An open letter to my ex.

Dear Cubby,

In response to this text message you sent me last night:

“Sorry I called the other night so late. I forgot you can’t talk to me. I wish I could at least tell you hi.”

For starters, you aren’t fucking sorry that you drunk-dialed me at 2:00, 2:15, and 2:51 on a Tuesday morning. And you didn’t forget that I’m not talking to you. It’s been two fucking months with no communication whatsoever, so get over it.

Are you forgetting the fact that YOU dumped ME? You are the one who told me you didn’t love me and your feelings would never change. You also told me you would respect the fact that I never wanted to talk to you again.

It isn’t that I can’t talk to you—it’s that I have no desire to. When people breakup, it’s over for a reason. You left me because you didn’t care about me as much as you thought you should; well thanks for doing me the favor.

Being friends with an ex sure is a nice idea; but it will never happen. In those cases, there will always be at least one person hoping the “friendship” (read: fucking) will turn into a relationship, and why the FUCK would I want to be in a relationship with someone who has already said he doesn’t and will never love me.

So now, two months later, I get this text from you—”I hope you’re great. I think about you always and wish you could talk to me. I care about your life.”

I’m sure you do think about me always—probably every damn morning when you are shaving your face with that $200 razor I bought you. Dickhole.

Frankly, I’m sick of the fucking games. For three years we’ve been at it and it took me this long to figure it out. You lead me on for awhile, then you want to fuck other women, so you dump me. Then after a month you come crawling back and I let you in because I loved you. And now, I want you gone.

If you really want be to be “great,” then you’ll leave me the fuck alone. It is so important for me to improve myself, get rid of this silly baggage, and be the best person I can when the real Mr. Right comes my way.

You’ve gotten everything so easy your entire life and I know you expect things to be handed to you in love, also. Just because you think all of your other ex-girlfriends are your friends, doesn’t mean they really are. I’m sure they all think you’re a douche. So don’t lose sleep over me; because you asked for it.

One of two things is going to happen. Either you’ll settle down with someone who puts up with your bullshit or you’ll never be satisfied. See:

So quit insulting me and giving me little digs like “forgot you can’t talk to me.” You are the one who looks like a fucking idiot bothering someone you dumped. It’s time to get over it and move on.

So next time you’re drunk and lonely, pretend I’m dead.



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2 thoughts on “An open letter to my ex.

  1. […] A few months later, she asked me for a ride home from the airport—which was an hour away. My tool of a boyfriend at the time lived near said airport and was coming in town to see me, so he offered to pick her up. […]

  2. […] where is the love As of 11:30 last night, I sold my last piece of (physical) baggage (from my cheating trashy bastard ex) on Ebay for $75. And I’m pretty effing pumped about it. It was a sterling silver ring that […]

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