I’m ashamed of dating you for a year and a half. I hate myself for letting myself be naked with you when I didn’t know if you loved or even appreciated me. Faked those orgasms so you’d stop touching me. I should have made you shower before I went down on you because breathing was near impossible. I took care of my body and you had man boobs that when I was 16 I would’ve been envious of. Your voice was weak and effeminate, and yet I hooked my emotions on every word you said. You have no right to tell me that when my grandparents died I would have to worry about disgracing them by dating a white man, and I should have broken up with you then. You complained more about my classes than I did, and I swear with all of your bitching you hated your major. You complained and never fixed, and I was silent and hoped you’d stop touching me. I hate myself for being so low and weak.