I like how I confided in you, telling you something it took me seven years to admit to myself and months to admit to my therapist, hoping you would understand where in coming from and finally fucking understand
But no. You decide it’d be fun to make me feel like it’s my fault. You continue blaming me. You continue to guilt me and make me feel terrible about myself and my entire being.
And to top it all off, you think it’s fucking hilarious to make jokes about rape and child molestation.
Because rape jokes are always a fucking good idea.
Fuck you. I’m sorry I ever trusted you, and believed all the times you said you loved me and cared for me. You don’t do shit like that to people you love. I don’t know what the hell was going through my mind last November, but I’m glad I got over it-and quickly to. I used to beat myself over the heartbreak I caused you, but now I can’t help but have the sick satisfaction in knowing I hurt you as much as you did to me.
I don’t care if that makes me a dreaded person. People like you are the scrum of the earth. Not even Hitler and Lucifer’s love child would be as much of a monster as you are. Drown in your own feces, and get the fuck out of my life.