01/05/2011

Dear You,

I hate your filthy stinking guts. I hate every second of my life that I spend thinking about you, a common occurence these days. I want to take a soldering iron to my brain and burn away every memory I have of the two of us. I want to picture in my mind every good day I had with you, every time you made me laugh so hard I couldn't breathe, every time you kissed me goodnight before you left my house - picture it in my mind then paint it on a canvas, and then hide that canvas in the attic so I never have to look at it again.

I want to rage at you every time something reminds me of our three years together. When I flip through the channels and see that Criminal Minds is on I want to scream and throw my remote at the TV. When I go to Taco Bell and place my order, then start to eat and see those stupid little squares of red crap I want to throw it out the window because you always remembered to tell them "no tomatoes" when I forgot. And then I'd smile at you or squeeze your hand. And now I despise tomatoes all the more.

I don't want to think of what you're doing now, or who you're with, or how your classes are going. I don't want to care about whether you're happy or not. I don't want to hope that you're missing me. I want you to cease to exist. And if you have a new girlfriend I want to punch her in the teeth because that was my spot.

I'm so mad that you haven't tried to call, or write, or text. I told you I never wanted to talk to you again, but forever is a long time. I texted you a month after we hung up, just to say goodbye, because the way we ended the call didn't do our three years justice. I told you, please don't text me back but I have to say this to you. I sent it first thing in the morning and then jumped in the shower, terrified that you would text back but also terrifed that you wouldn't. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when I heard my phone go off. I tried to stay away from my phone for as long as I could stand it, then I turned on the screen.

This isn't ****'s phone number anymore, sorry.

So I hate you, and I hate how pathetic I've become. But I hope you're having it hard too, because three years is a long time. I hope you're having a worse time than me, even though I know that's not true. You were always stronger than me. You were always my rock, my foundation. No matter how hard the wind blew or how fast the world seemed to be spinning around me I could always hold on to your hands and feel completely secure. And now you're gone, and it's been six months and I feel a little lost in the world. And for that, I blame you.

Did you know that I can't even look at other guys anymore? If a boy smiles at me as I pass him I quickly put on that fake, cheesy smile of mine and then look at the ground or pull out my phone. Why? Because you trained me to do it, you bastard. When I told you that the checkout guy at the grocery store was flirting with me you pushed me off the couch and wouldn't talk to me for an hour. Even after six months, I can't shake that mentality. So thanks,

Even the fact that I'm writing this is pathetic. You've probably moved on, and here I am, stuck on you.

Still, after writing this I feel purged, as if exhuming my anger and frustration would allow my feelings to finally burn out and blow away. I want to forget you, to set the canvas on fire and never think of you. When a boy looks at me and smiles I want to smile back and say hi. So I'm going to never think of you, or move on, or start taking care of myself or whatever it is that people do when their reality crumbles around them. So goodbye, and I hate your filthy stinking guts.