I know this is incredibly specific, but part of me hopes you find this. I hope it sinks in and you finally have some sort of emotion, take some sort of responsibility for the havoc that you’ve been wreaking on my life.
You have some fucking nerve, my friend. There are so many thoughts running through my head right now that I don’t even know how to address them. I guess we’ll go chronologically. When did it become ok to just say whatever the hell you wanted to the person you say you love more than anything, just because you’re angry? I should just forget about it all. You didn’t mean it. You were pissed. It’s actually MY fault that you said those hurtful things to me, apparently with the sole intention of hurting me, because in a normal mindset, you say that that isn’t really how you feel. You know exactly where it started. You wanted to leave that night, so you looked me dead in the eyes and asked,
“Why can’t you be more like her?”
This is NOT ok. This will NEVER be ok. To me or anyone else you will encounter in your pathetic excuse of an existence. Do you even know who you are anymore? You have so many different personalities, that I don’t even think you have control over which one of you comes out. The audacity I had, thinking that I was the only one getting the “real you.” Ha. It’s fucking laughable. I know that I’m unsure of who I am, but at least I don’t put on this façade for literally everyone I talk to. The reason I sent you the link to that song is because of this line:
Our bodies deserve more than to be war-torn and collateral,
offering this fuckdom as a pathetic means to say,
“I only know how to exist when I’m wanted”
girls like us are hardly ever wanted you know
we’re used up and sad and drunk and
perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up
and tell us that we did good
This is me in a fucking nutshell. And you know it. You’ve used this weakness, my absolute terror of being abandoned, with no one to turn to. You’ve used this to get me to cast people out of my life, so that I wouldn’t lose you, the person I considered my best friend. You’ve used this as a means to tell me that I’m a slut, a whore, to tell me that I absolutely disgust you. I mean it when I say I disgust myself, too. You knew I was fragile. You knew I had problems that I would never be able to reveal to another person and you used that against me.
You were never in love with me. You were in love with the idea of having your search be over.
To quote a text during the first conversation we had about the potential end of our failing relationship, “That said, I’d still much rather be with you than single,” wow.
Here’s the timeline, in case you forgot:
Sunday: we have “the talk” about whether this relationship is working. It almost ends, but we decide that we need to try spending more time together and see if things got better.
During the week, we both have school and work, so there isn’t much free time to spend good quality time together.
Saturday: I’m stuck at work late. On my way home, I see you pull into the local shop, since we were trying to make things better, I decide to stop in and surprise you. I walk in the doors and immediately see you. With her. Shopping for a bottle of wine. At this point I turn around to leave, but I can’t. I walk up to you two. Once you see me you both get the very obvious look of guilt on your faces. I’m pissed to the point that I am shaking. I ask you what’s going on and you tell me, “We’re getting wine for movie night with (your practically engaged housemates).”
I don’t care who the fuck you are, this is a double date. You can deny it all you want, but anyone would agree, and everyone I’ve vented this situation to has agreed with me on this. You two would be the only ones to think of it as innocent.
Long story short, you come to my house to talk to me after we all leave the store. I begged you to send her home. I asked that if you love me at all to not go through with this “movie night.” What did you do? You broke up with me. You told me you would not send her home because this is what you wanted to do.
You left me.
Now it’s months later and you’re calling me a slut because I moved on. Yes, I get it, you’ve been telling me that you regret that night since the morning after. That doesn’t change the fact that if I took you back after that incredible display of disrespect for me, I would be that stupid bitch that I swore never to be. I ran back to the abuser enough times. I refuse to be walked on like that anymore. What the fuck kind of message does that send? If I had cheated on you, you would never talk to me again. Somehow you feel that you have reason to be pissed at me for everything I’ve done since we broke up. And for whatever dumb ass reason, I’ve let you make me feel guilty. No. This is your fault. YOU gave me the opportunity to find other people. YOU made EVERY other grass look greener. I may be damaged goods, but I will find someone who will treat me the way I deserve. Someone who won’t try to control me or change me. Someone who will love me for who I am, not for what they could mold me into. I’m such an idiot.
I used to think that no one would ever love me the way you did. I guess that’s still true, but it sure as hell isn’t a compliment. Even now, I still think that there’s no way I can make it in this world without you, but at the same time, the idea of taking you back, making myself vulnerable to you, it makes me physically ill.