An Open Letter to my Ex

Dear Exacerbating Ex,

I actually hope this finds you well.  I know how much you’ve struggled these past few years with your mental health and addictions.  I know that when I stole your pills, that was wrong.  Regardless of all the times you’ve stolen my pills or made me go to the doctor’s to procure you more drugs under the guise of you caring about me, it was wrong.  Two wrongs don’t make a right.

I want to make it clear that this isn’t a letter about me apologizing to you.  Because I don’t feel the need to apologize.  I have a lot of hurt in regards to you and this is my way of getting it out without having to contact you.  Let’s face it, if I did try to send you a copy of this, you’d try and twist my words around to make it seem like I’m the only one at fault and drag me to court for some convoluted reason.   But I did steal your pills and I did steal pills from you that you stole.

I want to point out all the red flags in our relationship so that I know what to look for and avoid in the future.  We first started talking online because of Narcissistic-Girl.  She lied to you about me and then she lied to everyone else about you.  You got her in the end when you managed to get evidence of her admitting her assault on you.  I’m sure that restraining order really came in handy, considering you harassed her to the point she would have said anything to get you to leave her alone.

When we started hanging out regularly, around 6 months after Narcissistic-Girl left the state, it was mostly because I was lonely and in recovery from my ankle surgery.  You ended up taking most of my drugs from that.  Of course, it’s also on me for wanting to see you happy.  We both know how much of a people pleaser I am.

Eventually, I stopped getting pills.  I had been out of surgery for a few months and I was healing nicely.  But you wanted more.  So you ran over my foot with your car.  I was on crutches again and you got my pills.  From then on, it was just constant with me ending up in the doctor’s office with some various injury which required narcotics.  Remember when my arm got severe second degree burns and you just made sure I didn’t put it under cold water so “it’d look worse”?  You told me to tell everyone I did it making ramen.  While the art of ramen is indeed a dangerous hobby, you actually took the pot, held my arm still, and poured boiling water on it.  I still tell people that it was ramen because telling them the truth, that I allowed myself to be sweet talked into such a painful injury for drugs and for the acceptance of someone as ‘awesome and cool’ as you, it makes me feel retarded.  I have scars from that.

I ended up getting emergency gallbladder surgery at one point.  I was gifted a stuffed bear and you threw it away because it came from Bitch-Face, despite there being an apology letter attached.  You also took most of the pills from that.  Yes, I was glad to see you happy, but at that point, you knew I was considered a vulnerable adult.  And still, you exploited me.

I’ll give you this, forcing me to get help for my ovary pain so you could get drugs was helpful to me in the end.  Without our addictions playing part, I would never have agreed to exploratory surgery and the endometriosis would never have been found.  Notice I said ‘our addictions’ there?  Because I should mention here that I was stoned too.  I was very high almost all the time.  And when we weren’t high, we were drunk.

I never really liked getting drunk.  By the end, you were begging me to drink with you and you were starting as soon as you woke up.  And we’d match drinks or you’d whine and pout and bitch and moan about how I was making you feel bad and like an alcoholic.  Honey, I got news for you.  You ARE an alcoholic.

In 2014, I had a very serious suicide attempt.  They put me in a medically induced coma because that was the only chance I had to survive.  We had been fighting that night and I overdosed on my anti-depressant and some xanax.  I took less than half of the bottle though, because you had the rest.

I don’t remember what the fight was about, but I do know that it wasn’t the first time we had fought and it was probably about drugs.  I don’t even remember taking the pills.  But I felt so trapped in that relationship.  You alienated me from my friends and family by feeding me lies and convincing me that my memories were false and the only one I could trust was you.  You would throw away my things if I stayed at someone else’s house to give us time to cool off when drinking.  You’d always say it was my fault somehow.

How long did it take for you to start hitting me?  At first, you promised you never would.  Then you would hit me several times because “that’s the only way I would learn”.  I even told Charon about that our first meeting because I still believed that.  Thank my various heathen gods that I know I can be taught without being punished now.  How fucked up would that be?  How fucked up is it that I sincerely thought that violence was the only way to teach me anything?

Despite the fact that I tried to explain to you that I sometimes just didn’t know social etiquette and I was so sorry that I said something you didn’t like, how often did you take to yelling at me and bringing me down because I displeased you?  I’m really asking.  I lost track after that night you beat me because I wouldn’t tell you where I hid the sharp things because you threatened to kill yourself.  I had a black eye and several bruises.  My skin is olive and it’s really fucking hard to bruise.  How hard did you punch and kick me?  You smashed my phone when I tried to call the police.

You would frequently get me drunk or high with you and force yourself on me.  Even if I said no and was firm, you wouldn’t let up until I said yes.  Even if I was trying to sleep or wanting nothing to do with such things.  Yet, any time I asked and you said no, I would back off completely.

And then, after all the shit you put me through, when I finally had enough and tried to off myself, why the fuck did you think it was to make you feel bad?  I remember screaming that I wished you had let me die when I woke up.  Sometimes I still wish that.  But I also remember that first night in the psyche ward when you came to visit me.  You asked why I tried to off myself in your bed and why I hated you so much and why couldn’t I talk to you.  You made it all about you and how you felt.  You never once asked me how I was doing with all of it.  It was all about you.  Even a year later, it was still about you.

My eating disorder was about you.  The eating disorder I have been struggling with since way before I met you.  I tried to get help for it but being with you hindered me.  You said that I was copying you and doing it for attention.  Yes, the eating disorder I had before I met you was me copying you.  You got me.  /sarcasm

The money you were always stealing from me, I know I’ll never see again.  I don’t know why you felt the need to lie about it though.  You had me so wrapped around your finger, you probably could have convinced me that I had given it to you freely.  Hell, by the end I was giving you all my money freely.  I just wanted you to be happy and I wanted you to show happiness and affection towards me.  But that never happened.  I was so fucking stupid, right?

I have a lot more I want to say to you.  I want to ask you why.  Why did you steal from our neighbor who was recovering from a heart transplant and then blame it on me?  Why did you call me at 3 in the morning at the beginning of the year trying to get an old email from 6 years ago?  Why did you then hack into my email and pretend to be me to Bitch-Face to try and get a copy? (Newsflash doll: I tend to spell things correctly and generally have good grammar.  Keep that it mind.)  Why did you send me another email a month or so back accusing me of raping you and getting you drunk and high when it was the opposite?  Why was everything that I liked stupid, but if I didn’t like something you did, I was stupid?  Why did you hate me so much?  Why?  Why?  Why???

I have to thank you, though.  Without the shit you put me through, I would never have become the person I am today.  I am so much stronger and so much more than you ever gave me credit for.  And without you stealing from the neighbor and kicking me out, I would never have gotten sober and I would never have lost all the weight I have.  I wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed.  And while I do hold a lot of anger towards you at times, most of the time I just feel bad for you.

I don’t know if I can forgive you.  I do know that I’m trying.  I also know that I have a long way to go before I’m completely healed and the nightmares of you stop.  It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?  Despite not seeing you for almost a year, I still have nightmares almost every night of you.   At least I’m getting help and moving on.  At least, without you in my life, I can feel good about myself again.  At least, I can finally look forward to tomorrow.

At least I’m not you.

-The Sarcastic Autist

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