To J—

You were the first man I ever dated, but I wish I never met you. This is everything I wish I would’ve said, but I chose to spare your feelings. I wanted you to be happy, even if you tore me down to get it. You said you wanted to change me, which, honestly, made me insecure, but you can’t change the kindness I give for the people I care about. You said a lot of things you didn’t mean, made plans you never wanted to act upon, then discarded me like a used tissue. 

You wrote a letter. I burned it with a lighter then deleted it forever. You called yourself “a coward” for cheating, for not being transparent, for dragging this on because of “fear.” You broke up with me through text message, because I didn’t deserve a call, then apologized through an emailed letter. You said maybe this is closure for me, when, originally, I was angry because you weren’t transparent and couldn’t tell this to my face. You couldn’t even apologize to my face for what you did, and that, to me, is insincere. I was moving on until you sent that letter, but it was triggering. Highly triggering. And now I’m back to welling in the trauma that dating you caused. 

You also gaslit me.  You said our ideological differences in casual dating was okay, when it wasn’t because your carelessness hurt someone badly in that process. If you knew me, you know I don’t believe in casual dating, that the idea of it is disrespectful. You told me my depression and loneliness is completely and utterly my fault in one of my darkest times, which, yet again, is gaslighting. Everything you said to me feels like a lie, because of how toxic our relationship became. Combined with my declining mental health, this became lethal. 

It took me so long to gather the courage to date someone–I wish you weren’t my first. I wish we had never met. I wish I could’ve had your confidence, your cockiness in believing that you’re near-perfect. You’re privileged, I guess, in a way that you don’t deal with mental health issues, that you’re a man. Some of the little comments you’d make really got to me, about my family and friends, or about me. I don’t think you’re willing to accept and love people for the way they are, unless they’re mainly your standard. Maybe I’m wrong, because you failed to communicate. 

I don’t hate you. I’m just highly disappointed that this is how you treated me. You’d say “let’s be friends” while doing this to me, but is this how you’d treat a friend you cared about?

So go. Be happy. You might’ve traumatized me in the process, but I only ever wished the best for you.

—A