Dear G,
It’s been over two years since you told me to never message you again and almost 3 years since we broke up.
I miss talking to you. I truly hope you’re happy and doing well. I worry about you still; that stupid cliché is right, old habits die hard. When I spoke to our mutual friends about you during 1st and 2nd year, no one really knew anything. It made me think things are bad. I really wanted to reach out to you and tell you that you could talk to me if you needed to talk or something, which is really dumb. You wouldn’t want to talk to me. I’m shit to you. I was shit to you. I’m a shitty person, I know that.
I don’t even know how to coherently write this.
I’m sorry I cheated on you. I know that doesn’t solve anything.

At the time, I didn’t know how to tell you why I broke up with you because I was way too immature (not to say that I’m that much more mature now). For the three years of our relationship, I wasn’t mature enough for what each of us was going through. We both had mental issues.. I was drowning, and you were drowning. It was less than a year before we first got together that I tried to kill myself and you had anger issues, amongst other demons. We were both fucked up.
I loved you with my all heart. I wanted that white picket fence we talked about at 11:11. I wanted to take care of you and help you, even though I didn’t know how to help myself. I fucked up by becoming invisible; I couldn’t communicate with you. Once I was trying to tell you about my stress and anxiety and you told me that I was being selfish and need to stop. So I stopped, for the rest of our relationship. (I mentioned it to you once after we broke up and you didn’t remember ever saying it. I remember.) So I continued trying to help you with your issues, but I just neglected my own. I felt trapped; I loved you and I was worried about you and your health. I didn’t see how I could leave; you just always seemed to need me or my reassurance.
I broke up with you because I spent the majority of the three years trying to take care of you, meanwhile feeling like less and less of a person and partner. That wasn’t your fault though. That was my fault because I wasn’t mature enough to know how to take care of myself. I was drowning but trying to keep you afloat somehow. I was stupid. And I did what I could to help you; when you ran away, when you didn’t go to school, when you just shut down. Not that I have much of a right to talk about my pain, but when you asked me ‘did you even love me?’ when we were sitting at the back of our high school, it hurt. It seriously hurt. It’s like the three years I spent trying to love and help you was for nothing if you didn’t even know I loved you.
I cheated in the summer at camp which I know sounds like a bad teenage film. I knew him from the year before. He listened to me, he didn’t tell me I was selfish so I felt like a person worthy of expressing emotions again; which I know sounds melodramatic as fuck, but it’s true. I just felt heard and I loved it because I felt silenced with you. So when he leaned in and kissed me, I didn’t push him away. I felt like someone wanted me for what I had to say, not what I could do for them. After that I spent the rest of that night and every following night crying. And crying. And crying. My sister was going through her break up with her boyfriend who cheated on her repetitively so seeing her in pain and imagining I did that to you was just … I don’t know how to describe it because any word I use somehow undermines the pain I put you through.
When I told you, half of me was hoping you’d hate me and break up with me, that way I wouldn’t have to live with the fact you still loved me after I cheated. It’d be easier if you just hated me and dumped me – that would be my punishment. But you didn’t, you wanted to continue.
I remember trying to fix things after that. I wanted to fix the disconnect I felt with you. Do you remember the anniversary gift from that fall? I tried to bring everything good together, to remember why ‘you gave me fever.’ But it still wasn’t right. I still felt like I was somehow your emotional doormat and that I was just a fading person in the background of your issues.

Also I need to confront something that we never really acknowledged. You raped me. Do you remember on the rug in my room? I was crying and said to stop; you didn’t. A moment or so after you finished you started crying. I immediately started to console you, telling you it’s okay. It wasn’t. I was afraid of you. You’re 6 feet, did MMA and had anger issues. And you just raped me. And I loved you. I was afraid. Did you really ever look at me in the face during sex after that? I was pretty much always in pain because I didn’t want to be there with you pushing yourself in me. You would ask me to make noises so you could get off. You knew they were fake noises. You told me to come up with sexy stories. You knew those were fake too. I was afraid of you, the person I loved and tried to help. Do you remember that time after you left my house that you called my sister and asked her to check on me? Because I was just frozen and just kind of curled away from you in my bed. I was afraid of you. I had rug burn on my back after that first time you raped me. Now I hate friction like that against my back, it makes me feel like I’m back there under you crying. When I’m at the gym, I don’t do the normal leg presses that are inclined because it hovers slightly over me and reminds me of you on top of me. I get anxious and feel like I’m going to drop the weight on myself as if I’d get crushed by you. So I don’t have sex on rugs, and I use the vertical leg press.

I just want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice and hear you’re okay.
Every few months I listen to your songs just to hear you again. I really want the best for you. I want you to be happy. I hope that the fish aren’t swimming away from you now.
A part of my heart will always love you,
T.

(BTW, I didn’t write a title. It says that they’ll write one for me so I’m curious to see what they’ll put)