Dear Bastard I tolerated and convinced myself I couldn’t live without,
We broke up and got back together a few times short of Taylor Swift’s total number of albums. Why I let you do that to me probably has an explanation dating back to the helplessness of my mental stability and general 19 year old stupidity in the fact that I thought you, a 24 year old, was smarter than me. I’m not here to pore of the details of how you made me want to kill myself at times, nor the excruciating pain of the depression and anxiety I felt at the thought of deciding whether to totally call it quits with you or suck it up and stay with you. No, this is not that letter. This letter is about me.
I can still remember the minute I decided that enough was enough and that I was fucking done. I don’t think you ever thought for a second that I was going for good. I’m pretty sure you expected me to text as soon as or at least within the week I came back home. I sometimes wonder if you think I ran away scared. I did run away, but not because I was scared. I ran away because I was fucking done, that I knew that if I stayed one more minute within a 20 mile radius of you that I would probably have let the depression consume me and make me do something I wouldn’t even be alive to regret.
All the breakups hurt, but the one that hurt the most was when you came back that night and said that after seeing countless girls that were better looking than I was, that you could do better. I’m not vain. I’m not gonna put myself on a pedestal and say that I put Aphrodite to shame. Actually (you know this better than anyone) I’m the exact opposite. Validating my fears about how shitty I already felt about my physical appearance didn’t exactly make me wanna jump up and down. Yet you still added another vital part to our break up clause “I wasn’t confident enough”…well gee I wonder why I wasn’t.
You were the kind of person that I didn’t want to leave because the times when you were there for me made me feel like I was safe and nothing could touch me. But the times you dropped me on my ass and decided that it wasn’t convenient for you to be there, were a whole other story. Now I know that people that do that are TOXIC. No matter how you turn out to be in the future, whether or not you change, you’ll always be toxic to me. There was never a chance of fixing it, or turning it around or being friends. It was over and done with from the start.
But you know all of this stuff. You know it better than I do. So I’ll leave you with this: for every bimbo you compared me to, I got exponentially stronger. You think you could’ve done better…well I think you were lucky to have me at my worst.