The more people love me, the greater the ache becomes that you couldn’t.
The more people help me rebuild the damage that you left behind, the more I can feel the pain of the wreckage.
The healthier I become, the angrier my heart grows at how sick you allowed, watched, encouraged me to become. “My little fiend”, right?
The easier it is for people to consider my feelings, the harder it becomes for me to look at you with any sort of love or empathy, the person who was supposed to love me the most, the person I trusted the most, when all I have are memories of the times you told me I was erratic and unreasonable.
The more I watch myself react out of trauma because of the way YOU made me defend myself, how every fucking day during my time with you, you told me I wasn’t understanding, and now I cant say anything to anyone without rehearsing it in my head a million times, bending over backwards to make sure I don’t come across as selfish or assuring the person that I am not the person that YOU made me believe I was, the more tired I become.
The more I watch people cherish me, and show me grace, the more I realize how much you actually fucking hated me by the end.
The more I experience fear every single time my heart feels peace, the more I realize how scared I was of losing everything, all of the time.
You WERE my everything. And you just kept leaving. Over and over and over no matter how fucking hard I tried to meet every single demand, to exceed every expectation, no matter how many times I waited for you in the dark while you chose to give yourself to every single thing, and to every single person, everyone except for me.
The more people try and assure me that they will stay, the more I realize that the only person I’ve ever believed actually would, was you.
The more my life completely changes and the more yours stays the exact same, the more I realize that I never meant anything to you. It made no difference to your future if I was a part of it or if I was just another picture you could show to strangers at the bar.

I wish I could say I didn’t care about you anymore. Instead, I look for you over my shoulder everywhere I go. I’m constantly on guard when I am anywhere but home or work. But not because I hope to see you. Rather, I am beginning to forget your features, the way your voice sounds, the creases by your eyes when you smile. I am terrified of seeing your face and losing that progress, so I am constantly watching, afraid I will run into you and have to go back to seeing you every time I close my eyes.
I wish I could say I didn’t care about you anymore, that I was indifferent to you. That you were just a mistake that I learned from. That I don’t regret it because even though there was pain, I learned something and I am better for it.
But that would be a lie, and unlike you, I have never been good at saying anything but how I really feel.
I know I still care about you because I fucking hate you. I am not indifferent to the memory of you because the thought of you fills me with so much rage and grief that it makes me sick. I hate you for everything you did to me. I hate you for making me believe for so long that I was someone I was not. I hate you for making it so hard for me to enjoy my life now without it being wrapped in grief and fear. I hate you for destroying any trust I have that someone could actually love me, that someone would stay.
I may be getting better now, I may have learned lessons that will help me moving forward, but if I could,
I would give anything to have never met you.