This Is The Breakup Letter I Wrote You, And The Ending I Left Out

I believe that last night, when you said this would not work should it continue the way that it is, you were right. Unfortunately, I don’t see it changing anytime soon. We’ve talked at such length about improving our communication, yet nothing changes, and everything is always my fault somehow.

You’ve blamed it on my drinking (which, by the way, was actually a bipolar episode, yet you deemed that not only untrue, but also unimportant), while conveniently ignoring every time that you’ve blacked out, called me names, told me you’ve hated me, yelled at me; then refused to even acknowledge the pain that this caused me the next day as I tried to talk to you about it simply because you “didn’t remember” it.

That means it doesn’t count, right?

No, it does count. Blacked out or not, your words caused me immense pain, and your level of intoxication did not take that pain away.

Every conversation we had about anything slightly unpleasant, (you know, things that all couples have to do from time to time, in order to resolve conflict) were all had on your terms, and your terms only. Whether or not I was able to finish communicating my own feelings to you (which was almost never), did not matter to you. The conversation ended when you decided it ended, whether this meant hanging up on me or getting up and literally walking away. It could have been at my house, at a restaurant, anywhere really. If there was an exit, you would find it, and you would take it.

This was not only unfair, but disrespectful, dismissive, and only showed that you did not take my feelings seriously.

You told me multiple times that I used my feelings to manipulate you into getting what I want, without once considering (or listening to me one of the many times that I’ve told you) that this is simply the way my brain works. This is how my emotions work. (Also, wouldn’t this imply that I would at least, at some point, actually GET what I want?)

I feel everything with a much higher level of intensity than your average person. I feel things differently than people without Bipolar Disorder Type 1 with Rapid Cycling Mixed States with Psychosis.

I don’t do this on purpose. I don’t want this either. This isn’t fun for me. This is my own personal hell that I’ve lived with for my entire life.

This is something that you might have understood if you had ever bothered to learn anything about Bipolar Disorder, which I’d asked you to do on several occasions. Requests which you ignored, every time. Not only did this stop you from understanding what I go through, it showed that you really didn’t care to.

By telling me that I used my genuine feelings to manipulate you, you belittled them, you implied that they didn’t matter.

Despite all of this, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.

That being said, I did some serious thinking over the course of the past couple of days. I thought about how nearly every argument we ever had ended up being blamed on me, resulted in an apology from me, and was agreed to have been caused by something I did or said.

I thought about how easy it was for you to admittedly say things to me with the sheer intention of hurting me, simply because you were angry.

I thought about how easy it was for you to ignore me.

I don’t know how we got here. I don’t want to be here.

I love you, but I can’t keep being emptied. You seem to think I’m this person that I know I am not, and that you would know I am not if you would take the time to listen to me, learn about me, or ever ask me anything about myself.

I’m not perfect. This is not a blame game. If you are feeling defensive, please understand that this is not an attack. This is how I feel. This is me finally explaining my feelings in full, something I’ve never gotten the opportunity to do before. Something I’ve always deserved the right to do, a right that you never gave me.

You can dismiss them, you can tell me that I’m victimizing myself again or manipulating you, and I can’t control that.

I know, however, that I am not. At this point, that’s all I have. I’m not out to get you, I never was, and I never will be.

You don’t have to love me, and that’s okay.

Despite all of these excessively awful conversations we’ve had, nothing ever changes. You can say that it’s my fault if you want, you can continue to blame me for everything, and that’s okay. I can’t control that. I accept that.

I’m sorry for my part. I hope one day you can see that you also played one in our destruction.

I love you, but I think we can both agree that we were both unhappy and that we just couldn’t go on the way we were.

There are tons of reasons I could give to attempt to make myself feel better about this. Here’s what I never told you. Here’s what I’ll never get the chance to tell you. Here’s what I’ll regret never saying to you.

Neither one of us is perfect. Being with someone with Bipolar Disorder is hard, and at times I disregarded your mental well-being because I was so focused on myself. I felt you were selfish when you were only trying to stay mentally sound, yourself. That was wrong. I was wrong. I was ashamed of who I was which resulted in my not communicating my own feelings well enough to you, expecting you to read stories of other people and understanding how an illness as complicated as Bipolar manifested in me. That wasn’t fair.

I was insecure.

Will I miss you? Absolutely. Do I already? Of course.

Will I wish every day for who knows how long that those ridiculous romantic comedy movies that we used to sit and make fun of together were in any way realistic and that you’ll come back to me with some huge romantic gesture and that we’ll work it out? Yeah, no shit.

Will that happen? Of course not. Because you’re happier now. And honestly, that’s all I ever wanted in the first place.