Dear NHS,
I'm writing this in case you notice that I've gone. You're so busy and overwhelmed that you might not notice for a while. But maybe when the next person leaves you or the next one, you might end up wondering whether it's you, whether it's something you did or you didn't do that means that people who were once committed to you, once loved you and cared for you and worked so hard to sustain you just upped and left.
The thing is, we used to want the same things. We were good together. We made a good team. Together we helped people, cared for them, got them back on their feet after some really hard times and showed them respect, love, compassion, humanity. We had some good times, we even had some laughs. And we both came away better off back then, we both benefited from the partnership and we were both better because of each other.
But you changed. I don't really know when it happened but you became so hard to please. Nothing I did was good enough. I tried harder and harder, I gave more and more of myself, but it was never enough. You didn't seem to care anymore. That sense of humanity, compassion... where did it go? You were so stressed that you didn't have time to treat me or anyone with care or love. I felt like I lost you back then. You weren't you any more.
And then that thing happened. The thing we never really talked about. And I lost myself in a pit of darkness. I was suddenly clambering over disembodied pieces of myself in an effort to keep moving, keep being. I needed help. I needed you. I needed you to understand, to support me, to nurture me. I needed you to care. But instead, you walked all over me. You took me and my loyalty for granted and I broke. Slowly, I broke.
I did my best to recover. You were sorry. I get that. You didn't mean it. I get that. You promised new beginnings. But it was never the same. I was still expected to give all of myself and get little in return. And I can't carry on like that. I have to think of the children. I have to think of myself - unbelievable, right? Put myself first? What madness is this? But if I want the children to grow, feel nurtured and be happy then I have to do this for myself, to show them that it can be different. Relationships don't have to be like that. Life doesn't have to be like that.
So that's it. Decision made. I'm leaving you. Don't get me wrong, I have mixed feelings. Sometimes I still feel like we could make it work if I stayed. Things would be more secure for the children. They'd benefit in other ways by me staying, right? But I just can't risk going back to that darkness. There was no room for me. There has to be room for me.
Maybe one day you'll change. I can't see it happening just now, mind you. I can only see this downward spiral. You're being ruled by your own dark masters and they seem to be here to stay for some time yet. But maybe, maybe one day they will release their grasp and you'll manage to change. But for now, I'm out. And all I can do is wish you the best.
I'm sure our paths will cross in different ways. I hope that we can at least be civil to each other when they do. Leave the feelings at the door. Think of the children. That kind of thing.
I'm sorry it has come to this. Please know that I will always love you. I just couldn't let it continue to hurt that much.
G
About the Creator
Gemma Parker
Psychologist interested in all things human, particularly connectedness, intimacy, healthy relationships and love. Musician, student, creative soul, incessant need for joy, mischief and justice.
www.altogetherhuman.org.uk
@craftipsych
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More stories from Gemma Parker and writers in Humans and other communities.
Hello??
I was woken at 1am, by my partner, B, coming to bed, expressing his disbelief that I had managed to fall asleep despite the neighbours being so noisy. In my half-sleep, I wondered whether this was irony. I’d always struggled with the concept. I came to slowly, increasingly aware of the fact that the bed was vibrating rhythmically, a girl was shrieking and I could smell skunk. Someone was having a party. B declared that he was putting his ear plugs in and got into bed.
By Gemma Parker4 years ago in Humans
Shadow of the Crown
In the heart of the ancient kingdom of Eldoria, where golden spires kissed the clouds and rivers shimmered like molten silver, there lived a dog named Arion. Unlike ordinary dogs, Arion was no mere pet; he was the companion of the royal family, a silent witness to their triumphs, tragedies, and secrets. His coat was a deep, glossy black that reflected the sunlight like polished onyx, and his eyes, a piercing amber, seemed to understand every whispered word and unspoken emotion of those around him. Arion had been born in the royal kennels, a litter of five pups, but even as a young puppy, he showed signs of extraordinary intelligence and loyalty. While the other pups played and tumbled, Arion would sit quietly near the throne room, listening intently to the council meetings and royal discussions. The courtiers joked that he was born to serve the crown, not just the family, and as he grew, this joke turned into truth. The king, a stern yet fair man named King Alaric, noticed Arion’s unique nature. Unlike the other dogs, Arion would sit by his side during state matters, resting his head on the king’s knee during long discussions and accompanying him through the castle corridors with a sense of purpose. Over time, Arion became more than a companion; he became a guardian, a confidant, and a symbol of loyalty that transcended words. It was during the Festival of the Silver Moon that Arion’s loyalty would be tested like never before. Eldoria had long been a peaceful kingdom, but whispers of unrest had begun to echo from the northern borders, where a rival lord, Lord Malric, coveted the throne. He was cunning and ruthless, and many feared that he would strike during the festival, when the city would be crowded with nobles and merchants. King Alaric, aware of the threat, had fortified the palace and strengthened the guards, yet he could not shake a growing unease. Arion sensed it too. On the eve of the festival, the dog patrolled the palace halls tirelessly, sniffing for danger, his tail low and tense, his ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound. That night, Arion had a vision of what could come—a shadow creeping through the halls, a dagger glinting under the torchlight, a scream swallowed by silence. When the festival began, Eldoria’s streets were alive with music, laughter, and the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries. The nobles danced, children played, and the king presided from the balcony of the royal palace, smiling and waving to his people. Arion, however, remained ever watchful. He slipped through the corridors, his paws silent against the marble floors, his eyes scanning for the slightest hint of danger. It was then that Arion noticed him—a cloaked figure moving with unnatural stealth among the servants. The dog’s hackles rose as the figure approached the throne room. Without hesitation, Arion leapt from the shadows, his growl deep and threatening. The would-be assassin stumbled, surprised by the sudden attack. Arion’s teeth clamped gently, yet firmly, on the cloak, pulling the intruder back from the throne. The king, alerted by the commotion, rushed forward, and the guards quickly restrained the intruder. It was Lord Malric’s most trusted assassin, sent to kill the king and plunge Eldoria into chaos. King Alaric knelt beside Arion, patting his loyal companion’s head. “You have saved Eldoria,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude. “And you have saved me, old friend. No reward could ever match your loyalty.” But Arion’s trials were far from over. That same night, under the cover of darkness, a group of Malric’s soldiers infiltrated the palace. Their goal was simple: kidnap the heir, Princess Liora, and use her as leverage against the king. Arion, sensing danger even before the soldiers reached the princess’s chamber, intercepted them in the long, torch-lit corridor. The battle that followed was one of cunning and courage. Arion was outnumbered, yet he moved with precision, barking loudly to alert the palace guards while fending off the attackers with swift, calculated bites and relentless determination. The soldiers, unprepared for the dog’s ferocity and intelligence, were soon overwhelmed. Arion had managed to protect the princess until reinforcements arrived. Princess Liora, though frightened, knelt beside him, stroking his head. “You are more than a dog,” she whispered. “You are the heart of Eldoria.” From that day on, Arion was no longer seen merely as the royal dog; he became the kingdom’s silent guardian, the protector of the throne, and the symbol of unwavering loyalty. Years passed, and Arion grew older, his movements slower but his spirit undimmed. King Alaric aged, too, and eventually, it was Princess Liora who ascended the throne. Yet Arion remained by her side, guiding her through the challenges of leadership, comforting her during times of doubt, and warning her of dangers before they arrived. Tales of the royal dog spread far and wide, inspiring songs, poems, and paintings, each depicting the black-coated guardian with amber eyes, standing resolutely by the throne. One fateful winter, the kingdom faced its greatest threat: a devastating fire that swept through the castle’s northern wing. Arion, despite his age, ran into the flames, rescuing trapped servants and guiding them to safety, refusing to leave until the last soul was accounted for. By the time the fire was extinguished, Arion was found lying near the royal chambers, exhausted but alive, his coat scorched and his eyes weary yet proud. King Alaric and Queen Liora, tears in their eyes, embraced the dog who had given so much for the kingdom. “You are the soul of Eldoria,” the king said. “And your legacy will never fade.” In honor of his bravery, a statue of Arion was erected in the palace courtyard—a black dog with amber eyes, forever watching over the kingdom. Even in death, Arion’s influence remained. Generations of rulers would come and go, but the story of the royal dog of Eldoria endured. The people spoke of his courage, his intelligence, and his unbreakable loyalty, teaching their children that true nobility was not only in blood and crown but in heart and devotion. And so, Arion’s shadow lingered over the kingdom, not as a ghost of fear, but as a beacon of hope and protection. In every loyal dog, in every act of bravery, in every quiet moment of guardianship, the spirit of Arion lived on—a reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary heroes wear no crown, speak no words, and serve with a heart that knows no bounds.
By The best writer about 4 hours ago in Humans
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