The Emerald City


A Letter of Catharsis (had to be said, so deal)

Posted in letters,life,rage,relationships by Scaramouche on 31 January, 2008

Dear ______:

3 years ago, you and I dated for about five months. We were both in Grade 9. Both fourteen. You were my first boyfriend. I was what… your ninth? It was five months, wasn’t it? I’d like to say I can’t remember, but I do. Everything. I remember all you did. The lies. The guilt. The pain. Let’s itemize, shall we?

First. You are aware that I was a fourteen-year-old girl, right? You were my first boyfriend, the only guy who’d ever thought I was pretty. I was a kid. I didn’t know what real relationships were like. So I let you do things to me that I was not ready for. You made me go farther than I should’ve. A month into our relationship, I’d already done pretty much everything but actual sex. You would use me as nothing more than just an object. Make me pose for you. Make me do things to you. Make me let you do things to me. When I said no, I didn’t want to, you used guilt trips to make me feel like I was the one doing the wrong thing. You made me feel like if I said no, I’d either lose you, or I’d be the one hurting you. I thought I loved you. I agreed.

You lied to me. You’d pretend to like something just to make me like you more. You pretended to know things you didn’t, in an attempt to impress me. LYING DOESN’T MAKE ME LIKE YOU MORE! I felt betrayed, knowing you willingly deceived me. Knowingly deceived me. I felt weak and stupid, seeing how easy it was for you.

You physically hurt me. Remember the day you slapped me across the face? Remember how you initially spouted some bullshit about how you “thought I was someone else” – we’d been talking for a good half hour at that point, dumbass – and then said that it was my fault. My fault. It was always my fault. When you dislocated my wrist – which still gives me trouble, by the way, as it is right now – you said it was my fault.

It was always my fault with you, wasn’t it? You’d use things against me. Money you spent for me, gifts you bought me, unasked, would be used as leverage. Ways of making me feel as though I owed you. Like I didn’t deserve you. Like I was ungrateful. You selfish son of a bitch.

All that you did, I accepted. I still, foolishly, believed I was in love with you. Eventually, this culminated in you breaking my heart when I said I wanted to stop everything sexual. It left lasting scars, by the way.  I’m not going to say the most severe, because family members read this blog, but I still feel guilty whenever a guy spends money on me. I still feel like I have to rush the sexual side of relationships. Until very recently, I felt as though it was impossible for males to feel love. Because throughout this torture, YOU INSISTED THAT YOU LOVED ME. Hah. My wrist still hurts me daily. (On the ground screaming, you still didn’t stop twisting my hand.) And it is practically IMPOSSIBLE for me to feel beautiful. I don’t trust ANYONE when they say I’m pretty. Because you said I was, and you lied about everything else. Oh, and you remember this little line?

“I tell you you’re beautiful and smart, even though you’re NOT.”

You actually said that to me. You son of a BITCH! Why… what was going through your mind as you said these things? Did you think that you were honestly doing the right thing? Did you honestly think that was the right way to treat your girlfriend? REALLY? Thanks for the insecurity complex.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Right now, and for the rest of my life, all I want is for you to die. Just fucking DIE. You BROKE me.  Congratu-fuckin-lations. You’ve ruined me forever.

I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY YOU GODDAMN FUCKING DEMON.

–A.

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One Response to 'A Letter of Catharsis (had to be said, so deal)'

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  1. Craig said,

    Huge HUG

    You are held in great esteem by your friends for your wit, charm, talent, intelligence, generosity, and yes, beauty.

    Time and good healthy relationships will help heal the non-physical damage.

    Until then, know that you are loved.

    C


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