Many people would tell me that I shouldn’t waste my time writing a letter to you; after so many years, I want to do this, if for nothing else, to take care of some emotional housecleaning. Back then, my parents hated you, while my brother thought you were fairly entertaining, and my friends thought I was a doormat where you were concerned. You knew all of this, and didn’t care – all that you were concerned with was how you were going to punish me for telling you that I wasn’t seeing anyone else, when I had been. My only defense was that we weren’t in an exclusive relationship; you were angry because I wasn’t honest, which was valid, except that you carried your anger to the extreme. What you didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand, was that the others were simple distractions, until I could see you. You should have said good bye to me, and gone back to your girlfriend. Instead, your plan was to hurt me to even the score. I stayed with you because I thought that if I did, it would prove to you that I really loved you, no matter what you did to me.
I slowly began to realize that nothing you ever did would be as bad as what I did to you, in your eyes. And when I asked you that question, you agreed. That was when I began to figure out that you never wanted a real relationship with me, and finally worked up the courage to leave you. Do you remember our last conversation? It was on the phone, and it lasted five hours. You had moved in with someone else, but still wanted to see me. I laid out exactly what I wanted, and you said that it would be impossible. When I hung up the phone with you for the last time, I felt as if someone had taken shackles off my hands and feet.
I’m writing to you now, because it’s been twenty-five years, and the memory of you is still like a cold chunk of metal in my heart. I can’t take it out, but I can admit that it’s there, and by writing it out, I can lessen its weight. I allowed you to be cruel to me, and never did anything to you, because I thought I deserved whatever it was you gave to me. I took your abuse, tolerated other women, and let myself be insulted, demeaned, and humiliated by you in front of everyone; I still have the scars, inside and out. I would bet my house that even now, you’re still an arrogant piece of work (and believe me, there’s another word I’m dying to use; I’m sure you’re still a smart guy, you know what it is), and even though it amused you to have the girl that you moved in with fight with me, I hope she had the common sense that I lacked for so long, and got as far away from you as possible, as quickly as possible.
I have no good words or kindness or good wishes for you – you damaged me beyond repair, and my only wish is that karma works for you in the way that it worked for me – I’ve paid for a lot of mistakes, one way or another; if you haven’t done so yet, I’m sure the invoice is in the mail.