Mean Things I've Done To Dr. Julian Bashir (Or Sue's Revenge)
by Lyda Mae (RavenDove) Huff
Chapter Nine: Dear Julian
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Dear Julian,
I'm finally over you.
I'm not sure when it happened, but I no longer feel the need to hurt you.
I can see that my pain was never your fault. I've known that for some time. It wasn't you that hurt me. It was the world at large. You were just my convenient whipping boy.
I'm sorry for that.
I think I finally realized I was over you the other night. It wasn't something big. It was just something unusual for me. A Dream that was no longer dark. For there was no torture in the theme.
In a strange way you healed all the things I wished you could heal the day I first saw you on my T.V. Though I may never be able to explain how.
I dreamed that you were preforming an old fashion C-Section and I was your nurse and your patient at the same time. Your equal and your charge. (A confusing perspective I assure you.)
Not your tormentor, or even you, as I have been these many years. And the child cut from my womb was not really a child, but all the hurt in my heart that was poisoning my soul. Excised like a tumor in one simple procedure. All of that baggage was just suddenly gone.
Since that night I look at you, and all I see, is the beloved fiction that you are a part of. Not the man. Not the victim. Not my surrogate self. Just the words on the page, or the picture on my T.V. screen.
I would bid you now Goodbye. For it would seem I no longer need you. I step now into a world of reality. I would thank you, but I'm not sure there are words for the thanks that I could give.
Lyda Mae Huff 6/4/2005
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Dear Mr. Alexander Siddig or Siddig El Fadil,
I think I could face you as a real person now. So if you care to look me up the next time you are at a convention in Northern Utah, maybe we could talk about what it was like to grow up in England as compared to Tooele (aka Nerve Gas County, Utah). Weather and politics are open subjects as well, depending on how much you like a good debate.
Lyda Mae Huff
