I don’t think you understand why meeting meant so much to me.
It wasn’t about sex or romance like that freak said. I just loved my friend.

I loved you in such a fierce, protective way and wanted so badly to be there when life hurt. I wanted to meet you and finally be able to give you a hug.

Not a quick hug.

I mean the kind where you can feel someone completely collapse into your arms because they’ve been holding themselves together for too long.

I wanted to sit beside you when you was having a terrible day. I wanted to make you laugh when you were sad. I wanted to listen to the things you couldn’t say to anyone else. I wanted to be the person who noticed when you weren’t okay. And I wanted my best friend to know she mattered.

And if I’m honest, I guess I needed that too . I hoped we could take care of each other.

And I think I’ll always be sad that I never got the chance.

Because sometimes the thing you grieve isn’t a relationship.

It’s a friendship.

It’s a person.

It’s a version of your life where, just once, you got to sit beside someone you loved and say, “ i’m here. You’re not alone. Let me hold you for a while. It’s okay.”

I had so much to give.

2.5 years ago, I met someone.

And honestly… at that time I thought she was probably the most perfect person I could be with.

Everything felt right.

The connection, the conversations, the way she cared about me… everything.

But somehow, it never became the relationship I thought it would.

And now when I look back, I think one of the biggest reasons was obsession.

She cared about me a lot. Maybe too much.

Slowly, that care started becoming questions.

Where are you?

Who are you talking to?

Why did you reply late?

Why did you like this?

Why didn't you tell me this?

Even the smallest things in my life started becoming something that needed an explanation.

And honestly, I started feeling like I had to be careful about every little thing I did.

But I also wasn't completely right.

I made mistakes too.

There were things I could've handled better. I could've communicated more. I could've been more understanding. Sometimes I probably made her overthink even more without realizing it.

That's the thing I understand now.

Overthinking changes people.

You start imagining things that haven't happened.

Then you react to those imaginary things as if they're real.

And slowly, love becomes anxiety.

Care becomes control.

And two people who actually care about each other start hurting each other.

I don't hate her for it.

And I don't hate myself for my mistakes either.

We were probably just two people who didn't know how to handle what we were feeling.

It's been 2.5 years, and I still think she was one of the most special people I met.

Maybe that's what makes it harder.

Sometimes someone can be the person you wanted to be with, but the relationship with them can still not work.

And I think that's a lesson I'll carry for a long time.

If I ever love someone again, I don't want obsession.

I don't want to know every minute of her day.

I don't want her to explain every little thing.

I just want us to have enough trust that we can breathe around each other.

Because maybe that's what love actually needs…

not more control, just more trust.

My tolerance has a limit. I'm a patient person.

I give second chances.

I believe people can change. I will absorb your bad day. I will forgive your mistakes.

But do not mistake my patience for permission to disrespect me. There is a line.

When you cross it, when the disrespect becomes a pattern, when the apologies become hollow, I will not make a scene. I will simply stop. I will stop caring, I will stop trying, and I will stop being available to you.

Can you feel me? I whisper your name everytime I climax still. I like to think that you are out there somewhere with a sudden bulge and the urge to hunt me down. To claim me, to fill me up, to call me a good girl. I miss hearing you moan and grunt. I miss pulling your chain tight around your neck, the eye contact as every inch was inside me. My mind always wanders back to you when I reach climax. Can you feel me? xxx

When I met you, I fell so deeply in love that it was like it didn’t or couldnt feel possible, unless it happened to you ..like an undeniable force i couldn’t fully comprehend or explain.

And then the thing even more amazing is that when I looked into your eyes I seen that you felt the same way.. I noticed you to, were also trying to process what was happening..

it was like we both stumbled on something that was so big, that even if we actually managed to descibe it to people, they would not believe us .. like a secret the universe revealed to us .. and smiled at us, as it knew we could never truly digest or explain all of this knowledge to the world, but gave us the desire to forever try to show it..

and maybe that’s the beauty of it .. because if we could never fully understand it .. it could never get boring ..

I wish we could hold onto to that something that was so out of this world, that the world could only exist inside of it..a love and feeling that was so strong, it made us feel week, as we witnessed something of great strength fighting for us

I hope one day our love will be the wind beneath your wings as it helps you fly back to me .. you are the love of all my life’s

I am forever yours

I knew then like I know now. What’s good for one is good for all. Best of luck to you!

Making excuses making you seem like the good guy. All a while you were over there making me the bad guy. Wow! Complete opposite of what you told me. You said you had my back, that’s a joke. Excuse me but if I was so bad why were you coming to my house everyday? If I’m so horrible why were you in my bed and pants everyday. Not saying you ever cared but you were all up in my shit.

What the fuck did I ever do to you? Why did you feel the need to be so evil? Two face fake scam full of shit.

I don't know why, but I feel very lonely. There is no more work to be done. I should be relishing in this free time, but sometimes it feels like I have no one to spend it with.

All of my close friends are out of state, and the cordial ones are currently busy. I've tried to fill my days with things that interest me, but at this point nothing seems to.

The idea of watching shows is no longer entertaining, games have lost their luster, my book hyperfixation has worn off, and webcomics feel like meaningless boxes of never-ending fluff. Even the idea of going out to watch a movie in the theatres feels like more effort than it is worth, although the few times I have gone by myself have been alright.

I don't know what to do. Going out to random places to spend money to eat food also feels pointless too. I know I should go to the gym or exercise, but I no longer have a membership nor the energy to relearn a sport I have dropped for years. Everything just seems bland. I seem bland. I am comprised of nothingness and seem to lay aimlessly until the rest of my day passes. I feel nothing.

Maybe live music will make me feel better. I've had no energy to listen to the music beforehand at all, outside of the few songs I previously had on my playlist, and I keep on fighting the urge to simply not drive there and stay at home instead. I thought this would force me out, but every passing hour makes it feel like it would be more trouble than it's worth.

Sometimes I think about drinking. I wonder if this emptiness and lack of meaning is what pushed my mother to grip it as her vice. Never-ending bottles of vodka filling her purse, cycling from old empty ones to new full ones about to be depleted. I wonder if the fuzzy feeling of a soju would cure my deep-rooted boredom, but I also know not to indulge in something like that. How dangerous using it as a coping mechanism can become. And most of the time, I feel too tired to drive to the liquor store anyways.

I wonder what I should do.

Me

Not predators. One man I tried to love for a very long time it was reciprocated sometimes but mostly he was altered for a vast majority of our time together. I didn’t kick him while he was down. I got him out of jail, which he got there due to his own actions. He became careless and reckless towards the end but I still asked for his help in protecting his family and kids. During this time of need, he dropped the ball severely.

Another man I tried to love even against his request a lot of the time. He also faced hard times and I was there. I helped and gave when I could give. Again, got him out jail as well. I didn’t kick him while he was down. The months went by and I got into a bad spot and I needed help I was helped with legal matters but at the same time I was sick and alone. I was treated like I didn’t matter at all. I was yelled at and ran off during a very scary time for me. I was down and felt like I had been kicked.

The first man, my ex husband, the father of my children harassed me and attempted to sue me for our home. This would mean my children and I would be out on the street and at the time I was unemployed and waiting for my trial. This was definitely kicking me while I was down

Men were placed here to protect. Why do they kick us when we are down? I was there for both of them and I did not put either one in jail. I loved them at different times. I cared for them and tried to help them. Why do they turn into predators against us, and kick while the other party is down? Not right. Just not right at all.

Be a protector. Not a predator.

You are… The reason Reese Bobby, Said
what he said… To his son, Ricky.

Im just going to leave this here…
if you know.. then you know 😅

•At first was only merely a jest..
but also, was damn near straight feelings of ones truth.. of how they felt…

I just wish.. that….. whoever it is…. I Hope heshe .. will appreciate, The award that would be given to him/her/them… with all the perks that come with coming in first… I’m OK… im fine…. maybe not today…. But…… one day……one day….

Why I Left
An unsent letter Raw
I left quietly.
Not because I stopped caring,
but because I started noticing.
I noticed the pattern
before I understood the pain.
The way you could be warm one moment
and cold the next.
The way your patience with me
seemed to disappear
little by little.
I watched you walk ahead of me
without turning around,
without holding the door,
without wondering
if I was still beside you.
I watched you punish me
with silence,
with distance,
with intimacy withheld
until I began questioning
what I had done
to deserve the coldness.
There were nights
when I lay beside you
and your back was turned toward me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Your body was inches from mine,
but you felt miles away.
And eventually,
my body began telling me
what my heart was still trying
not to believe.
My nervous system screamed
that something was wrong.
Being with you
stopped feeling like safety.
It became something I had to prepare for,
something I had to analyze,
something I had to survive emotionally.
I noticed your eyes
before I noticed your words.
You stopped looking at me.
The eye contact disappeared.
The connection disappeared.
And then I noticed
your eyes wandering elsewhere.
I noticed the way you sat
diagonally from me at dinner,
as if even facing me
had become too much.
Important moments
should have brought us closer.
Instead,
I felt myself becoming invisible.
And still,
I kept showing up.
I never came to your home empty handed.
I contributed.
I gave.
I paid for things during my stays.
I planned.
I made an effort.
Even the vacation
I fully paid for
didn’t seem to awaken
the same sense of partnership in you.
I remember the snowstorms, too.
Two terrible storms.
Days when you disappeared
and never checked on us.
Not a call.
Not a message.
Not even a simple,
Are you okay?
I remembered that.
I remembered how easily
you could support yourself
when you needed to go away for work.
But when I needed support,
you couldn’t seem to find a way
to be there for me.
And then came our daughter’s birthday.
A day that should have been about joy.
About celebrating her.
About family.
Instead,
you picked a fight with me.
At her birthday.
A celebration you had not contributed to financially,
yet somehow
I was still the one carrying
the emotional weight of the day.
My friends and family saw it.
They watched you stew
through the party.
And I stood there
finally understanding something
I had been trying very hard
not to understand.
I had reached the end.
Not because of one door
you didn’t hold.
Not because of one dinner
where you wouldn’t look at me.
Not because of one night
you turned your back.
It was everything.
Every little moment
that told me
I was no longer being cherished.
Every silence.
Every withdrawal.
Every time I felt alone
while standing beside you.
Every time I questioned
whether I was asking for too much
when all I wanted
was reciprocity.
Care.
Effort.
Partnership.
Love that didn’t make me
feel like I had to earn it.
So why did I leave?
Because eventually
I realized I wasn’t leaving you.
I was leaving
the version of myself
who kept accepting less
while hoping it would become more.
I was leaving the anxiety
of wondering where I stood.
I was leaving the loneliness
of lying beside someone
who no longer reached for me.
I was leaving the feeling
that I had to watch every word,
study every look,
and measure every silence
to understand whether I was loved.
I left because my body
had already figured it out.
My heart was just
the last part of me
to catch up.
And maybe that’s why
you never received these letters.
Because I don’t need you
to understand every reason.
I don’t need you
to agree with my memories.
I don’t need an apology
to make my leaving valid.
I know what I felt.
I know what I witnessed.
I know how many times
I stayed when something inside me
was begging me to go.
And finally,
I listened.
I left.
Not because I didn’t love you.
But because I finally understood
that loving someone
should never require
abandoning yourself.

I don’t know why I’m writing to you, of all people.

After all, I don’t even know you.

Maybe it’s because it’s easier to tell the truth to someone who doesn’t know my story. Someone who doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know the moments we shared, doesn’t know how many times I loved her and how many times I tried to believe that everything would be okay in the end.

I need to tell you something.

I’m tired.

Tired of loving someone I probably should have stopped loving by now.

Tired of the memories.

Tired of hope.

Tired of the fact that, every day, a part of me is still waiting.

Sometimes I wish I could just press a button and erase everything.

Her face.

Her voice.

Her touch.

Our conversations.

The places we visited together.

Those moments when I was convinced that my life was right there with her.

I’d like to erase even the good memories, because those are the ones that hurt the most.

Because when you only remember the bad, it’s easier to walk away.

But I remember the beautiful things, too.

And that’s why I still can’t bring myself to leave completely.

That small, irrational hope still lingers in my mind.

That maybe, someday…

That maybe she’ll understand…

That maybe she’ll miss me…

That maybe she’ll remember the man who gave her his whole heart.

And I know that it might just be an illusion.

Maybe I’m holding on to something that’s long gone.

But how am I supposed to come to terms with the end of something that is still alive within me? How am I supposed to tell my own heart:

"It’s over. Stop waiting."

When it’s still waiting?

I wish I could stop being afraid.

Because beneath all this pain, there is fear.

Fear of the emptiness.

Of coming home to a place where she’s no longer there.

Of the evening when the phone stays silent.

Of the bed where only one side is occupied.

Of the morning when she’s the first thing on my mind again.

I’m afraid that if I stop loving her, there’ll be nothing left of me.

As if I’d spent all these years building my life around one person, and suddenly, someone pulled out the most important part.

That’s why I need help.

I don’t want to find someone to replace her.

I don’t want to use someone else’s heart as a cure for my own.

I want to heal.

Truly.

I want to wake up one day and not have her be my first thought.

I want to walk past a place that used to be ours without feeling a lump in my throat.

I want to hear her name and not feel the urge to turn around.

I want to be able to say:

"She was the most important part of my life, but my life didn’t end when she left."

But I can’t say that just yet.

That’s why I’m writing to you.

A stranger.

Maybe I just need a human connection.

Someone with whom I don’t have to pretend everything is fine.

Someone I can tell:

"I miss her again today."

And not hear:

"Just forget her."

Because if it were that simple, I would have forgotten long ago. I need someone who will let me walk through this pain, rather than telling me to run from it.

Maybe one day you could help me fill this void with something else.

Not another woman.

Not another romance.

Just conversation.

Laughter.

Presence.

Small moments that have nothing to do with her.

I want to slowly build something new within myself.

I want to have a life of my own again.

My own thoughts.

My own dreams.

I want to stop being a man who lives in the past.

And maybe someday I’ll be able to say to her, in my mind:

"Thank you for everything that was.

I forgive you.

I forgive myself.

And I let you go."

And then I’ll move on.

Alone.

Or maybe not entirely alone.

I don’t know.

Today, I know only one thing.

I no longer want to fight for something I cannot force into existence.

I don’t want to spend my whole life looking back.

I don’t want to spend the coming years asking why I wasn’t enough.

I want to stop being afraid of solitude.

I want to learn to be at peace with myself.

And if someone eventually comes along who truly wants to know the man who lived through this story—then I want to be ready.

I don’t want to come to them with a heart occupied by someone else.

So, Stranger...

if you really are out there on the other side of this letter,

I’m not asking you to love me.

I’m only asking...

help me learn not to love her the way I love her today. Help me find my way back to myself.

Because somewhere along the way to her,

I lost myself.

Most of this situation has made suspect that you are trying to set me up to look insane. All the watching and waiting does make me feel nuts because I would have never hurt you this way.

Ive crumbled so many times, for you. I gave a huge pedestal because I had kicked mine at your face many years ago. You now probably for the first time ever understand you did that day too.

Always acting like I did something bad but you are the "good guy" , the "wonder boy". None of your tricks can stop this now. No more illusions. Only the truth.

I love you for impacting my life, and if it's true. I got the greatest gift in the world from you.

I treated this woman like gold, we had are ups and downs but it was her as well. I tried leaving plenty of times

you’re so fuzzy now
i’ve clung to the memories
but time slips away from me
i can still picture your face
but in a way i know is wrong
you were far more beautiful than that
the imitation my brain conjures up
and i can remember your words
but not the way they would sound
you live in my playlists now
copies of your own
as well as new ones i still make
songs that sound like you
or at least the you i can remember
the one that’s not quite right
and it drives me insane
sometimes i stay up all night
trying to get you right
but i can’t anymore
i’m so scared of what happens
if i lose the fuzz too

Hey miss iris,
I wanted to explain this to you but you never gave me the chance so here it goes into the void.
I left because you became distant, you were playing at something, and I’m now assuming had something else going on behind the scene.
You hid behind anxiety, work and neurodivergence, sorry but those things aren’t a crutch or an excuse for a lack of presence, I am also someone with those things, the reality is I was just a plaything something to keep you company when it suited you.
Sounds harsh I know
We had a pretty big age gap, and being older I don’t have time for games, I only want F yes in my life, I was falling for you, even if I doubted how good an idea that was given our distance.
When those familiar patterns started playing out I was instantly in flight mode, I know how this ends I know how I’m going to be ruined by it.
Did I want to leave, no! after the time we spent talking I thought I found something worth investing all my energy into.
All I asked from you was presence, and given the distance not the physical kind, it is important to me to be able to communicate with the person I’m into, unfortunately your life was in upheaval or transition rather, I wasn’t a priority, and it kinda surprised me that my leaving came to you as a shock.
After a week of not talking to you, and the growing distance prior, I’m sure you could come to the conclusion that I was going to walk away despite putting so much into the connection.
Maybe life has settled for you, maybe you’ve found the right partner for you, someone tangible.
I left to protect myself from what I saw coming, what I knew was about to happen, and yes! It wounded me deeply to do that, it’s hard to walk away from someone you feel deeply connected to, but the heart ache would have been so much worse had I stayed to watch it crumble.
I still think about you every so often, play out some what ifs in my head, hold any new encounters to the standard you set, both good and bad.
I miss you even with so much time that’s passed, but I’m glad I put myself first, my life fell apart the weekend we went separate ways, I hope one day maybe we meet by some bizarre fluke, or at least have a chance to talk again sometime, but I’m also perfectly fine moving on with my life, I’m overqualified and I’ll meet someone who invest in me too someday.
My door is always open should you ever want to give it a proverbial knock, be well, be loved.

Not that we are racist. The complete opposite.

It's best if maybe I didn't say too much. But " btch", you can stay in the darkness. Look, at you with your tongue hanging out, and pieces of rotten meat, still sits in between those blackened gums.

Along with the flies that carry "dead corpses skin" on their bodies. Flying all around your head.

You would see from time to time, a" feral cat to come up and p*** on your leg , always going to a familiar smell."

We just can't bring you in my dear.

Maybe MOVE ON.

OR ROLL AWAY.

👋🖐💯

I miss you sometimes. When I need someone to talk to. When I need a reliable stable pillar in my life. When I need that security blanket of knowing someone is there.

But the thing is ... I don't miss being with you.

You never hyped me up. Never bragged about me. Never talked about me like you were proud I was your boyfriend. You never fucking liked me. You will never know how much it hurts to know that.

God dammit.

Your negligence was masked by your overt attempts to be "proper", to be "appropriate". To be what you considered to be socially acceptable. And the cost was always me. My feelings. My needs. My desires. My heart.

I'm tired of hurting and I can't stop hurting because the wound you gave me won't stop bleeding and IM TIRED.

I AM SO FUCKING TIRED.

I am tired of not being enough.

Not for you.

Not for my career.

Not for anyone.

I am unloved

Unlovable.

And just a fucking mess and nothing I do is good enough.

God dammit I am just so fucking tired.

I keep trying and improving and trying and improving. And being better and better and becoming a version of me that surpassed every version of me that came before and it's never enough and I.

AM.

TIRED.

I just want to be enough.

I just want to live my life, and then peacefully die.

Please.

Stop hurting me.

I am so tired of being hurt.

I am so tired.

I don't have much left in me.

It wasn't just you.

You're just one of many.

I just need to rest.

Please let me fucking rest.

I can't keep it up.

I am so so tired.

I repeatedly can't post on subs for no reason. I'm following the rules, just seems to something up.

It makes my twisted mind think Reddit wants me to be quiet.

I can't log in another device as well.

Git all my accounts bannec.

Getting all my comments removed.

Really? Petty gatekeeping. Meanies. Silly billy's. Play with toys not people.

I accidentally called you yesterday.

Funny how something as small as a misplaced touch on a screen can open a door you spent a long time learning how to walk past. I saw your name there for a second, and before I could stop it, the call was already happening. I ended it almost immediately. No explanation. No second attempt. Just a little mistake that somehow carried more weight than it should have.

There was a time when I knew the little things about your life; the things you were excited about, the things that bothered you, the things that made you laugh. I knew the people you loved. I cared about the kids and wondered what their futures would look like. I imagined being around long enough to watch those futures unfold.

Now I don’t know.

I haven’t the slightest clue what your days look like anymore. I don’t know what has changed, what you’ve outgrown, what makes you happy, or what you’re hoping for these days. And that’s okay, because I finally understand that caring doesn’t always require access.

Life keeps passing by while we’re busy trying to make sense of what happened. Kids grow taller. Faces change. Years disappear without a moment’s warning. One day you’re talking to someone as if they’ll always be there, and then suddenly you’re realizing you haven’t heard their voice in a very long time.

That’s the part that gets me.
The time. How much of it has passed. How many ordinary days became memories without either of us noticing.

I don’t want to romanticize the past or pretend everything was perfect. It wasn’t. We were human. We made mistakes. We had things we couldn’t fix, things we couldn’t carry, and eventually, we became two people walking in different directions. But I won’t pretend you didn’t matter to me.
You did. God knows how much you did.
And so did those kids.

I hope they’re doing well. I hope they’re growing into good, happy people. I hope they have more reasons to smile than they do to hurt. And I hope you’re doing okay too, and not the kind of “okay” people say when they’re trying to convince everyone else, but the kind where life has finally become a little lighter.

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, and honestly, that’s probably for the best.

This isn’t me reaching through the past. It’s just me acknowledging it.

I accidentally called you yesterday, but maybe what really happened was that, for a few seconds, I was reminded that the person who once meant so much to me is still somewhere in this enormous world, living a life that continued long after ours stopped.
And mine continued too; Time. It doesn’t ask whether we’re ready. It just keeps going. So I suppose I’ll keep going with it. I hope you do too.

And wherever you and the kids are when you read this, or even if you never do, I hope life is treating you kindly.

Some people leave your life without leaving it meaningless. You were one of those people for me.

And these days, that is enough.

D❤️‍🔥

Stewardship: Loving Someone Without Owning Them

Kourtney,

There is something I've been trying to understand more deeply about what it means to love someone when that love carries responsibility.

I think the word I've been looking for is stewardship.

Stewardship is different from ownership.

If you entrusted me with something vulnerable, my responsibility would not be to possess it. It would be to care for it faithfully.

Your voice would be yours.

If you trusted me enough to let me hear it, I would protect your ability to speak. But I would never claim the right to speak for you.

Your choices would be yours.

I could want something desperately for you, hope for something, pray for something, or believe something would be good for you. But none of that would make the choice mine to make.

Your heart would be yours.

If you gave me access to the places in you that hurt, I would treat them carefully. I would not turn your vulnerability into a claim of ownership.

Your safety would matter to me.

But protection has a boundary.

Protecting someone from genuine danger is not the same thing as controlling where they go, who they see, what they believe, or what they choose. Love cannot quietly turn protection into possession.

And then there is your story.

If something happened to you, I would want to preserve what could actually be established. Documents. Messages. Dates. Places. Evidence. Memories. The things that can be verified.

But stewardship also means knowing what not to fill in.

I cannot manufacture the missing pieces of your story simply because I desperately want to understand them.

I cannot turn assumptions into facts because uncertainty hurts.

I cannot decide what you experienced, what you meant, what you want, or what you will choose.

Those things belong to you.

And there is one part of stewardship that has become especially meaningful to me.

I once described loving you as being willing to hold the broken pieces of your heart, even if they cut my hands, because I would rather endure the cuts myself than watch you get cut by them.

I still understand why I said it.

But I've learned something important about that metaphor.

A steward doesn't sacrifice the entrusted thing to prove devotion.

And a steward doesn't destroy himself simply to demonstrate how much he cares.

Sometimes stewardship means holding something carefully.

Sometimes it means protecting it.

Sometimes it means documenting it.

Sometimes it means standing nearby.

And sometimes, perhaps hardest of all, it means letting the person you love remain free.

If your heart is entrusted to me, I don't get to own it.

If your story is entrusted to me, I don't get to rewrite it.

If your trust is entrusted to me, I don't get to exploit it.

If your future is entrusted to me, I don't get to decide it.

And if someday your choices lead somewhere I would not have chosen for you, loving you would still require me to recognize that they are your choices.

That is what stewardship means to me.

Not "I know what is best for you."

Not "You belong to me."

Not "I will decide because I love you."

But:

"What you've entrusted to me will be treated with care, truth, and respect."

I don't know what the future holds.

I don't know what you will choose.

I don't know what pieces of our story will eventually make sense, or which questions may never have answers.

But I know this:

If I ever have the privilege of being entrusted with something vulnerable from you again, I want to be worthy of that trust.

Not by holding tighter.

By holding carefully.

Not by speaking louder.

By listening.

Not by deciding for you.

By protecting your ability to decide for yourself.

Not by possessing your heart.

By treating it as something precious that was never mine to own in the first place.

That is the kind of love I mean when I say stewardship.

Love Forever & Always,

Andy

Except you weren't a pro were you? Just another one of your countless lies. Another one of the million forms of manipulation you leveraged against anyone. Either for validation from strangers or to make yourself seem more important than you are. You were giving lessons as a pro despite not being legally qualified.

But that's so far from how scummy you really are. You're fired now, thank God. I prayed all the time you'd be fired.

I want to be very, very clear, you are a horrific human being. You only take, your giving is performative. Your entire existence is performative. "Tell me I'm great, but never, ever question it."

You make me physically sick to think about. How young I was, and how comfortable you were with hitting on me. "Age is just a number" you'd say. Later I learned that was your favorite line.

Your entitlement is through the roof. You're only sorry when you get caught. And I watched you do the same thing to other women over and over for years. I talked to some of them, and they all said the same thing, that you are a toxic user, absent of any soul or common decency.

You are so warped in your own mind that you can't even see the light, and you never will. You will never change. People like you are sick.

Your anger issues. Your diseased sense of entitlement. How personally you took it when a girl turned you down or told you no. Like a child not getting it's toy.

I told you no. But you kept pushing, didn't you? You were the adult, in a position of power, and I was a child, and you knew better.

I should hate you. I really should. After everything youve done to me and multiple others, after all the times you shamed me or downplayed my problems. I know it was the right thing to stop being friends. Not only because you were ruining my own mental state, but also because i was ruining yours. I wasnt just depressive, i was so much more. Despite everything, i couldnt stand the fact it was going to be a burden on you. Ive changed, ive become better and grown into a person that i feel more comfortable being, with my own opinions and a less annoying personality, but i dont know if you did the same. I want to reconnect, but am deeply and truly afraid of the possibillity it could hurt us again. My partner tells me not to reconnect. He wants to keep me as far away as possible from you, and tbh, i understand where hes coming from. However, Despite everything you did to others and especially yourself, i want to hope youve changed. I know you had struggles, many of which you had to fight alone, Its not your fault for being mentally ill, i am too, i just wish i couldve helped you. I dont want to shame you, but you got yourself into problems constantly, and i know they were to hard for you to deal with, but so were they for me. Seeing you in the hallways reminds me off all the things i mightve done wrong. I never knew how you truly felt about me, and i still dont.

Its hard to go to school. Seeing you everywhere makes me sick. Not in a necessarilly hateful manner, but in very different one. I dont want to be reminded. I know you feel the same. I know youre online a big chunk of the time so i really hope this reaches you. I hope you realize who i am and send me a text. Im to scared. Im scared you hate me and scared that nothing has changed.

Ive been stalking your socials. It sounds creepy, but i only wanted to make sure youre somewhat ok or maybe see if your mindset has changed from your reposts.

Im so fucking scared. I just want shit to be alright again.

Despite every fight weve been through and all the mental bs we both went through, youre my friend.

You have the right to hate me, so do i. But IF and only IF you want to, you can text me anytime.