I’m no longer angry about the situation. But does it still take up space in my mind? Absolutely—regularly. Not because of what happened specifically, but because of how you treated me.
It was never really about the circumstance. Honestly, I don’t think it ever. What lingers is the way you felt so entitled to speak to me—the cruelty in your words, and your belief that it was somehow acceptable.
You really wanted to make sure I heard exactly what you thought, didn’t you?
You were so furious that instead of handling things like an adult, you reverted to name-calling, as if that was normal. Then, you slipped right back into the “mean girl” persona you try so hard to keep hidden—sweet on the surface, but quick to gossip as soon as someone leaves the room.
I’ve always known parts of you, but for so long, I chose to ignore them. When you love someone, you make excuses and overlook flaws. That’s how bad behavior gets normalized. But with you, the truth hit me hard—like a slap in the face.
You’re not who you claim to be. Not even close. The people you can’t stand are the ones who see the real you, and you can’t bear the idea that they might tell others.
You want to be the superhero—the flawless person everyone admires. But people who are universally loved are often just putting on a show.
You embody that perfectly. You do whatever makes you look good, just to earn praise. The ugly, vicious side of you is buried deep, only surfacing occasionally, and you hide it because you can’t bear not being the star. You can’t accept being anything less than a hero.
But that’s exactly who you became when you said those horrible things.
So I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re content with how you treated me, and that destroying our relationship was worth whatever satisfaction you felt in the moment.
Actually, forget that. I want you to feel the weight of it. In fact, I hope guilt gnaws at you for what you did—for dismissing my feelings, for creating drama that never needed to happen, and for not having the decency to keep your mouth shut.
I hope the guilt eats at you the way your words ate at me. I hope every time you hear my name, you wince at the memory of what you said.
Your words and the way you made me feel will stay with me forever. I’ll never look at you the same way again.
Maybe that’s how it was meant to end. So I hope you’re happy—that the little power trip was worth it.
Because, in the end, you did this to yourself.
Featured image via Nuta Sorokina Pexels
