I should have left you when you took me to a sad little rave-boy club and lamented “that girl stole my flow…” while you pitifully glared at a drunk tween wielding glowsticks like they were warding off invisible attackers.  I wish I’d taken the embarrassment of being with you that moment to heart because it was so far from the last time I would be just horrified to be with you in public, much less anywhere else.

You were always gross, always selfish, always so self serving.  At first I thought you would be somewhat wiser than someone within my own age range, but after a few weeks it became clear that you were completely empty inside with no desire for personal growth.

But you’d hooked your claws in, paid off my school loans without my consent and guilted me into continuously paying you back.  You tried to convince me that my family was conspiring to keep me locked in debt and that if I ever wanted out that I needed to trust you.  And when that didn’t work, you just started taking all the money I had worked for.

When that pitiful excuse for a man tried to kill me while I was out there working nights to pay you back, you weren’t angry.  You had no reaction other than to tell me there was a bottle of whiskey in the fridge and that I needed to wait for you to come home so you could drag me into your truck, make me re-live every second of it HOURS AFTER IT HAD HAPPENED while you traced his way back home and made me watch him walk away, safe and sound.

I should have left when you started making plans for ME to kill that man.  There was still no anger in you, just a resentment for him getting something out of me that you couldn’t capitalize on.  You went about the whole thing with the same affectation as you did when you were working on your bike; it was the same look as when you thought “ooh! A new project!”  And when I told you that this trash wasn’t getting any more from me than he got that night, that I wasn’t going to sacrifice the rest of my life for your pathetic satisfaction, you did everything you could to make it clear how disappointed you were, you poor, poor, thing.

At the time I didn’t see any way out from you.  Everything was tainted with the shame and resentment you’d filled my life with.  Somehow at the age of 21, I settled and felt lucky that I had gotten the little that I had out of life.  I assumed I’d end up killing myself when I just couldn’t take any more of you.  I honestly don’t know how I lasted as long as I did; you went through my phone and email, you stalked me at work claiming that you were “protecting me” even though we both know that couldn’t be farther from your interest, and you never stopped hurting me.

You hurt me so many times whining that “it just felt so good, I couldn’t stop…”  YOU SAID THIS TO SOMEONE YOU “LOVED”, WHO HAD BEEN VIOLENTLY BRUTALIZED.  And you treated it like it was my problem, nevermind my begging you to stop, and certainly don’t mind all the infections and lacerations.  I should have wanted to kill you, but I was so warped by then that I didn’t care what happened to me anymore.

…and then I met S, and he woke me up.  I won’t bother trying to explain what love is like to you because it is so obviously beyond your comprehension, but being with him cleared away all the horrible fog you’d left me to rot in.  Suddenly I was bursting with life and love, and all the things that I am being pushed through the surface for the first time in years.  It gave me the strength to leave you.  I was so shocked at how you crumpled when I told you I wasn’t going to harbor any more of your horrid little story within me.  I wish I’d cut your strings earlier.  If I’d have known how much you were going to cry, I would have saved your tears in jars to sprinkle about on special occasions.  I even tried to be friendly with you for a short period before you started throwing your delicious little man tantrums in public; it was a loss of time, but well worth watching you devolve.

I saw you in town a few months ago and you looked awful and hopeful that I’d want to talk to you.  The only open conversation I would ever want to have with you in the future is the one where I communicate to you how easily your skull would crack from being repeatedly smashed with a brick (demo included), but you’re not worth the time or cleanup I’d have to do.

S and I have been married for a few years now, loving, laughing and learning together.  I am so glad I kept myself around long enough to meet him.  I honestly don’t think its even relative to the death camp of our relationship: the love, curiosity, understanding, passion and awe I feel with S. makes my insides ache for more on a daily basis.

Do I still want you to meet a horrible end?  Certainly!  And I can’t think of any better way to do that than to leave you to the pitiful, empty life you’ve built for yourself.

P.S.  I never found you physically attractive, and you’re just looking worse and worse as the years go by.