I’m happier now than i ever could have imagined I would be in my life.
In my last letter to you, I told you that I am happy and content. I’m happy and still content, even more so, since my last letter to you. But I didn’t say everything I needed to get off my chest back then. You wanted to know why I left.
I’ve written this letter in my head so many times. There are so many things I need to say to you. I wanted to send this letter directly to you, but honestly, that would just be petty and it would hurt you. It’s unnecessary to drop this on you, out of the blue. And even the thought of sparking a conversation with you about this would just feel like a drag. There is nothing to be gained out of this. So I’m writing it here; it’ll be out there, even if you never see it.
You called my clothes tacky. You were never happy with anything I wore. You accused me of being too nerdy and too cute, instead of sexy. You hated my glasses. You hated it when my hair wasn’t down. You didn’t ever say that you would feel the same way about me, even if I looked different, or cut my hair. Such a hypocrite. And then you would spout that crap about loving me no matter what “once we were married.” If you really felt that way, you would have felt that way before marriage too. Now, I’m so relieved you never got your act together, you didn’t manage to convince me to stick it out with you for a decade while you mustered up the motivation to propose to me and get your act together – I dodged that bullet.
When I was so excited to be able to see you last minute for new year’s eve, you shot that down when you commented on how I should have bought a new outfit for the occasion and how I don’t care enough to dress up for you.
On your birthday, I wore a dress I was excited about. And you killed it for me by telling me you wished the dress was shorter.
You wanted me to be sexier. You accused me of being too cute. You didn’t really love me for who I am.
When you were angry at me, that night you wanted sex. I gave in to you, half willingly, half taken aback.
You accused me of not wanting to have sex often enough with you. you made me feel guilty for it. Sex with you became painful. It hurt. I couldn’t be myself.
You lied to me about drugs, and then didn’t keep any promises to not smoke or take pills again. You lied to me so many times about this.
You accused me of having an easy comfortable life, even though I work hard for it.
When I was in another country on the other side of the world, you actually stopped speaking to me for several days straight, even though I tried so hard to get in touch with you.
You were telling me something about yourself when you did all those things, and I didn’t believe you. I kept overlooking it when you made me feel bad, when you treated me badly, when you lied to me.
When I met you, you promised to change everything about yourself without me asking you to. But then when I kept believing you would do that for me, I was a fool.
If you had loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me. If I had loved you, I wouldn’t have lied either – but I lied only when I was ending our relationship, when I knew it was over for me and I didn’t love you anymore. You lied while you still loved me.
We weren’t compatible academically, professionally, in any way; we fought every day. We didn’t agree on names for children, a ring, a life timeline, goals. You wanted to uproot us, me. I wanted to see if you could be serious about building a life with me. But you couldn’t do it. You kept saying you’d change for me, but people don’t change like that. And I was wrong and selfish for wanting you to change. I was wrong for never forgiving you for your past, but I just couldn’t get over it, and I finally realized it.
We had thought we had some kind of glorified love story of two people from two different worlds madly in love. That was a load of crap. We were just two people in a rebound relationship, wildly incompatible for each other.
I know what it’s like to be in a good relationship now. One where I’m respected, adored, loved, encouraged, and happy. It’s not ridden with jealousy, spite, and hurt.
I’m done having this conversation with you in my head. I’ve said what I needed to say. This is a hurtful letter, but I needed to get it out. At least I’m not sending this directly to you. I’m not going to rant about you anymore to anyone. I really don’t feel the need to ever contact you regarding our relationship or breakup anymore. I’m not even going to talk about you to my friends. No more ex-bashing, even when they talk about their exes. I have too many things to focus on in my life. I have the rest of my life to live: graduation, residency, getting engaged and married. Now that I’ve written this letter and decided not to speak of you again, I’m going to let go of the bitterness. I’m going to stop comparing him to you, because I’m over the negativity of our past relationship. You’re not worth it. Hating you isn’t worth it. I’ve been indifferent to you for a long time, but I’m going to stop remembering the bad things about you and bashing you. I’m going to stop remembering the good things too. I simply don’t care about you anymore.
When I broke up with you, you were so broken and hurt that I couldn’t ever say any of these things to you, even though I needed to. You wanted to know why I left. I couldn’t answer your question truthfully back then. Now, I’m done.