I’ll get all of the thank you’s out of the way, so you can’t throw back all the “but I’s” when I tell you that you robbed me of my spirit. Thank you for jump starting my car on cold nights. Thank you for offering your advice in big life decisions. Thank you for loving me in the best way you knew how. But despite these thank-you’s, you were the man they warned me about. The one who added an unnecessary and devastating heaviness to my life. The one who had manipulated me into believing the tragic lie that love is supposed to be painful. The one who, after which, I will never be the same.
Despite carrying the burden of this extra emotional weight: I stayed. Maybe because I felt like I owed you something: my time, my energy, my body, my loyalty. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stand the thought of love falling apart. Maybe it was because I was afraid you wouldn’t know how to function without me cushioning the blows of your reckless behavior. Or maybe I stayed because I was afraid no one would ever love you like I would love you, and I knew how much you needed love in your life.
Somedays I struggle with the term “mental abuse.” I’ll tell myself that it’s too severe, or overdramatic, or self-pitying. Other days, I’m confident that it’s exactly the vocabulary I need to explain the destruction you caused. And I am sorry to tell you that somedays referring to you as my “ex-lover” or “first love” feels wrong, when I think of all the depression episodes, mental anguish, and panic attacks that lived and died in our time together. If you love someone you don’t make them hate themselves. If you love someone you don’t watch the suffering you inflict, and stay. So, I’m not sure I ever loved you, because if I really loved you, I would have let you go—for both our sakes.
This is the letter I should have written you a long time ago, the one with all the tragedies I couldn’t confront then. Somehow you trained my brain to believe that you were never deserving of anger. All your thoughtless moments and self-destructive habits were my fault, after all. Every time you didn’t tell me you loved me was just proof that I was too exhausting Every time I wished you put more time into our relationship was just a testament to my own unrealistic expectations. You made me feel small. You made me feel un-loveable. You made me feel incurably flawed.
But on days that I don’t hate you, I know that I was partially to blame your toxicity. Not because I didn’t love you. Not because I didn’t always think of your best interest. But because of the sad and twisted world we live in, where two people can be in love, but still can be tragically incompatible. Sadly, I brought out the ugliest side of you, just like you introduced a side of me I hope no one else will ever know. Most of the time, I attribute this to our vastly different goals, and values, and priorities. Other days, I’m comforted by the idea that you’re this way, simply because you haven’t learned how to properly love a person, and that you’re nothing but a ball of chaos, and destruction, and pain that someone else will have to take the time to unravel.
Despite the anger I have for you, I do not, and will not resent you, because you aren’t worth any ounce of my energy anymore. I will not hate you for the times you answered my calls and hung up because you “didn’t have time to talk to me.” I will not hate you for all the times you blamed me for falling behind in school, as if I was chore. I will not hate you for all the doors you slammed in my face, because you only knew how to deal with your aggression by taking it out on me. I will try and forget the tables you punched, and the shirtless photos you posted online, and all the days where you made promises you didn’t keep. But I hope you remember it all. I hope you remember all the times you joked about my body. I hope you remember mocking me for my passions. I hope you remember causing me pain, and never thinking twice.
And though I write this, resisting the urge to correct this thinking with “But I was toxic, too.” My infractions were only on the basis of loving you “too much.” While yours were built on a foundation of anger, and spite, and disregard for my emotional well-being. All I can ask is: why would you punish someone for caring so deeply?
Now for one more thank you, thank you for being the best lesson I could have ever asked for. You were a reminder that no matter how much two people want to be in love with each other, sometimes it will never be enough. You were a harsh and brutal lesson that two people can not only be incompatible, but poisonous to one another. And I hope someday you, too, learn that love was never supposed to feel that way. But mostly, I hope that someone out there brings out a side of you that is loveable, and stable, and willing to be in love. Because I will only ever know a man that I hate—and I am okay with that.