I’ve written you countless letters you’ll never read. Including this one.

Every day the feeling of missing you gets stronger. Convincing myself not to message you gets harder, but I never do. You always said my pride was going to get in the way of my success, but right now, it’s the one thing that’s keeping me from contacting you. Keeping you out of my life is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s making my life overall so much easier. We’ve been broken up for months but recently we’ve stopped speaking cold turkey I suppose.

I don’t understand why I want to talk to you so badly, and I hate myself for it. I want to say we were both equally at fault. That it takes two to argue. That if I’m going to consider myself a mature adult, I need to realize I can’t put all the blame on one person, or play the blame game at all. But this time, I really don’t think I can do that. I know there were times I had messed up. I’m not perfect and I never will be. But you’re something else. You were hypocritical and cynical. And manipulative, to the point where I was so blind I gave up my friends for you at your mercy. You’d ask me for things I simply could not give you. I could have given you the world and you’d get angry because it wasn’t round enough.

When I caught on to this attitude, I’d call you out for shooting me down. I wanted to make you happy. I did everything in my power. Yet you’d go on about how I didn’t love you or care enough. You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with. It hurt to think you felt that way. I continued trying to prove my worth to you, but this would only hurt me in the long run. I constantly put myself at risk for you. You never put that into consideration. But I was still head over heals.

Everything wrong in our relationship was my fault according to you. If I just did what you told me to, we would be okay. Sometimes, I believed you. I’d quickly get a hold of my senses and understand that I was allowed have certain things and to go places and talk to people without your permission. I’d use that argument, hoping you would open your eyes, but you never did. You would pull me away from the dinner table and have me argue on the phone with you for hours until I gave up. I’d have to do the things I liked behind your back. I’d have to lie to your face about what I was doing to be happy. Almost happy, because I don’t like lying. I’d live in constant fear that you would catch me in a lie and break it off

You said if I ever did a certain thing, it would be over. When our relationship started getting rocky, you did that exact thing and cried to me about how much regret you were feeling and how sorry you were. And I forgave you. Because if I ever did something like that, which I never did, not while we were together, I’d want your forgiveness too. And though I had never committed such acts, I would never receive any kind of forgiveness from you when I messed up throughout our entire relationship. You’d throw whatever it was in my face, and I continued to beg for your pardon. I could only have friends you approved of. You’d always make me choose, and I’d choose you. I realize now that I do not need someone like that in my life. You were not worth the hassle.

What I wish I’d told you, was the word “no.” At this point, our relationship was about what pleased you. We had broken up before, and though I knew in the back of my mind it was going to end up in a train-wreck, (again), I agreed to get back with you. I should have said no. When you told me I needed to let go of my friends and pay more attention to you, as if I wasn’t giving you every second of my day anyway, I should have said no. When you asked for pictures, or to do certain things I wasn’t in the mood for, I should have said no. This went on for weeks.

I just wanted to make you happy. I wanted to give you the world, moon, and stars. When you said, “the only way our relationship is going to work, is if you do what I tell you,” I should have said fuck you, and walked out. I didn’t. I hate myself every day for this. For not learning soon enough that I can’t let anybody use me as a doormat. For not realizing, after two years, that I shouldn’t put some worthless bastard’s happiness above mine.

And after all this time healing, trying to forgive myself, and learn to cope with what I put myself through being with you, I still wonder what you’re doing right now. I still give you thought. I still want to catch up every now and then. Being with you was emotionally draining, mentally damaging, and physically exhausting. Yet here I am, contemplating whether I should check in.

I’d sometimes like to think this is just a break for us and that we’re going to get back together soon enough, but I cried more times being with you than I ever did after we had broken up. As a matter of fact, I haven’t cried about it at all. And that says quite enough.