and stopped speaking to him. I didn't know you'd take my side and stop speaking to him, but had I been a decent person I would never have dated him. And yeah, I let Pasquale, your good buddy from the old neighborhood, put his cock up my ass the first night I met him. Then when he didn't call me after that (and why SHOULD he call, he got what he wanted) I was annoyed with him, and when I saw him again (and I only saw him again because you, me, and him were all three hanging out that time) I was still annoyed, and drunk on Scotch, and I slapped his face right there in the car... but then later I let him put it up my ass again. And oh dear god Anthony, that disaster. Look, if you still speak to Anthony, tell him I'm sorry I bit him there, it was... was a fucking travesty that he was using my ears as a steering wheel is what it was.

But yeah, I drank and I fucked around with your friends, with men you respected, and I took for granted that you'd always be there to carry my ass to the car and get me home when I was done having fun. I didn't SEE that I was taking you for granted because, well, I didn't see much of anything, how could I when I was bombed all the time. That night you said I took you for granted, that I didn't appreciate you, I didn't take you seriously, did I. No, I made a grab for your zipper, said I'd show you appreciation... in case you didn't know it then, I meant to give you a drunken, sloppy, blowjob. And you slapped me across my face while I was fumbling with your zipper. Said there was something WRONG WITH ME because I only knew how to respond to a man sexually, that I didn't know how to talk to a man, how to resolve any issue with a man in any other way besides giving myself to him sexually. And you said it like somehow that made me less than, less of a person.

That's when I hit you, of course you remember that. I punched, slapped, scratched, and bit you & at the time I didn't even fully comprehend WHY I was so mad at you. I also have no recollection as to how I got home that night. Christ I must've really been gone. The next morning, I woke up unable to remember how I'd gotten home. All I knew was I'd slept in my clothes. I remembered having gone for a drink with you, so I called you to see if maybe you remembered what the hell happened the night before.

You remembered all right. Said if I'd been a man, you would've hit me back when I attacked you, but you don't hit women. You don't hit women, but you don't stay friends with crazy drunk women who go berserk and hit YOU, so that would be the last conversation we would ever have. And you meant it, as evidenced by the fact that you refused to take my calls after that.

But yeah, amends. Amends because I really am sorry. Sorry for all the times I drank your last beer while we were driving around. Sorry for all the times I lied to you, thinking "so what if I lie"... You thought it was a very big fucking deal every time you caught me in a lie, there was no "so what" about it. I'm sorry I dated James, you have no idea how sorry I am about that. I'm sorry I let Pasquale, well, y'know. I'm sorry I only knew how to relate to men sexually. I'm sorry I tried to relate to YOU sexually that night, I realize now (fourteen years too late) that you wanted me to thank you for all the times you carried my ass to the car and made sure I got home safely. You were carrying my ass to the car and making sure I got home because you genuinely cared about me, and I didn't even see that. I didn't see YOU, and I'm sorry for that.

Anyway, I don't expect you to forgive me. I know it's been a long time and you have your own life now. I won't be knocking on your door and looking to intrude on that life, either. I just want you to know how sorry I am for everything.

Cara

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4 Comments
DonnaBeckDonnaBeckabout 9 years ago
An amends letter

Very interesting. Making an "amends" is not an apology, the word means "to make it right." Is there any way to make it right with this guy 14 years later? Hopefully he dealt with his own issues, the ones that attracted him to someone who would treat him this way.

Hopefully the author wrote this as part of her own healing and benefited from the experience. A "real" amends doesn't get posted on literotica as entertainment, but hopefully it is educational to anyone who has been involved with and hurt by an alcoholic.

Best thing the author can do is heal her own hurt and not harm no more. Because hurt people hurt people. Hope the chain is broken.

betrayedbylovebetrayedbyloveabout 9 years ago
Well

Here is my thought. That letter's only purpose is to help her soul heal while she's trying to stay sober. It has no real feeling or emotion and is worthless as an apology. If Vinnie gets this I say it would only piss him off more because it makes him realize what a drunk worthless cunt she really was to him.

Just my opinion

no rating

chytownchytownabout 9 years ago
Thanks***

For the read.

JamesRTickitJamesRTickitabout 9 years ago
Intense

An excellent "letter".

Truly reflects what happens when people are out of control.

Well written.

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