Michael,

Or Conner, or whatever fake name you’re using now…

I’m writing to tell you just how horribly you ruined my life. It’s been ten years since I was able to escape from you and that hell hole you kept me in.
Gotta say though, grooming a girl at 17 years old so she’ll be devoted to you at 18 was pretty slick, especially considering I had just gotten out of a three year relationship with my highschool sweetheart. You were, and probably still are, a pathological liar, and set me up for failure at a time when my life was just beginning. 

It started with just petty shit. I wasn’t allowed to get my own mail from the mailbox, nor was I allowed to open any mail addressed to me, I wasn’t allowed to carry my own birth certificate or social security card, I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone on the phone (including my own family) unless you were home to supervise, and you even let one of your stupid friends live with us so he could watch me and report to you if I did anything wrong! How fucking smart of you. Neither one of you would even let me use the toilet by myself for more than one minute. A whole sixty seconds to do my business and get out before you came in. 
Then you started getting mean after your friend moved out. I asked you to leave me alone to use the toilet, you basically yelled at me that I couldn’t be trusted to do so? Jesus Christ.

The first time you hit me I was completely dumbfounded. And what did I do? I dropped a cigarette ash, by accident, into the sink that I myself had just cleaned. Who the fuck does that? I still have a scar by the way.
Nearly 8 months of you using and abusing me finally came to a head one night when my sister was visiting. She was still sixteen or seventeen at the time, and I wanted her to come over to help me decorate the Christmas tree since, ya know, you wouldn’t help me and kept me from seeing my family for like 6 months. So when you gave me permission to have her over I was just so happy. Until I asked you where the scissors were so I could open a package of tree lights. 
Holy hell man, the way you screamed at me… It was absolutely nonsensical. You screamed and screamed… Over me asking where the scissors were. You eventually made me cry, to which you responded “oh for fucks sake!” and pulled the scissors from your desk drawer (where you said you didn’t leave them, mind you) and threw them at my head! Right in front of my sister who was also scared and crying. That was when I realized I needed to make my escape. I couldn’t tolerate it anymore, but of course, it’s always the darkest before the dawn so naturally you got to hurt me one more time.

The morning of the day I planned to leave, I was laying out your clothes out for work like I did every morning. Apparently the shirt I got out for you was the wrong one (you wore a god damned uniform, they were all the same) and so you screamed at me, and with my newfound resolve, I told you to get the right one yourself then. Your response was to punch me, fracturing my right orbital socket, and holding me to the wall by my neck. I passed out.
When I woke up, an hour had passed and you had already left for work. Instead of taking my time to get my things around in about 5 hours while you were gone for your 8 hour shift, I changed my mind, knowing you might come home early. So, in about two hours I packed up as many clothes as I could in a single backpack, made sure I had my most important things with me, leaving my engagement ring on your pillow, (the proposal was an excellent lovebomb to keep me around too, ya fuckhead) and I took off walking to my mother’s house. 

After many days you finally decided to bring the rest of my things to my mother’s. Your “I’m so sorry, please take me back!” and the crying almost got me. You almost got me. But nah, I couldn’t do it. I’ve not seen your face since then. You’ve gone on to use and abuse more women, stealing and lying, and moving to a new state with a new name every time your current victim had enough of your shit.

Me on the other hand, yeah, you made my life so hellish. I’m still in therapy and dealing with everything you did to me. But I’m getting better. I’m happy. I have a happy home with a wonderful husband and some amazing children. My life is good. And while I’d like to be the bigger person and say “well I hope you’re doing well because it’s better to forgive and forget” blah blah blah… But I can’t. You destroyed me and people seriously expect me to forgive and forget. Nah man. 
I hope you never have the happiness I have now. You don’t deserve it.
And so my parting words to you…

While I will never be able to forgive and forget, I do understand. These last ten years have given me some clarity, and I understand a little better now why you did the things you did… 
Every time you screamed at me, every time you belittled me, every time you made me cry, all the PTSD and nightmares and trauma, and even all the bruises you left on my skin…
None of it was able to fix your tiny dick.
Peace out, bitch.