I wish you knew how much I hate you. I’m not even a person who hates. I’m a person who dislikes immensely, but never hates. A person who would tell someone to go kick rocks if I didn’t enjoy their company, but would never say I hated them.
But you? I hate. I hate everything about you. I hate the person you made me think you were. I hate the person you pretended to be. I hate the person you actually were, and I really hate the person you’ve become since I saw you last. A real trash bag.
I wish I could do some Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind bullshit to myself, because the more I dissect every memory that includes you, the more I grow to hate you. I want to forget you exist in this world. I want to be blissfully ignorant to the fact that you look at the same sky that I do, live in the same city where I live, and go to all the same places I go.
I wish you were the shit stain in the bar crowd that I wouldn’t even notice, because you’re a nothing, but instead you’re the shit stain in a bar crowd that gives me anxiety, because you’re the kind of garbage human who needs to be the center of attention, and will never let me forget that it’s garbage day. Except the truck will never come.
For your benefit, I wish your dick was just a little bigger, because then maybe it would have been worth it all. But instead, I spent almost a year of my life having less than okay sex. Was I punishing myself?
I wish that you’ll find a girl that gaslights the fuck out of you the way that you did to me. I hope that when you find out she’s cheating on you with blatant evidence, she makes you feel like you’re falsely accusing her.
I wish that you’ll find a girl that tells you every single day that you’re absolutely crazy and that you need to be on medication – and then will tell you that she doesn’t trust anyone who’s on that medication.
I wish that you’ll be worried that every move you make will be the last move, because any airing of your feelings will be looked at as overreaction and catastrophe. I wish that, when you decide you’ve had enough, you’ll try to break it off, but she’ll play victim, tap into your guilt, and you’ll be reeled back in. I wish that you’ll believe that you’re always doing things to cause a reaction and if you could just be a little less insane, maybe she’d want to be with you. I wish that you’ll believe you’re doing it to yourself.
I don’t wish you the best. I wish that you would get what you deserve. If karma is really my bitch like I think she is, she’s coming for you. Hard.