Updated: Jun 28, 2018
To my former lover,
Maybe it’s because of all the sorrowful news that has plagued recent headlines, or maybe it’s because I’ve sat in the shower for several days contemplating the ways I could end my life because it sometimes feels like the only way out. But today, I’ve decided I’m done. I’m done wallowing. Over this anyways, because depression is a dick like that. I will no longer be a victim of your narrative that paints me as your abuser because someone I loved with every ounce of my flesh will not libel me.
Remember when I found out your secrets? Remember how you went through my phone in search of anything that could compromise me and you came up empty and I bitterly told you that you wouldn’t because I was unapologetically faithful to you? I do.
Remember the night you tried to tell me I was manipulative and I didn’t even understand the word? I was in so much distress because I felt as though I had been so emotionally authentic with you that I couldn’t fathom bad intentions tied to such raw honesty. But thank you for teaching me what manipulative looks like when you slept with another a woman and then kissed me days later, telling me “this is what it should feel like.” Inferring that you truly loved me and not the stranger, despite not wanting to be in a relationship with me.
Remember all those times I was unapologetically emotional and pleaded with you, sometimes as I held your face in my hands begging you to communicate with me because I needed to know what was going on in your head because my own mind was working against me. You told me it was because I was too emotional, that we needed to cool off but….
Remember the times I did just that? And you still would not talk to me, so in my emotional fragility I allowed myself to descend into an insanity that caused me to spend my days in a numb stupor unable to function. Unable to work, to do the things I love, to smile.
Remember the problem that started it all? The source of my mistrust, the text to your ex about not loving me despite having told me you did (and that I was too emotional). And when I confronted you, you said that you meant you loved me as a friend. So all of those nights together and the one specific one where we laid in bed together and you said “I love you”, it was as a friend. How could I possibly have confused the two? I guess context is not everything.
Remember when I pushed you to focus on school but instead you lost yourself in a job you had no interest in making a career. Look, we’re all guilty of it. I did it. But I learned a new term after we broke up. Gaslighting: “manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.” You did that a lot. It’s emotionally abusive. So when you told me that I got in the way of you succeeding in school I thought I was going insane, as though I had imagined all those times I tried to help you.
Remember those times I was spiteful and jealous? Because I was. I definitely was. I loved you but I hated you for the way you made me felt. I hated watching you flirt while we had to pretend we weren’t in a relationship. I hated that we didn’t have a real anniversary and when you chose a date (because you had to decide for some reason). Your explanation wasn’t romantic, it was the day you felt you were truly over your ex. Glad to know how special our relationship was.
Remember those times I packed up your stuff and tried to kick you out of my apartment? I don’t regret that. Now that I have hindsight and over a year of therapy, I know that it was right for me to want to be done with you, even though I didn’t have the strength to really let you go. I let you back in every time.
Remember when you said that you were trying but I couldn’t see it? I saw that you had learned how to buy me flowers but not how to love me.