I woke up this morning to learn that your band finally released your first song. That song you played for me a million times, laying down together on your bed. That song that you deliberately decided to tell me I inspired. Did you think I would be flattered? Because I inspired a song about how you felt guilty for seeing me? “You cheated on your ‘girlfriend’ for me”. Yeah, that “girlfriend” who you started to see without mentioning a word to me, three years into our seemingly endless non-relationship.
I woke up this morning angry. I still feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes, but I won’t waste any more energy than I already have, allowing myself to have another mental breakdown over you. I realize now, all of the emotional abuse you inflicted upon me does not have to define my future.
I allowed you to destroy me for too long, four and a half years to be exact. I allowed you to convince me that I was the one with the problem. You told me I was too clingy, too needy, too anxious, too sad. Too much of a doormat. A doormat you hand wove, in order to add charm and beauty to your dull and washed up world. The perfect ironic compliment to your inconsistent, insecure personality. An accomplishment of yours, taken for granted. Eventually you stepped on me enough times for me to become worthless.
But I am not a doormat. And I am far from worthless. I thought there was no way I would ever live past this sadness, relying on all kinds of prescription pills to help me feel anything but this. Or better yet, nothing at all. I’m not going to downplay it. It HURT. And I’m not even sure if it was real. Did you really love me? I’m still confused if I loved you.
You literally told me straight up that you only say things to please me, in order for me to get off of your case, and leave you alone. However, whenever I would question your love for me, you questioned my sanity. “You love me more than you’ve ever loved another. That’s why you’ve stuck with me all of this time.” Cognitive dissonance.
I could write an eight book series with plenty of antidotes about all of the ways you hurt me, infusing damage into my heart and mind, while simultaneously robbing me of my financial savings. These few paragraphs barely even begin to skim the surface. But I’d rather not focus on that right now. I am the only one who has the power to lift myself up again.
There are so many parts of me that are special, and you never got to see them because you didn’t want to. If you paid too much attention to my passions and potentiality, it would make me a real person. And you are incapable of handling anything more than an ego boosting body on the side, who you claim to care for.
I should have never allowed you to make me believe I was small.
At this point, I can continue to reflect and analyze, and relive all of the heartache. But there comes a time when I have to finally let go for real, and move on for no one else but myself. I refuse to stay stagnant any longer, because if I do that, I am only hurting me. Diminishing my creativity and stunting my mind. This piece of writing is just the beginning. Soon the world will see what I have to offer, and I won’t even remember your name.
I can finally admit, you’re the toxic one. Not me. Out of empathy I used to accept mutual blame, but it’s time for me to be honest. You are nothing but a narcissistic sociopath, and I feel sorry for you.
And you know what? Now I want to thank you. All of that anger and disappointment actually provided me with just enough adrenaline to get started.