You who lied to me, lied about me, betrayed me, and broke my heart.
When our year-long relationship ended, permanently, I was devastated. As much as I knew it was the right thing to do, and as relieved as I felt, I was still devastated. I'd lost you, after everything. We hadn't made it through this new wave of lies.
But after I got through that period of sadness, I became angry. Unbelievably, uncontrollably angry. I hated you so, so much. Your name made me shake with anger and I wanted nothing more than to scream and swear at you. But I got over that. I remembered our good times, and why we had to end it.
I missed you, but it was okay. Because there was still the chance. I didn't want to take it, but we still had the choice to get back together. But then you left. You were sent to a different country, against your own free will. Our chance was snatched from us.
I was in pieces. I didn't know how to handle it, and every time I tried to mention it to somebody, I broke down crying. And you didn't even say goodbye. After everything, you just left without a word. The slut you slept with the day after we broke up got a farewell, but not me.
My mother suggested that you couldn't say goodbye. That it hurt too much to do so. It provided me with a little bit of comfort, I guess. But we both know that's not true, don't we? We both know you didn't say goodbye because you're a cruel, cold-hearted person.
I started to feel better about the whole thing, until I heard the things you'd been saying about me. The horrible, cruel, painful words. I'd been so good to you, yet I'd somehow become public enemy number one within your friendship group.
It turns out, when you explained to them why we broke up, you conveniently forgot all of the times you cheated, you lied and you betrayed my trust.
I believed I could trust you. My self-harm, my depression, my anxiety issues, my intimacy issues, my fear of physical contact. I trusted you to keep me safe, and to help me get through these. But you didn't care about those things. Which is why you laughed about self-harm, you ridiculed me for it. And you painted me as some frigid, insane bitch.
But what hurts more than anything is that I actually thought you loved me. Well, now I know you never did. Because you don't know the meaning of the word.
I won't forgive you again. You've had too many chances.
I was in pieces. I didn't know how to handle it, and every time I tried to mention it to somebody, I broke down crying. And you didn't even say goodbye. After everything, you just left without a word. The slut you slept with the day after we broke up got a farewell, but not me.
My mother suggested that you couldn't say goodbye. That it hurt too much to do so. It provided me with a little bit of comfort, I guess. But we both know that's not true, don't we? We both know you didn't say goodbye because you're a cruel, cold-hearted person.
I started to feel better about the whole thing, until I heard the things you'd been saying about me. The horrible, cruel, painful words. I'd been so good to you, yet I'd somehow become public enemy number one within your friendship group.
It turns out, when you explained to them why we broke up, you conveniently forgot all of the times you cheated, you lied and you betrayed my trust.
I believed I could trust you. My self-harm, my depression, my anxiety issues, my intimacy issues, my fear of physical contact. I trusted you to keep me safe, and to help me get through these. But you didn't care about those things. Which is why you laughed about self-harm, you ridiculed me for it. And you painted me as some frigid, insane bitch.
But what hurts more than anything is that I actually thought you loved me. Well, now I know you never did. Because you don't know the meaning of the word.
I won't forgive you again. You've had too many chances.
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