You. You were it. My love. My world. My everything.
I gazed at you from behind rose colored lenses. No. That’s not right at all. I saw you through a thick ass, triple tinted, full face mask of absolute and utter devotion. Love is blind, right? But now… I’ve been so removed for long enough that my eyes have adjusted to a clear view. Now I understand why no one else ever cared for you, never wanted to be around you, couldn’t see what I did.
You’re just… UGH. You’re manipulative and cruel, narcissistic and abusive, judgmental and elitist. You have no friends, no one close to you, really. And resting bitch face? That’s for amateurs. No, you’ve mastered the full on active dick face. Your mommy issues, daddy issues, anger issues, lack-of-hair issues, ED issues. You’re a control freak. It’s your way or no way at all. You never met a compromise you didn’t run from.
I walked on eggshells, even when you weren’t around, never knowing when you’d make a surprise appearance. Usually to do something to hurt or embarrass me. Your mood was constantly unpredictable, darting from one extreme to the other. You insulted everything about me: my job, my friends, my hair, the way I dressed, my intelligence. I mean… you may not be wrong there. I stayed with you for way too long, so the matter of my intelligence is up for debate.
You wear designer labels and flashy watches to distract from the fact that there’s just not much there to see. You’re careless and reckless, but because you have some money in the bank, you believe you’re better than everyone else.
And laaaaaazy. Geez, if I spent one tenth the amount time playing video games and lying around watching tv as you do… I mean, you’ll tell anyone who never asks how you surf, snowboard, and work out. 6 & 1/2 years and I saw you do any of those things ONCE.
You drive like an asshole, have periodontal disease, and never really quite figured out how to make a decision and stick to it.
Are you handsome? I always thought so. The only time anyone else commented on your looks was when you were in a photo with me. Never in person. You thought you were a “regular” at several bars my friends worked at. You knew their names, said you were friends. Not a single one of them had a clue who you were.
Your sense of humor is crass and uncomfortable, unless you were vibing off my jokes. I mean, you telling me you’d love and protect me forever was pretty funny, though.
I thought I could love you so much that you’d start learning how to do it yourself. Spoiler alert: I guess now I know why no one else ever stuck around or made an effort.
You’re not special, never were. I was what made you someone to notice, interesting in any way.
And your fancy job you’re so proud of? You lied to get your position, faked your background, and lied to me about your title to sound more impressive. Felons don’t get security clearance, after all. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. My goal was never to ruin your life, unlike your plans for mine.
How I was unable, or why I was unwilling, to see the real you for beyond any reasonable amount of time is truly a mystery I’ll never solve. But I don’t need to. You’re no longer my problem to find a solution to.
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