Thank you for the nod that you’re still alive. Oddly enough, I still care quite a bit.
You were starting to look like my uncle
and act like him
and I didn’t want to be in a relationship with my uncle.
I’m sorry, but it just made shit weird for me.
You’ll find somebody, or you’ll go batshit crazy.
Just, please, don’t stalk me.
I do still love you.
I never want to see or hear from you again, but…yeah.
I want you to be okay.
I want you to find someone that will make you happy.
You chose your family.
I can’t begrudge you that.
I couldn’t live with that decision, because your family fucking hated me…
It had so little to do with anything else.
It’s funny, but I’ve almost completely extracted myself from that toxic environment I found myself mired in for eight years.
It’s been eight fucking years, and I’m still not okay.
I walk off my job swearing and not giving a shit whether I’ll have the job tomorrow.
I fight with inanimate objects and expect to win.
But I lose.
I’m still a loser.
You and your husband are the biggest fucking losers I’ve ever met.
That you get defensive about being called out on it just reaffirms how fucking miserably insecure you are.
You don’t have anything on me, and even if you did, why would I care?
Just like me.
I’m going to go make a cheesecake
and garlic bread
even though I’ve been living off of oatmeal and have no intention of eating any of what I make today
It’s not about me.
Don’t make it about me.