5/10/2014 1:38AM

I don't know why I keep coming back here. Sometimes I wish your mother or Dominika would claim your account and take it down or something. It's fucking depressing to see you on my friend list still, a year after you fucked everything up.

Then again, here I am writing to you as if you will read this. Unable to just de-friend you, as if you are still here. Today is one of those days I think you are right about me. I'm pathetic. I'll just blame it on my buzz later. That always seemed to work for you.

My second divorce came through today. Looks like I've tied Wilson for failed marriages now. Though to be fair, number one died. But also, to be fair, I went in eyes open to the fact there was never to be any 'success' with Jack.

I think, really, I just wanted something I couldn't control. As much as you think I need to fix things, I think really, I just am drawn broken things that I can't fix. Maybe I get off on pain. Fucking seems like it sometimes.

Ray, husband three, father of my son Greg (no, I am not that obsessed. I actually fought Ray on that, but it was his father's name and his father had just died, so I lost the battle), was a great guy. But, I guess that just doesn't work for me. Chase was a great guy, and look where that landed.

I don't know why I blamed you for that. Maybe, for once, I just wanted the easy way out. I never take the easy way. When I try to it blows up in my face, so I've learn, like the old song goes, to do it the hard way.

Anyway, Ray was supposed to be a fling. A good and wholesome rebound boyfriend. A guy you fuck to learn how to live again. A transition. But, as luck would have it. Or rather, stupidity, we had a night of drunken, unprotected sex and nine months later, we had Little Greg. (yeah yeah, I know that's what you call your penis, can't help that. Ray's mom started that one.) I would have been on the pill, but I started having a hormone imbalance, so long story short, things got messy.

God, I wish you had been around, or that I would have had the guts to call you and ask your advice. I wanted to. But, I just couldn't after how I left. You would have told me not to make two mistakes from one. Hell, you would have probably told me to just get an abortion and move on. I guess, maybe, that's the part I really didn't want to hear. I did the stupid thing, the bad afterschool special thing, I got married to the father.

That worked for about two years. Everyone around us was thrilled. My parents, his. But after you did your stupid thing. Well, I changed. Ray couldn't handle the change. So now it's just me. Ray was the one who was able to be at home and have a regular schedule, so the court awarded him custody. At least, Ray lets me have Little Greg on my days off. Ray was nice that way, but I can't even have what I want, which is a clean break. I can't just leave my son.

I miss the hell out of you, you know. I'm really a fool. What is it about you? Why the fuck can't I get over this thing I have for you? Even now. After everything. After you lost it and drove a car through Lisa's living room. She lives up here now, in Chicago. She called me for a reference, and I got her an interview via an old mentor of mine who was retiring from Mercy. You probably knew that.

We get together once a month or so. Have drinks, talk about you. She's fucking mind-fucked by you too. Jesus, House, you seriously drove a fucking car into her house! You are crazy, but that is way beyond crazy. Even for you.

However, I think, at least, it let her get the fuck over loving you. Now she just hates you.

Part of me gets it though. She told me about why she broke up with you. I had to drink my drink and nod politely. I still don't get it. You finally showed up. What did she expect? You're a fucking addict with abandonment issues. She could have helped you. If she really loved you she would have helped you, not dumped you.

I wouldn't have dumped you.

Fuck. As if you'd give me the opportunity to have you to dump you. Jesus. I still wish I knew why I couldn't get a guy who would pay for sex, who admits he thinks I'm sexy, to just fuck me. I get it if you didn't want to date me, but by the end of my fellowship, I would have settled for a good hard pounding over your desk. Just once. Satisfy the curiosity and all that.

Of course, Lisa made sure to let me know that you were a stud in bed. She can be thick sometimes. It's not like she doesn't know that I had it bad for you. Of course, she thinks I'm well over you, but you (if you were still around) and I know, I'm not.

You were the one. The one that got away. The one I love, but can't ever have. The one who wouldn't touch me, but still managed to ruin me for all other men.

God bless, get over yourself Allison! You're begging a dead man to fuck you. Again, pathetic.

Then again, Foreman has this theory. He thinks you pulled a fast one. That you found a way to run away with Wilson and live out his final time together. God, I really hope that you and he were really gay sometimes. It would explain so much, and make me feel like I am not a total loser.

I couldn't go to his funeral. Too much breaking down in my own life at the time. Lisa said it was a nice ceremony. She said she spoke to your mother. Said she was taking your death in stride. Something about that, now that I am a mother, strikes me as odd too. But I wasn't there, so who knows.

Anyway, I just needed to vent. I miss our talks. I miss how we were after I left your team and used to just hang out late in your office and chat. Those times you didn't grill me about Robert. That one time we watched the monster truck ralley on your old ass TV and you looked at me for just a second like you wished something different had happened after our non-date. You didn't think I saw it. But I always did. That look, and the many times you gave it to me, when you thought I wasn't looking, is maybe the reason I can't just get past this.

I want to get past this. I need to.

Hell, maybe this stupid letter will help. Time will tell I guess.