W,
It’s still me thinking about you. You are a shithead and the biggest f*cking coward i ever met in my life. In fact you’re such a coward i was stunned for maybe a year trying to figure out what you were thinking freaking out on me when i was telling you that i was in love with you and making what was obviously a tormented confession in the front seat of your car. because your level of cowardice is so far out of my experience that i couldn’t make head or tails of your reaction. also i waited for you for a long time. even after i started dating my boyfriend. i also couldn’t make sense of how blocked off you were afterwards. i mean obviously we never spoke again other than you trying to bully me and blackmail my friend for $15 by text message, and you stealing my journal, doubtless misconstruing it, and, i think, burning it in some kind of misguided ritual by your home. but the cold space like absence of you i am convinced was intentional, that still baffles me and i hate admitting it, that you got to me in that way. i mean if you loved me, like you said and i felt, how could you just disappear so quickly. how would that be possible. and did you know i was haunting you for several months, then quickly removed myself from that around christmas time, then mentally chipping at your block for even longer, and occasionally sometimes, still. i wanted you sexually so bad. did you really realize that? i felt it from you, too, i thought, for me, and i just was so assuming that would happen that i was caught totally off-guard when you couldn’t do it and then avoided talking about it and weren’t truthful. also the ex-boyfriend i had who i said had loved me so much and that made you upset, i don’t think that anymore, and i found out from reading up on it that he is a socio and i don’t value my past with him in any way. that’s a tangent but since I’m writing what i wanna say i wanted to tell you that. i guess it was a good time for a tangent too because i don’t know what else to say about the sex thing. i didn’t communicate well enough about sex. it was my first experience with e.d. and i felt shocked, disoriented, and humiliated. you in your depthy cowardice kept blaming me for it and didn’t tell me it was a regular situation with your d*ck. that was so mean of you. plus all of the blaming, scapegoating, verbal abuse, name-calling, and just shit-dumping you did on me. for loving you, for leaving, or for causing you to feel exposed? i’ve had to conclude that you are an emotional abuser i can’t relate to. i know you are because of the way you treat your girlfriend, too. the punitive reactivity that appears in microcosm and in much larger ways. i hope out of spite that you learn someday about non-punitive, non-avoidant reactions to conflict. just the fact that they exist and can be done and the fact that you’re doing it so completely wrong. if i want to say more, i’ll post another letter. i don’t want to feel like i have to make sure i got it all in because there could easily be more. the day before i broke up with you i was saying i wanted to crawl into your armpit. nothing changed the next day, just that i had to break up with you because it was an untenable situation and also your emotional abusiveness and the cloistered bitter fearful hypersensitive atmosphere of the whole relationship was getting me more and more nervy and scared, as you saw. given the opportunity now to crawl into your armpit i’m not sure if my more accurate view of your personality would dampen the eagerness, or how much. i jerked off and thought about you all the time. i had to try to not, afterwards. i managed an extended moratorium. now it’s not usually necessary because time and awareness of the difficulty or impossibility of you having sex with me has robbed your image of much of its original potency. i know lots of people have good and very intimate sex when there are some e.d. issues but i guess i’m too sensitive about that to be one of them. but not all of its potency is gone, or i should say i don’t know a good reason why i wouldn’t still wanna jump your bones so bad i feel stuff thinking about it. but again you’re a sorry mean shit and i do feel sorry for you. i guess this has come out to be a classic burned person letter, in light of my going back and forth between lust and contempt? R