I should probably feel guilty...

You hurt me more than any words or vengeful actions could ever possibly express. I remember laying on my sofa for three months every night, because sleeping in my bed was too painful... I'd always half expect your arm to slip across my waist and pull me in to you. I remember the constant promises and little lines of hope you'd use to reign me back in. I remember being coaxed over to your house, into your arms, then into your bed... only to be shooed away, the romantic front you'd carefully constructed too much to keep up once you'd climaxed. I remember you telling me you loved me and then changing your mind the next day. I remember you making me feel small. And stupid. And pathetic. I remember you screaming at me, slamming doors in my face, telling me to shut the f*** up and that you didn't love me. I remember being there to pick up the pieces, the only person who you could confide in and cry in front of and depend on, after he died... being repaid in cruelty and disrespect. I remember every single girl you ever tried to chat up or get with whenever you decided that being tied down wasn't suiting you... I remember the one you succeeded in getting... I remember you looking me in the eyes and lying to me, even after I cried and pleaded for honesty. I remember you making me the enemy... I remember you trying to make me feel like I was the one who was crazy, the one who was wrong... like I was nuts for being hurt by your constant toying with me; psychotic for asking you to simply talk to me; insane for being angry with you when you got caught in lies. I remember having to take Xanex every other day to ease the anxiety. I remember dropping 10 pounds in less than a week. I remember all of my friends worrying about me, even complete strangers and acquaintances caring and inquiring if I was alright... and hearing nothing from you. I remember feeling hopeless. I remember feeling scared and worried and anxious every day, awaiting the usual "I just don't know anymore" or "I don't feel the same about you as I used to" or "Just shut the f*** up and leave me the f*** alone". I remember the completely remorseless, impassive face you wore when I cried. I remember the shrugs of indifference when I asked how you could treat someone so awfully. And even though you seemed to be the old you, and have been completely amazing since we got back together, maybe that's why I don't feel guilty about what I did. One night of spite for one year's worth of torture. Hardly and eye for an eye. It satisfies me even more that I got my childish act of vengeance... and you will never know. So even though I know I should probably feel guilty... the truth is that I'm not.

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  • f*** that.

  • I don't know this person, but reading this, it makes me sad that you got back together. I can't imagine so much selfishness just going away from someone. But maybe that's harsh judgment.

    Can vengeance truly be vengeance if he never knows? What if he doesn't even care? Do you owe him fidelity so that what you did can be considered infidelity, and therefore, revenge?

  • You are an amazing writer.

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