I’m so sorry. I am so fucking sorry. We were dumb, fourteen and fifteen year olds who thought we’d found love. Maybe we did, but I think we were more just happy to find acceptance. And then I fucked it up. I went on medication, tried to kill myself, threw all my emotional baggage on you, put you down because I was frustrated with myself, cut my arms until they were raw, yelled because I grew up in a home where all I am is yelled at. I was jealous and possesive and moody and irrational and abusive and unreasonable. And at the end I went crazy. And I made you watch all of it and carry me every step of the way.
I want to tell you I’ve changed. I have a little, but it’s a slow process. I’m a very broken girl. I have had a lot of set backs in the year in a half since you finally escaped. I’ve quit and then relapsed over and over again into cutting, I’ve gottten drunk, I’ve had very meaningless sex, I’ve smoked cigarettes, I dated two boys who were no good for me, I was raped by one of them, I tightened a belt around my neck and wondered what it would be like knowing this time you wouldn’t save me, I lost huge amounts of weight, I binge ate, I started to not believe in love.
But good things have happened, too. I’ve made progress in therapy, my writing has gotten better, I’ve let myself become attached to a few people, I’ve realized I shouldn’t hate myself so much, I’ve pictured myself getting out of high school alive.
I’m writing cause the school’s having that teen violence dating awareness month shit. All my friends think I’m having a hard time with it because of Nate and how he treated me. But it’s not. It’s because of why I stuck with him for so long, let him rape me over and over. Because I abused you. I am not as much of a victim as I seem. I deserved it. I’d like to think I was never as bad as him. I yelled at you with no purpose, put you down on two occasions, made you jealous for no real reason, was so fucking emotionally needy. It’s not as bad, tell me Francis, I’m not as bad as him. Because in all comparison he’s so much more fucked up than me. But it was enough, wasn’t it? Enough for you to leave, never speak to me again, not acknowledge I exist. I’m sorry that it was enough.
But I’m not looking for forgiveness. This is not about closure or penance. I just want you to know that I take complete and total responsibility for everything that went wrong in our relationship. I am so sorry I ever caused you an ounce of pain. You’re an angel and I hope you fix everything inside you that I damaged. I hope she makes you happy like you deserve.
And I hope you think of me from time to time. Not the part of me that wrecked, but the part you fell in love with. The part that enjoyed dirty jokes, listened to all the music you gave me, could almost eat as much as you, who you could say anything to, who you took long countless walks with along the river, the part of me that was once your best friend.
Thank you for once being mine.