Letter Series: To My Ex

Hello everyone, so today I am going to start a series on this blog, to be precise, I am going to start a letter series, in which I want to write letters to certain people in my life, or who are no longer in my life. I have a list started for this project but it may shrink or grow depending on how I feel. . I am definitely definitely not going in any particular order, and it is definitely not done by importance (I want to stress that before starting this first one) but only by what comes to me at the time.

I kind of wanted to get this first one out of the way, as I obviously have stuff to say to this particular person but I don’t want to dwell on it as my life has moved on a lot since this person. Enjoy!

Someone writing a letter
Picture Credit: Lucid Books

 

To my ex,

I’m not positive why I’m starting with you, it is the most confusing and strange one to write I guess.

I don’t know you anymore. I am a different person now, as I’m sure you are. Our life together seems a world ago, as if it is something I saw on TV or read in a book, not something real. This seems to be something my brain always does in these situations, to protect me I’m sure, but it makes perspective very difficult.

I sometimes regret giving most of my university life to you. I gave up things I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t met you. It also means that a lot of my treasured memories of my best friends, and one of my favourite cities are tainted by you. I somehow cannot wholly separate that city and you, which makes me sad, because I was there without you. It was my city, and my brain associates it with you, which takes away my ownership and my identity that I had there.

Some days I feel like I have a million things left to say to you, other days you never cross my mind, and then a few come around where I quite want to punch you in the face. You took my unhappiness in us, twisted it so far and convinced me it was my fault, my fault that I was not myself, and my fault that you found someone new. I say ‘new.’ rather than ‘else,’ because I do believe it was the newness that excited you. The fresh feeling, the new girl to have read your writing and have sex with, because I was boring to you after two years. I’m glad of that now, because I know I never have to try and impress you again. I don’t have to try and be perfect to make you stay anymore, and all those moments where I felt you didn’t appreciate me if I wasn’t perfect, I realise I should have got out then.

The grief you caused me made me feel perfect for a little while. I was so sad I couldn’t even eat, which meant my body adapted accordingly, and personally I don’t think I’ve ever looked better (people may disagree). However, I also hate you for doing that to me. You took away my enjoyment of the incredible holiday I was on. For days my best friend couldn’t enjoy my company, I couldn’t enjoy the food, I couldn’t enjoy the amazing place I was seeing. There was a bomb scare on one of my last days there, and I messaged you just to let you know that I was okay, because I thought you might still care a little bit, and you used that as an excuse to try and break up with me. That broke my heart even more than a week later when you finally admitted you had cheated. You had a new ‘I just made such a connection while we were volunteering in Africa’ girl.

You kept trying to talk to me afterwards, claiming you missed just ‘talking to me,’ you missed your ‘best friend.’ As if you could still use me for the bits you wanted, but I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me, and I don’t want you to. The me that I am now is happy, and in love, and has no need to know you ever again.

Honestly though, I want to thank you for promising me the book, but only giving me a chapter, because when I finally found the will to turn the page, I found a whole new story for me.

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