Dear *******,
I was trying not to be a crazy person who messages their ex, especially after such a long time, but there’s just a few things that I feel like I need to do. I wrote this ages ago and didn’t plan on sending it at all, but my shrink encouraged me to if I think it will help me. I really really don’t care about you anymore. That’s not at all what this is about. It’s more the opposite. The reason I’m writing this is because you don’t understand anything about me, or what you did and it drives me mad that you can just walk away from the problem and “actually have fun at uni”, but I can’t because the problem is me. In a way, it upsets me that you’re so happy now, and I’m not. I’ve been trying to just get over everything, but because of what happened, it’s… well… touched on a fair few other issues and I’m finding it hard to address them before getting this off my chest.
So, this is me, basically telling you how I feel and have felt all year. I don’t want you to reply or do anything. I just want you to read it and understand, and hate yourself as much as I hate you.
This doesn’t make you important. I couldn’t care less about you. I only care that I let myself open up to you and just started to let my guard down when I’d been pushing everyone else away for years. I’m sorry I wasted my time on such an emotionless manipulative prick.
I need to say this in order to feel better about my depression, and not think of it as disgusting as you thought it was. Because the way you looked at me and the things you said made me feel like a monster. That no one would ever help me or accept or love me the way I am, and that whoever I told would react the same way you did and want nothing more to do with me. But you’re wrong. I’m stronger than that and luckily I made myself realise that. I didn’t need you to do that for me, even though that, to be honest, would have partly been from you if you were a slightly more sensitive and compassionate person.
And I need to do this because I don’t want to make the same mistakes as I did with you. I don’t need to “move on”. I have. I just need to be able to trust people and not shut myself out again because I’m scared they will behave the same way as you. But he won’t. That’s why I’m so determined to get better and that’s why I’m doing this. Not only for me, but for him. Because I think I’ve finally found someone nice. And they’re very rare. Especially in men, seeing as they’re all bastards.
Oh, and also, don’t you dare be all happy and relieved that I got help because of you instead of killing myself. You don’t deserve any of the credit. You made it so much harder. In my head now, whoever I tell is going to freak out and not want to speak to me again. So, fuck you. You are anything but a nice person. You used to tell me that, but I always find it hard to believe it when it comes along with the words I love you.
Because you didn’t care at the time, and I was too blinded by still caring about you, and wanting you to want me, I’ll explain it to you now.
I’ve had depression for about 3 years. My ex never found out. He never saw my scars and I was never stupid enough to tell him. It got better for a bit periodically, including over summer, which was why I didn’t get help (hence why I didn’t want you reading my diary- I stopped writing about it at uni, because it made me feel worse). Then it started to get worse at uni. I was okay at first, but soon started feeling anxious about people a lot again, and work and money and just everything. Then I met you. I was flattered, but didn’t really like you to be honest, and I used to avoid you. Then I started to get to know you, and somehow thought you were actually quite a nice person, and interesting and funny. But I knew you never loved me. We had hardly known each other, and you either lied just to manipulate me into doing what you wanted, or you actually believed it, which isn’t your fault. You were lonely, I was new and different. I hope you’re lonely now. No one had ever said they loved me before.
You were one of the main reasons why I didn’t get help too. Obviously, there was the fact that I was terrified of speaking to anyone about it, and admitting that there was something wrong with me. But mostly, I didn’t want there to be something wrong with me, because I wanted you to like me. And I didn’t want you to leave me. If I had gone and got help, I couldn’t have told you (obviously from the way you reacted when you found out). And I would have felt horrible for lying to you, pretending to be fine. And I would have had to lie about the antidepressants I have to take every morning. And about my therapy appointments.
I’m not going to lie, it hurt so much when you broke up with me. Mainly the way you did it, I get that we wouldn’t stay together once you found out I was depressed. I wouldn’t have expected you to I guess, I knew you weren’t that kind of person really. Even though this sounds cliché, it’s just that you said you loved me, and I thought that meant something. To me, loving someone would mean I would do anything for them, and It wouldn’t matter what they do, I’d still love them. Which to be honest is a pretty bad quality for me to have, seeing as I end up changing and being manipulated by people, or forgiving them for assaulting me when I’m drunk. I unconditionally love people who love me, simply because I can’t love myself.
And you made it so hard to get help.
And seem much easier to kill myself.
I’m not saying it’s your fault, and it’s because you didn’t care anymore.
It’s because with you I always thought that you saw something that was valuable in me. That I must be special because you liked me.
But when you dumped me because I’m depressed, it felt like there was something horribly wrong with me, and that if I told anyone they would react the same way as you, and not want anything to do with me.
And that whatever was special enough about me, was good enough about me for you to love me, was not better than all the things that were wrong with me. That your love wasn’t bigger than your repulsion at my depression. That’s what’s really sad.
I didn’t have the guts to tell you before, but I drank so much because my depression and anxiety was worse when I drank.
So, I’d end up drinking more and more to feel better without realising it. Especially when I would pre at your flat because I felt uncomfortable and my depression was worse when I was at yours. But I’d only just started to notice what I was doing, and I was only just starting to try to manage to get on top of it, until that Tuesday we went out.
And the reason I smoke, and the reason I smoked so much that week before we broke up was because I do it instead of self-harming. Or killing myself. In case you think that’s weird, turns out cigarettes have mild antidepressant properties. Didn’t realise until after I’d started, but it’s nice to know that I wasn’t just using it as an excuse. I tried to make myself stop cutting when we started going out. That’s why I started smoking when we got together. In case you thought that was weird. That’s why I used to prefer having the lights low when we were having sex. I didn’t want you to find out, because you’d think it was disgusting. But you thought smoking was disgusting anyway. But I know that you are having fun at uni is more important than my life. Thanks for making that clear.
I want to make it clear that I have no intention of reporting it. I know it wasn’t anything too major but it still upset me. Especially because I didn’t argue with you about it the next day or before we broke up. And because you broke up with me 4 days later, after using me like that.
Seeing as you didn’t apologise the next day, or mention it at all every, I’m assuming that when you read that you didn’t understand what you did, so I’ll explain it to you now.
Okay so I was the most drunk I have ever been in my life, I was falling over, crying and telling you things which I would never every have told you if I knew what I was doing. I ran up to the bathroom to nearly be sick in the middle of sex, and fell over on the stairs. I suggested things I would never normally have done. And you found out that I had depression and wanted to kill myself and decided you would have to break up with me. I was vulnerable and emotional and unimaginable emotionally unstable. And instead of taking me back to my house, getting me some water, into some pyjamas and into bed to sleep it off and talk about it in the morning, you fucked me. Okay maybe you were drunk too, and I know I consented to most of it at the time but I was still horrified and disappointed in you for doing it. I would have thought that any decent human being would have tried to help me, rather than use me and see how far you could push me before breaking up with me.
Why would you even have wanted to have sex with me when I was such a mess? Unless you really are just an emotionless dick, or you were using me before you dumped me, which also makes you an emotionless dick. One thing I know is that you didn’t have sex with me because you loved me. Or because you wanted to make me feel better. You were selfish and cruel.
I hope you realise that I hardly remembered any of it the next day?? I know a few things that happened, and I know I consented to some of it, but you realise by law that if you’re that drunk you can’t actually give consent. I would never have had sex with you after that horrible night if I had been in my right mind. I don’t care if you were in your right mind. You should have looked after me. The only good thing I can say about you is that you at least got me on a bus and got me back to campus. God knows what might have happened to me otherwise being in that state. I might have been sexually assaulted by someone else instead. Then maybe you would have felt bad.
In case you still don’t get it, and I’m going to try and keep this pg because I don’t even want to say it, but you were doing something to me which you know I don’t want to ever do or try, and I told you to stop, but you said to me “but you liked it earlier”. Remember that? Well I was confused. I didn’t understand because I didn’t remember something which presumably you did to me minutes before. And I know that if I knew you were doing it at the time I would have stopped you. I KNOW I would have. I always told you I didn’t want to do that, you may not think it’s a big deal but to me it is. Because you used me and breached my trust. I thought you respected me more than that. But mainly because I WAN’T AWARE OF WHAT YOU WERE DOING.
I WASN’T AWARE OF YOUR FUCKING HANDS THERE.
Don’t you get that?? How bad that was and how fucked I was to not even feel it or register that?? And one of the other things I remember clearly was some confusion as to what you were doing to me before we actually had sex. I remember not feeling your hands, and asking you something like what are you doing, or are you doing it. I’m not mad because you did it. I’m mad because you knew how drunk I was. Don’t even deny it. Don’t make the excuse that well you were drunk too. You initiate sex. Even if I did you should have said no. You should have looked after me. You should have realised I didn’t know what was going on.
And to make it worse when you said that to me, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t thinking about whether that meant that you did it to me before and I didn’t realise. I was so fucked that I couldn’t think properly about it. I couldn’t come to the fucking conclusion of what that sentence meant. I was confused and didn’t know what was going on.
My shrink says I should report you. But I don’t want to. I guess I don’t know the full story either, but whatever your side of the story is, there is no excuse at all for what you did. And it makes me sick every day when I think I might see you or your flatmates on campus, or ******* in lectures. I don’t think of you, or how much I hate you when I see them. I think of what you did to me, and how disgusting I am and how you made me feel. And you made me feel broken and used and disgusting.
I guess the main reason that I’m sending you this is because of the guy I’ve met. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t had sex with people since you, but it’s changed since that night. I tried to force myself to, to push myself through it and just get over it but it’s really hard. I mainly slept with someone after we broke up because I felt like I was still dirty from that night. I hated that the last person who touched me did that to me. But to be honest I made it worse. Now I’m scared of it. I’m trying not to be. You probably think I’m overreacting, but you never understood the issues I already had with intimacy and people and relationships. Clearly. But I don’t want to be scared to be with someone I actually like, someone nice. Someone who won’t do that to me, who I don’t need to be scared of. Hopefully getting this off my chest will help. If not, maybe it’ll make you feel bad. I hope you feel bad. I don’t mean to be bitter, but it’s hard not to when you feel like this.
And I’m hoping that you won’t show this to anyone else. I’m guessing that you won’t because of the previous paragraph and I’m guessing you won’t want ****** or ****** or anyone to know what you did. I wanted to message you after we broke up too to say please don’t tell anyone I’m depressed. But I thought maybe I didn’t need to. Maybe you were a decent human being. But I don’t think you are. So, if you did tell them, just realise that my mum doesn’t know. My dad doesn’t know. My family doesn’t know. No one does. But these people who I’m not even friends with who I don’t even talk to know. I hope you realise how disgusting that is, and how disrespectful that is. I can’t believe I used to trust you, and that I used to care about you.
I don’t even care if I’ve tainted your memory of me. If you hate me now or pity me or just think I’m pathetic and disgusting. I just don’t want to feel like this anymore. And you completely destroyed my memory of you when you did that to me, so I don’t care.
I hate you so much.
I think even more than I hate myself.
Goodbye ********.
Have a spectacular life you prick.
I was trying not to be a crazy person who messages their ex, especially after such a long time, but there’s just a few things that I feel like I need to do. I wrote this ages ago and didn’t plan on sending it at all, but my shrink encouraged me to if I think it will help me. I really really don’t care about you anymore. That’s not at all what this is about. It’s more the opposite. The reason I’m writing this is because you don’t understand anything about me, or what you did and it drives me mad that you can just walk away from the problem and “actually have fun at uni”, but I can’t because the problem is me. In a way, it upsets me that you’re so happy now, and I’m not. I’ve been trying to just get over everything, but because of what happened, it’s… well… touched on a fair few other issues and I’m finding it hard to address them before getting this off my chest.
So, this is me, basically telling you how I feel and have felt all year. I don’t want you to reply or do anything. I just want you to read it and understand, and hate yourself as much as I hate you.
This doesn’t make you important. I couldn’t care less about you. I only care that I let myself open up to you and just started to let my guard down when I’d been pushing everyone else away for years. I’m sorry I wasted my time on such an emotionless manipulative prick.
I need to say this in order to feel better about my depression, and not think of it as disgusting as you thought it was. Because the way you looked at me and the things you said made me feel like a monster. That no one would ever help me or accept or love me the way I am, and that whoever I told would react the same way you did and want nothing more to do with me. But you’re wrong. I’m stronger than that and luckily I made myself realise that. I didn’t need you to do that for me, even though that, to be honest, would have partly been from you if you were a slightly more sensitive and compassionate person.
And I need to do this because I don’t want to make the same mistakes as I did with you. I don’t need to “move on”. I have. I just need to be able to trust people and not shut myself out again because I’m scared they will behave the same way as you. But he won’t. That’s why I’m so determined to get better and that’s why I’m doing this. Not only for me, but for him. Because I think I’ve finally found someone nice. And they’re very rare. Especially in men, seeing as they’re all bastards.
Oh, and also, don’t you dare be all happy and relieved that I got help because of you instead of killing myself. You don’t deserve any of the credit. You made it so much harder. In my head now, whoever I tell is going to freak out and not want to speak to me again. So, fuck you. You are anything but a nice person. You used to tell me that, but I always find it hard to believe it when it comes along with the words I love you.
Because you didn’t care at the time, and I was too blinded by still caring about you, and wanting you to want me, I’ll explain it to you now.
I’ve had depression for about 3 years. My ex never found out. He never saw my scars and I was never stupid enough to tell him. It got better for a bit periodically, including over summer, which was why I didn’t get help (hence why I didn’t want you reading my diary- I stopped writing about it at uni, because it made me feel worse). Then it started to get worse at uni. I was okay at first, but soon started feeling anxious about people a lot again, and work and money and just everything. Then I met you. I was flattered, but didn’t really like you to be honest, and I used to avoid you. Then I started to get to know you, and somehow thought you were actually quite a nice person, and interesting and funny. But I knew you never loved me. We had hardly known each other, and you either lied just to manipulate me into doing what you wanted, or you actually believed it, which isn’t your fault. You were lonely, I was new and different. I hope you’re lonely now. No one had ever said they loved me before.
You were one of the main reasons why I didn’t get help too. Obviously, there was the fact that I was terrified of speaking to anyone about it, and admitting that there was something wrong with me. But mostly, I didn’t want there to be something wrong with me, because I wanted you to like me. And I didn’t want you to leave me. If I had gone and got help, I couldn’t have told you (obviously from the way you reacted when you found out). And I would have felt horrible for lying to you, pretending to be fine. And I would have had to lie about the antidepressants I have to take every morning. And about my therapy appointments.
I’m not going to lie, it hurt so much when you broke up with me. Mainly the way you did it, I get that we wouldn’t stay together once you found out I was depressed. I wouldn’t have expected you to I guess, I knew you weren’t that kind of person really. Even though this sounds cliché, it’s just that you said you loved me, and I thought that meant something. To me, loving someone would mean I would do anything for them, and It wouldn’t matter what they do, I’d still love them. Which to be honest is a pretty bad quality for me to have, seeing as I end up changing and being manipulated by people, or forgiving them for assaulting me when I’m drunk. I unconditionally love people who love me, simply because I can’t love myself.
And you made it so hard to get help.
And seem much easier to kill myself.
I’m not saying it’s your fault, and it’s because you didn’t care anymore.
It’s because with you I always thought that you saw something that was valuable in me. That I must be special because you liked me.
But when you dumped me because I’m depressed, it felt like there was something horribly wrong with me, and that if I told anyone they would react the same way as you, and not want anything to do with me.
And that whatever was special enough about me, was good enough about me for you to love me, was not better than all the things that were wrong with me. That your love wasn’t bigger than your repulsion at my depression. That’s what’s really sad.
I didn’t have the guts to tell you before, but I drank so much because my depression and anxiety was worse when I drank.
So, I’d end up drinking more and more to feel better without realising it. Especially when I would pre at your flat because I felt uncomfortable and my depression was worse when I was at yours. But I’d only just started to notice what I was doing, and I was only just starting to try to manage to get on top of it, until that Tuesday we went out.
And the reason I smoke, and the reason I smoked so much that week before we broke up was because I do it instead of self-harming. Or killing myself. In case you think that’s weird, turns out cigarettes have mild antidepressant properties. Didn’t realise until after I’d started, but it’s nice to know that I wasn’t just using it as an excuse. I tried to make myself stop cutting when we started going out. That’s why I started smoking when we got together. In case you thought that was weird. That’s why I used to prefer having the lights low when we were having sex. I didn’t want you to find out, because you’d think it was disgusting. But you thought smoking was disgusting anyway. But I know that you are having fun at uni is more important than my life. Thanks for making that clear.
I want to make it clear that I have no intention of reporting it. I know it wasn’t anything too major but it still upset me. Especially because I didn’t argue with you about it the next day or before we broke up. And because you broke up with me 4 days later, after using me like that.
Seeing as you didn’t apologise the next day, or mention it at all every, I’m assuming that when you read that you didn’t understand what you did, so I’ll explain it to you now.
Okay so I was the most drunk I have ever been in my life, I was falling over, crying and telling you things which I would never every have told you if I knew what I was doing. I ran up to the bathroom to nearly be sick in the middle of sex, and fell over on the stairs. I suggested things I would never normally have done. And you found out that I had depression and wanted to kill myself and decided you would have to break up with me. I was vulnerable and emotional and unimaginable emotionally unstable. And instead of taking me back to my house, getting me some water, into some pyjamas and into bed to sleep it off and talk about it in the morning, you fucked me. Okay maybe you were drunk too, and I know I consented to most of it at the time but I was still horrified and disappointed in you for doing it. I would have thought that any decent human being would have tried to help me, rather than use me and see how far you could push me before breaking up with me.
Why would you even have wanted to have sex with me when I was such a mess? Unless you really are just an emotionless dick, or you were using me before you dumped me, which also makes you an emotionless dick. One thing I know is that you didn’t have sex with me because you loved me. Or because you wanted to make me feel better. You were selfish and cruel.
I hope you realise that I hardly remembered any of it the next day?? I know a few things that happened, and I know I consented to some of it, but you realise by law that if you’re that drunk you can’t actually give consent. I would never have had sex with you after that horrible night if I had been in my right mind. I don’t care if you were in your right mind. You should have looked after me. The only good thing I can say about you is that you at least got me on a bus and got me back to campus. God knows what might have happened to me otherwise being in that state. I might have been sexually assaulted by someone else instead. Then maybe you would have felt bad.
In case you still don’t get it, and I’m going to try and keep this pg because I don’t even want to say it, but you were doing something to me which you know I don’t want to ever do or try, and I told you to stop, but you said to me “but you liked it earlier”. Remember that? Well I was confused. I didn’t understand because I didn’t remember something which presumably you did to me minutes before. And I know that if I knew you were doing it at the time I would have stopped you. I KNOW I would have. I always told you I didn’t want to do that, you may not think it’s a big deal but to me it is. Because you used me and breached my trust. I thought you respected me more than that. But mainly because I WAN’T AWARE OF WHAT YOU WERE DOING.
I WASN’T AWARE OF YOUR FUCKING HANDS THERE.
Don’t you get that?? How bad that was and how fucked I was to not even feel it or register that?? And one of the other things I remember clearly was some confusion as to what you were doing to me before we actually had sex. I remember not feeling your hands, and asking you something like what are you doing, or are you doing it. I’m not mad because you did it. I’m mad because you knew how drunk I was. Don’t even deny it. Don’t make the excuse that well you were drunk too. You initiate sex. Even if I did you should have said no. You should have looked after me. You should have realised I didn’t know what was going on.
And to make it worse when you said that to me, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t thinking about whether that meant that you did it to me before and I didn’t realise. I was so fucked that I couldn’t think properly about it. I couldn’t come to the fucking conclusion of what that sentence meant. I was confused and didn’t know what was going on.
My shrink says I should report you. But I don’t want to. I guess I don’t know the full story either, but whatever your side of the story is, there is no excuse at all for what you did. And it makes me sick every day when I think I might see you or your flatmates on campus, or ******* in lectures. I don’t think of you, or how much I hate you when I see them. I think of what you did to me, and how disgusting I am and how you made me feel. And you made me feel broken and used and disgusting.
I guess the main reason that I’m sending you this is because of the guy I’ve met. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t had sex with people since you, but it’s changed since that night. I tried to force myself to, to push myself through it and just get over it but it’s really hard. I mainly slept with someone after we broke up because I felt like I was still dirty from that night. I hated that the last person who touched me did that to me. But to be honest I made it worse. Now I’m scared of it. I’m trying not to be. You probably think I’m overreacting, but you never understood the issues I already had with intimacy and people and relationships. Clearly. But I don’t want to be scared to be with someone I actually like, someone nice. Someone who won’t do that to me, who I don’t need to be scared of. Hopefully getting this off my chest will help. If not, maybe it’ll make you feel bad. I hope you feel bad. I don’t mean to be bitter, but it’s hard not to when you feel like this.
And I’m hoping that you won’t show this to anyone else. I’m guessing that you won’t because of the previous paragraph and I’m guessing you won’t want ****** or ****** or anyone to know what you did. I wanted to message you after we broke up too to say please don’t tell anyone I’m depressed. But I thought maybe I didn’t need to. Maybe you were a decent human being. But I don’t think you are. So, if you did tell them, just realise that my mum doesn’t know. My dad doesn’t know. My family doesn’t know. No one does. But these people who I’m not even friends with who I don’t even talk to know. I hope you realise how disgusting that is, and how disrespectful that is. I can’t believe I used to trust you, and that I used to care about you.
I don’t even care if I’ve tainted your memory of me. If you hate me now or pity me or just think I’m pathetic and disgusting. I just don’t want to feel like this anymore. And you completely destroyed my memory of you when you did that to me, so I don’t care.
I hate you so much.
I think even more than I hate myself.
Goodbye ********.
Have a spectacular life you prick.
