The Final Goodbye Letter
Dear B,
Our relationship was built on mental illness, substance abuse, and repetitive cycles. And the amount of dragging my name through the dirt you’ve done is almost impressive. I’m surprised none of it landed back on you. The “friends” I lost because of you ended up being a relief; anyone who sides with a manipulative abuser without ever speaking to the person who simply moved on is not someone I needed in my life. Smearing someone because your feelings were hurt is childish, and that’s exactly how it came across. You were even disrespectful to my closest friends — people who genuinely cared about you — because your ego was bruised.
One of the clearest differences between us is that I take accountability for the times I wasn’t a good person. I own my mistakes. You never have. Not once have you acknowledged your words, your actions, or your role in the collapse of our relationship. Instead, you chose to do things that were intentionally cruel, like throwing away or destroying meaningful, irreplaceable items from people who actually love me. And all because you ended the relationship, and months later I chose to move forward with my life.
What I understand now — after years of distance and healing — is what long-term emotional and mental abuse actually does to a person. It reshapes your sense of safety. It makes you question your own instincts, your own memory, your own worth. It conditions you to anticipate someone else’s reactions before you even consider your own needs. It teaches you to shrink, to over-explain, to apologize for things that were never yours to carry. And even after leaving, the effects don’t disappear. They show up in how you trust, how you react, how you protect yourself. I’m still working through all of that today.
And honestly, so much makes sense now — especially the things A told me years ago when she and I talked. She got into therapy after you, and I genuinely believe she grew from it. The way you spoke about her should have been a red flag for me, but in true me fashion, I ignored every warning sign because I thought I was in love. Or at least, I thought that’s what love was supposed to feel like. The funniest part is that you dragged my name just as hard — if not harder — than you dragged hers. And I’m sure you’ll tell your new girlfriend I’m “crazy,” the same way you told me A was, and J was before her. At some point, you have to look at the common denominator in all of these supposedly “crazy” women. Did you treat them the same way you treated me, then label them crazy when they reacted to your disrespect? Trust me, I’m not the only person who has put those pieces together.
The truth is, the relationship was stagnant. The same patterns repeated year after year. I heard “I only do this a few times a year” so often it became background noise, even as the list of substances kept growing — ketamine, whippets, LSD, cocaine, and more. It was always present whenever we were partying or even just gathering with friends.
Meanwhile, I started regulating my mental health. Once I did that, the substance use we both engaged in lost its appeal. I was moving out of that phase of my life, while you seemed to adopt a new drug of choice every year. I hardly drink now, I rarely use mushrooms, and I smoke weed. That’s it. I don’t need anything else because I’m not trying to escape my own mind. I’ve made my internal world livable. I worry you’re still trying to run from yours. To me, that’s stagnation.
And the reality is, I don’t ever see you not being who you are. You’ve shown the same patterns for years. You will likely continue using substances. You will likely continue repeating the same cycles with women, because you’re driven by lust and you couldn’t open up emotionally even to the person you dated for six years. Not once. Deep down, you operate from a wounded place — a child who lashes out at anyone asking for the bare minimum, whether in relationships, friendships, or even parenthood.
I grew up. I grew away from you. We weren’t even aligned in the same lifestyle anymore.
For many reasons, I don’t see a friendship between us ever being possible. I can be polite. I can handle surface-level conversation. But friendship isn’t on the table. The emotional and mental manipulation — which is abuse — created a level of trauma I won’t overlook. I’ve seen past the façade. I’ve seen the bitterness and the cruelty underneath.
We will not be friends.
