I wrote this letter to get out the pain I feel from our breakup, the one you caused six months ago, two years after you caused the first one and then last year said sorry.

I still replay our happy memories sometimes, and when I go to sleep I cuddle my pillow; if I’m weak enough to allow memories of you into my head I often imagine its you I’m cuddling.

You’ve been paralysed almost all your life, and you have to take medication because otherwise you have seizures; despite how angry I am at you, I know you don’t deserve that.

There are a number of people who would not date a girl who is paralysed below the waist because you wouldn’t be able to have sex in the same way. There are also a number of people who would date you because they felt sorry for you and wanted to try and make you feel better.

There are other people who would date you because they were weak and lonely and thought you’d take anything you could get (which looks pretty true by the way since I’m bottom of the school’s social hierachy and I don’t think you actually loved me).

There are kids at school who might date you to try and get into your pants and to touch you. I did find you sexually attractive, but that was never my reason for dating you and I never invaded your body or forced myself upon you, instead I respected you.

After some of the other types of boys that exist, there is the species I belong too. I was the boy who actually loved you, adored you even. I saw the wheelchair, but I looked passed it into the face of the person who sat in it. You idolise your faviroute bands and I was jealous of the attention you gave them; but I loved that about you. You say all sorts of funny and stupid things when you are with your friends, you scream and you make dirty jokes and generally mess about; I loved that about you. I loved your brazen attitude too and the way you didn’t care about what the teachers thought of you, even though you so nearly got us kicked out of the place we stayed at lunchtime and I loved the way you were so honest, although it scared me you might let people know what hurt you and they’d use it against you.

I loved you ####. I have lost count of how many times I’ve spoken, typed, written and printed that; and I also did a lot of things to try and show you that.

I thought I was a good boyfriend, or at least ok. I always tried to be there for you, but I also tried to never force myself upon you, the fact you told me I was a stalker really hurt me. How many times did I ask you if you were still ok for me to come over in case you changed your mind? How many times did I ask you for your decision (you even complained I left all the hard decisions to you)?

I feel I treated you like a princess when we were together, I brought you that teddy because of all the seizures you had (remember him? we named him Nicholas). I wrote you that note telling you I loved you and what I loved about you. I told you TO YOUR FACE that you were the greatest thing to ever happen to me; which back then felt true. There was that time when I didn’t cuddle you when you were upset (I don’t think you ever found out why), because I didn’t know if it was what you wanted and I didn’t want you to think I was using your unhappiness as an excuse to cuddle. I NEVER EVER looked down on you because of your wheelchair, instead I looked to someone who I saw as my equal.

I miss a lot of things, some of them are weird but I’m just going to say them: I miss the time we both took half our clothes off three years ago and cuddled (I was so scared your dad was gonna catch us), you were the one initiating that. I miss the countless times we cuddled (with clothes on) and I looked deep into your eyes and told you I loved you. I miss that time we were playing around with your scarf and I tied your hands together so you couldn’t stop me from tickling you, and then you made a dirty joke about us getting kinky. I miss that time we were at the club for disabled kids like us (if anyone is reading this I have mild Aspergers Snydrome), and everyone was hiding in the dark and were held hands so we couldn’t lose eachother. This makes me feel really pervy, but I miss that time we tried to find your heart beat and your bra was hard against my hand. I miss that time when you showed me your cuts from self harming (which I really wanted you to stop wanting to do), and I kissed them; then you said you’d always wanted a boyfriend who’d do that. I miss that time when we were full-on kissing and I could feel the inside of your mouth against mine. I miss that time I was tickling you and the side of your breast knocked against my hand. And I miss what you said on our last good day: that you wanted to be alone together sometime. And as perverse as this may sound, I miss the time I saw your pink and black underwear on the floor in your room.

I miss the time I found the pulse in your arm and felt it beating. I miss the time you were lying on my chest and your garage door blew open in the wind – you felt my heart stop because I was so suprised.

Both of our relationships made me happy, but this time I think I had a feeling you didn’t love me (I still don’t know if that was true). Something that really bugs me is that I trusted you and thought you’d changed despite all this happening once before. It bugs me that I loved you enough that I would have given you my virginity if we’d ever got to that stage and although I’m not religious that is something that I want to save for someone special; you were someone special.

The day things started falling apart you came in late to lunch, (that’s ok by the way) and then went straight passed me to the computers; I made the mistake of following you and talking to you. You later told me you felt like you were being stalked – why didn’t you tell me you wanted some space?

When I asked you if everything was ok, why did you have to type in caps and start getting angry? I have Aspergers in case you forgot ####, I’m not always going to instantly understand everything you say and do.

When I ended it a day later, after you made it clear you didn’t want to listen to me why didn’t you realise you’d hurt me instead of telling me how I was a stalker and how I “creep over” you?

I kept my anger and pain out of the responses I sent you because I knew you’d use them against me. Then a couple of weeks later you started doing horrible things; you told a girl about my autism – something I trusted you with (you revealed that, yet I never revealed you were still wearing nappies at the age of twelve despite you spreading rumours during our first break up), you were too cowardly to insult me directly so you told your friends things you wanted me to hear and started singing “mr lonely” whenever your friends spoke to me (if anyone is actually reading this don’t feel guilty if you find yourself laughing at that, it is from an external perspective kind of funny).

I never retaliated against the things you did: I could have told you how you will never ever walk again and how you won’t ever know how sex feels like below the waist – I never did. I could have told people about your family’s major money trouble – but I never did. I could have told people you self harmed – but I never did. I could have told you that you will always be a failure and be depressed – but I never did. I could have made fun of the fact you were suicidal – but I never did. I could have made fun of your wheelchair (like you said the first time we broke up) – but I never did. I should have lost it one day and thrown my water bottle over you – I never did. But when your friend decided to trash talk me again after countless times, I soaked her – it should have been you. I didn’t reveal any of that to anyone except my counsellor, I guess part of the reason I never used it against you was because part of me was worrying about your misfortune.

When that horrible girl decided to tap you on the back and drop crisps behind the seat of your wheelchair, I looked into her eyes and told her if she did it again I would rip them out; and when I’d done that I was so scared that she might tell some of the dangerous looking kids and they’d harm you. Whenever you posted something suicidal on twitter, I was there for you if you needed it but didn’t force myself upon you (or at least I don’t think so). Yet you found it in yourself to infuriate and upset me after our break up, so much so that I put holes in my walls at home.

Thankfully you’ll probably never read this. Because I bet you would be laughing if you did, I think you’d find it funny that you’ve hurt me like this and that I’ve been having counselling.

I bet you’re happy that I’m obsessed with what happened and I’ve heard it from my counsellor that I am obsessing over it. You are one of the people I blame for the fact that when I’m angry, I now feel the urge to break things (which I often do).

Right now you probably think I won’t ever retaliate, or say anything to you because it has been six months.

But don’t worry, if you ever get round the block I put on your email address I will hurt you badly with just the buttons on a keyboard; maybe I won’t wait for you to contact me first.

I still feel guilty about what happened sometimes; I sometimes worry it was my fault we broke up but when I look at everything that happened it does seem to be your fault. I still feel guilty about thinking of myself as a victim; sometimes I feel as though I’m self obsessed, and pompous for thinking of myself as the victim. And while I feel hurt and sad and angry and while I am at home lonely and being assaulted by my sister’s singing (no offense sis), you are probably cuddling someone else or playing with one of your friends and you probably don’t care about me at all.

To finish this long letter, I am going to include what I wanted to send to you when we were arguing over email, but I feared you would use it against me. If it is indeed you reading this, then you will understand it – its all the truth.

{You are saying I’ve “hurt you” and that I act like I don’t like you but how have you acted?

– I made a genuine mistake thinking that one of your tweets was meant for me – I think you would make the same.

– You’ve made it clear you had a problem with me looking at two of your online accounts. You gave me access to your twitter and your instagram link was on your twitter profile. Most couples would have been fine with that anyway, but if you had a problem with that you should have told me at the time.

– You also say that you’ve never loved me. I completely believe that going by the way you’ve acted. But why would you ask me out twice if that wasn’t the case. Were you just bored or something?

– And “stop being so fucking sensitive” and “normal people don’t fucking do that” – that’s ironic coming from the way you’ve sometimes behaved.

– If you actually are interested in being friends, then you should perhaps remember for once that I have feelings and I need to deal with them so it won’t happen for a few months, not that it would work anyway.

And two more things. I already know we weren’t going to get back together – I already made that decision in case you forgot.}

But the biggest injustice of all is that one small part of me still loves you.