Here I am, letting another boy fill my head. I romanticized the idea of who you could be, hell, who we could be, instead of looking logically at the subtle and not so subtle ways you tried to drag me down - berating the things you know I loved, scoffing at my opinions when they were different from yours, talking shit about me behind me back to your friends and family. It’s much easier to play the victim, isn’t it? Easier to spin the story in your favor when woe-is-me. Leaving out the choice bits where you goaded me into anger, into submission, into fear. And then spitting out the story of how poor you, poor you sarah fought with you today. As if, as if I was the one who initiated the fight, who prompted the need for a fight because the large, damaged part of you just wanted something to mangle. Someone nice and rather pliable. Someone like me, who would “fold over” as you so nicely called it and apologize. Because that’s what you do when you hurt someone, you apologize, intention or not. I think you missed that valuable lesson because you were so famously good at hurting me then somehow convincing me that I only felt hurt because I was “too sensitive, too needy, too much work.” And when I called you on your shit, when I refused to allow you to disrespect me, you said that I didn’t “understand your sense of humor”. Well if your humor means being an asshole, then no, I fail to understand. I learned not to trust what you say, and still I stayed. Until you decided that there was no need for my presence anymore, easier for you to just “take space” with the pathetic attempt at “you’re great, sarah, you are.” I know, I’m fucking delightful. The problem was you were so busy tearing me down that it was too late before I noticed how the anxiety built, how my head was filled with thoughts of “how do I make you happy today? how do I avoid an argument?” flooded my head where it began to impact my work, my friendships, my routines. It’s over now, done and gone with. And yet, I find myself craving to talk to you, to tell you I’m sorry at how I handled things, I’m sorry for the way I behaved. Sometimes, I am. I’m not proud of how I reacted to you, but every action causes a reaction, as they say. You have a lot of shit you need to work on to overcome those underlying issues that have manifested into the miserable and negative person you are. I hope that you find that peace someday, buddy, because you sure need some of it. It sucks I was just some puppet, a rebound, someone to drag down when you felt miserable about your fucking life. But at least I get to continue to level the f*ck up as a person and live my life with as much sweetness and contentment as a I can, but you, you will never find someone like me.
