You treated me like crap. You really, really did. For a while there, I actually thought you hated me and maybe a small part of me still does. None of that matters now though. (Lie.) It’s in the past and I’m not letting it bleed over in to the present. (Total lie, Jesus Christ.)
Loving you felt awful because I was reminded every second of how much it wasn’t reciprocated. The more affection I showed you, the bigger the divide in our bed would be. People tell me that there always has to be someone who’s loved less in a relationship and, if that’s true, I’m starting to wonder if that person will always be me. Am I just more comfortable tackling someone who’s perceived as a challenge? Am I just more comfortable working hard for some small token of affection? It scares me that this might be who I am but I also feel powerless to change it. I’ve been taught now to expect inequity in the love department. I don’t know if I would be able to even accept an equal amount of love.
After the break up, I told you I was over it and ready to be friends but, surprise, I wasn’t! Why does anyone still fall for that? Of course I’m not ready to be friends with you! To be honest, I don’t think I ever will be but I wasn’t strong enough to reject you, even after you had so clearly rejected me. You accepted my friendship perhaps to alleviate some of the guilt you had from breaking up with me. You could sleep easier at night if you knew that I was doing okay and ready to be in your life again. Can I just say something though? Screw you. You knew I wasn’t ready for a friendship. I was just feeding you lies to keep you around in some capacity. It was your job to turn me down and give me some space and time to grieve, to really get over it. Instead, you were just like, “Cool! Lez be friends. I feel so much better about everything now!”
There comes a point when you have to realize that you’re the stronger person. You need to understand that I’m weak and cannot cut you out on my own, so you have to do it for me. When I’m sitting with you and saying that everything is okay and I have no resentments and I’m glad we can still be friends, what I’m really saying is, “HELP! I WANT TO STRIP YOU NAKED AND HAVE SEX WITH YOU ALL NIGHT! BEING FRIENDS WITH YOU IS A FORM OF EMOTIONAL TORTURE! PLEASE CUT ME OFF FROM THE DRUG THAT IS YOU.” Why can’t you tell that’s what I’m saying? Do I need to get a translator for you?
My grief is totally unoriginal, which makes it even harder. I know that there were people before me that acted this way and there will be people after — addicted to being loved less, unable to set boundaries, losing self-respect constantly. And there will always be people like you too. There will always be people who are selfish and want to have their cake and toy around with it too. I guess I just want to say that I think you’re a bad person. I admit my role in all of this — it takes two to tango, of course — but you’re rotten because you knew how hard all of this was for me. It’s not your fault for not loving me but it is your fault for keeping me around and giving me false hope. Your gift to me is erasing me from your life. Not letting me need you. Just give it to me already. Let me go.