• It Helps

    by  • November 8, 2016 • Eff Off - You - or Up • 0 Comments

    Dear Josh,

    I have never been one to consider myself a romantic. I have always read romance novels, of course. Book boyfriends are the best boyfriends because they don’t do what you did. We met at a party and I thought you were the best looking thing I had seen. It felt so good just to look at you. Then we talked and you were nice. Charming. A little (lot) awkward and I knew I was in trouble.

    I’m not going to go over the great times we had because for the most part they are a blur. The bad times stick out though. The time you told me if I didn’t hang out with you instead of my friends that night we were through. The time you told your best friend all the bad things about our relationship so he would hate me too. The time you broke up with me 2 days before your fucking Halloween party I wasn’t going to be at but your ex girlfriend was. The time you laughed at the idea of me working out. Yeah, that’s a pretty good one.

    You suck. This is not where I thought this letter would go but here we are. You suck. You suck. You suck. You, spending almost every night with me and making me think you love me. You, who told me you were a commitment phobe after I wasted months on you.

    We did so much growing together. Well, I did. Maybe not you. You’re the biggest man child I’ve ever met. Okay, so I’ve done a lot of growing through our relationship. We started dating despite you having already ended things with me twice before. You told me you loved me and I said it back despite the fact that we screamed at each other a few hours earlier.

    The breakup. God, that breakup sucked. You suck. That came out of nowhere. You came over to nap with me before class. I thought you would leave and come back for a night of sex and cuddling and loving each other. Instead you left and I haven’t seen you since. God, that hurt. After I had finally decided we were going to do this. We were going to be us. I hadn’t been part of a couple in so long. I loved you. Maybe. I’m not so sure now.

    Lying there I said I love you and you didn’t say it back. You kissed me hard and long. It wasn’t passionate though. It felt like goodbye. That sucked. Then you said you didn’t think you loved me anymore. That, that ripped my heart out. So fuck you. Fuck these feelings. Fuck being heartbroken when all I’ve ever wanted was to be alone and lay in bed and read my books and live through people. Now I know why I was like that. Because this is the worst pain imaginable.

    Every morning I wake up and…I’m happy. For about 10 seconds. That’s how long it takes until I remember you’re gone. That you exist and I loved you and you left me. Now you ignore me. You don’t acknowledge my existence and I can’t even find the courage to look myself in the mirror because what I’m going to see isn’t good enough for you. I hate you. I hate me. I hate what you did to me.

    I hope your life is full of no love, no money, no future, and no happiness.
    Really. You deserve it.


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