To Whom It May Not Concernbyfungetter©
To Whom It Probably Will Not Concern;
This letter is probably a long time in the coming. After all we've been through, I've repressed, regressed, alienated myself and others, grown a little, shrank a little... Frankly, I don't think there's any part of the emotional range that I have not experienced while I've been with you. Whether or not this is a good or a bad thing, I have yet to decide. For now, it simply remains a valid fact, a reminder of my current state of mind, if you will.
I am writing this letter in order to be able to say the things to you that I could never say to your face. I know you will never see it, because I will never show it to you. I know what the response will be; I can see it clearly in my mind's eye because after all the times I've told you information similar to what I'm about to impart, the reaction has always been the same, and it remains imprinted in my memory. How your face slowly hardens and turns into a shell, how your eyes darken and tiny lines appear at the corner of your mouth. How your hand starts to tremble as you try to hold in the emotions I've brought forth, and most of all, the hurtful words that fall unchecked from your lips as you revert to immaturity and do your best to hurt me as much as I've inadvertently hurt you... a feat in which you have succeeded every single time, by the way, not that you'd really care.
Before I go any further into this letter, there are also a few comments that I would like to make. The first is that you have been one lucky guy to have had me. Do you have any idea what the other girls would have done if you had said the things to them that you have said to me? Or acted towards them the same way you've acted towards me? You would still be eating their dust... or spitting out your teeth.
Secondly, this has nothing, and I repeat, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with my "cynical asshole of a father" or my "hypocritical whore of a mother". They gave you the benefit of the doubt for far longer than I would have, dealt with you and your control issues and immaturity far better than I expected, and tried to support us as a couple more than you realize. My thoughts, opinions, and decisions are my own and while I've listened to theirs, and have taken them into account, the final product is MINE. NOT THEIRS. And I'm quite sick of you telling me that I'm wrong on that. I can't remember the last occasion you took the time to learn my thoughts and ideas on something, so for you to tell me that "you know me better than I think you do"... well, it doesn't fly with me.
You've sat/stood there and talked and talked and talked TO me, AT me... whether I'm watching TV, playing on the computer, or reading a book, you continue to talk and talk and talk. And while normally, I can sit there and chit-chat, when I'm exhausted from school or work, I have no interest in talking when I just want to relax for a little while. Especially when all you talk about are things that I am not even very interested in in the best of times, such as guns, WWII, cars, video games, or just the inane chatter that spews forth from your never-closed mouth; when I'm mentally exhausted from school or work, listening to you is the last thing on my list of priorities. This is yet another reason that I've decided to write this letter. Because you've never actually taken the time to truly LISTEN to me. You've heard, yes... but then you get pissed or upset and either cry or throw a temper tantrum. You don't want to hear anything bad about yourself. Granted, most people don't, but in this instance, I feel as though you have very rarely made an effort to comprehend what I'm trying to tell you. Once again, disproving your theory that you know me better than I think you do.
And so, I write this letter so that perhaps this time, you will actually listen. That you won't let my words go in one ear and out the other, as you constantly claim I do with you, and that we are both quite guilty of. I write this letter to give my emotions free reign in a way I haven't been able to do since I met you, because I've had to be the rock, the constant, while your temperament has been able to fluctuate like a weather vane. If we were both as flighty, I shudder to think of the results, but that's neither here nor there. Now, we are discussing your favorite subject -- YOU. And unlike the last time that I made you a list and told you what bothered me, this time I don't have to worry about facing a screaming, crying Jordan when it's all said and done. I shall start where all good stories start.... At the beginning.
To be honest, even some of your first messages put me on edge. The way that you begged me for a chance to get to know you before I judged, the almost clingy way that you sent message after message, and the desperation for female companionship that I sensed in your letters gave my interest a tinge of skepticism.
On our first date, I admit right off the bat that I had a multitude of misgivings. It wasn't the fact that our first date was simply a walk in the nature park, nor was it the fact that you had your dress shirt off and were tinkering with the engine on your car. The unseemliness of your car didn't factor in, and neither did your looks. What first made me wonder if we would work as friends, let alone a couple, was that during the entire walk, you talked. And talked and talked and talked. Not that that was a bad thing. But I barely had the chance to ask a question, let alone say a word about myself. Growing up as I did in a family where animated conversation between all members was the norm, not having a voice during what was supposed to be a conversation was slightly unsettling.
But, I assumed you were nervous, and I imagined that you were just a high strung, outgoing, and charismatic guy. I looked past the outer shell and tried to catch a glimpse of the in-progress man beneath... and saw a man that I might be able to love. Getting him out and into the world would be difficult, but I thought at the time that it would be well worth it, and I never backed down from a challenge. So when, a week after we first met, you asked me to be your girlfriend, I accepted, in the hopes that not only would I fall in love with the boy, but that the man would be even better than I could hope for.
After two and a half years, however, I admit defeat. The man inside the boy has yet to make an appearance, and I can no longer handle wearing the pants in this relationship. Not too long ago, you threw another 'temper tantrum' when I refused to take money from you so that I could continue to live down here. After you were done screaming and cussing at me, you asked me to explain to you why I was leaving you. I could not do so at the time, other than the very basics. This is an excellent way to tell you, in detail and without interruptions, the reasons. All of the following factor in, with none having more blame than the other; or at least, not significantly enough to take notice of.
The first irritation of mine with you is your constant chatter. I love talking as much as the next female, but if you have to follow me into the bathroom --whether I'm showering, taking a bath, doing my business, or primping myself- then you have a problem. When I have a long day, no matter because of an 8-hour school-day or a 10 hour work shift, I just want to sit down and immerse myself in the comedy of the TV or the solitude of my computer of book. I can't even have a half-an hour of the --nee, two minutes!- without your lips flapping in the breeze. I was willing to compromise; give me 30 minutes of uninterrupted time, and I would listen to you the rest of the night. Alas, it never happened. And worse, you made me feel extremely guilty for wanting 'my time', even to the point that you would either start crying, cussing, and/or giving me the cold shoulder. Thus, you're right. I ended up ignoring you, nodding and making the appropriate responses when prompted by an unexpected pause. Again, when/if you noticed I wasn't paying attention, a guilt trip was almost immediately forthcoming.
But honestly, can you blame me? If I tried to talk, it either got shrugged off or you had a blasé attitude about whatever it was. Or, even worse, and far more frequently, you would change the subject or somehow bring whatever I was talking about onto yourself. This is both rude and unfair and I didn't appreciate it. Add to that the fact that your topics were usually guns, WWII, vehicles, or video games --NONE of which interest me- and you may possibly see a glimpse of my frustration, if you'd really try.
My second qualm where you are concerned is your negligent treatment of my property. I could mostly tolerate your habit of uncleanliness because at least it didn't extend to your personal hygiene, and cleaning the house gave me something to do when I was 'home alone bored', that way I wasn't "sitting on my ass reading or on the computer, or sleeping all damn day." I realize that you've never had nice things that you've needed to worry about breaking, or keeping safe, or clean. You don't have emotional attachments to any of your personal belongings. However, just because you don't, doesn't mean that I'm the same way. Figurines of saints that my Grandmother gave me are important to me. My $1000 bed that you broke the frame of was expensive. My kitchen knives were not meant to be used outside on your vehicle to get something off.
A big reason this trait upsets me is not only because I feel it is a violation of my personal space for you to be so blasé about my stuff, but because once you used it, I was the one who had to track it down, clean it up, and put it back where you found it. Your blatant disregard for my personal items wound me up to no end, and if found ruined, you assumed a simple "I'll replace it" (which NEVER GOT REPLACED, by the by) would fix the problem. You failed to realize though that it wasn't the object that I was really upset about. It was the fact that you used something without my permission, and then didn't even have the wherewithal to give it back in the same condition. Indeed, most time, you didn't even give it back; I had to trace it down!!
But the biggest reason that this is a pet peeve? I can list many, many, MANY items that you broke or ruined that hurt not only me, but the people who entrusted their care to me. In case you didn't realize, every single time something happened to one of my possessions, it reflected exceedingly badly on me. My bed. My figurines. The kerosene lantern. The walls of both of our apartments, where holes 'magically appeared'. A rake. A statue. My hair dryer. The futons our neighbor gave us. My blankets. I can go on and on. If you had respected my property, this would never have been an issue.
My next complaint pertains to personal boundaries. Do you really think it's necessary to come into the bathroom while I'm going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, showering, putting on make-up, cleaning, or whatever, just to tell me something that you just saw on TV? It honestly cannot wait for 5 minutes? Must you really follow me throughout the house, outside and in, interrupt my reading time or computer time, and incessantly text me to tell me mundane things that are unimportant, or could wait for a better time? Is it really necessary to not let me have time with my friends, whether it's talking to them online, or on the phone? You do NOT have to know who I'm talking with at every second. And when I'm on the phone, you do have to opportunity to not be a rude asshole and try to talk to the person over me. Because of this, I had to stop having Skype calls with my friends; whenever I tried, you were there, trying to talk to everyone and drowning them all out in your eagerness to make yourself heard. I alienated a lot of friends and family, albeit unintentionally, because I stopped texting, IMing, and calling them because somewhere along the line, you would have to somehow put in your two cents. In case you didn't know, if you want to talk to someone I'm talking to, you have the option of doing so... at your own time, with your own phone or computer. Bottom line, it's all about respect. Respect for me and whoever I'm with.
Speaking of respect, that's another issue. One of the really BIG ones. I don't know why you felt entitled to bad-mouth my family, as I tried to never ever speak poorly about yours, but... It is NEVER okay to badmouth your significant others' family... especially when they ask, then tell you, repeatedly to STOP because it's rude and hurtful. When you continued to do so.... It turned personal, like it or not. So the night that you called my grandfather a stupid-ass bastard, my father a condescending asshole, my mother a self-righteous cunt, and myself a "Whore! That's right, I said it! W-H-O-R-E!! A fucking whore!!!"? Yeah.... Crossed a lot of lines there. And that's all I'm saying on that particular subject.
But it does lead us neatly into the next, which is the main reason why I knew we could no longer be together (NOT my "asshole of father" who "controlled me and my decisions"). Here's the biggest reason: You are firm and unyielding in the belief that words cannot hurt; only physical force can. In my short life, I've found that statement to be 100% untrue. You said that you "would rather call me names than hit me," whereas I would rather it be the opposite, for "bruises can heal in a relatively short amount of time, and is something that can be ignored; Words bruise the heart, and as it continuously beats, it's continually in pain and takes longer to heal." I think you may have laughed at me when I told you that, because you just couldn't comprehend that. I dealt with it as best I could, hoping one of us would change or we could compromise. I realize now that I was wrong in thinking that.
And just so you know the secondary reason that I know we'll never suit... you make me feel like a living breathing pocket pussy, and even then I wasn't good enough. To come home from an 8 hour schoolday, or a long job, to find a dirty house, porn scattered around, and a bottle of lube on the floor... It made me feel useless. Like a cast-off. And then to make things worse, while I went to the bedroom to read and relax for a half hour, I'd begin to hear loud moaning.... And you were jacking off again. You didn't even have the decency to refrain from this habit when I was at home. You asked if it bothered me, but when I told you it did, it didn't phase you. And when I stopped letting you touch me because I felt dirty... I felt like a whore. Like I was here when you were in the mood because I'm better than your hand or a toy. You only started trying to pleasure me after months of my playing with you, and months more of my complaining that you never touched me. Even then, you went about it like it was a chore. Something to be endured until your time was up and you could receive your prize. And if I didn't respond to your sexual advances, the responses I got border on sexual abuse; temper tantrums, crying, or making me feel guilty for not wanting anything. For the last 6 months, if not more, of our relationship, I felt disgusted when you touched me. But I endured it because it was better than the alternative; a whiny 21 year old. And even after the sacrifice of allowing you to use me to get your rocks off, you still had to resort to masturbation when you promised me you would clean a room OR put away dishes OR vacuum OR straighten up the house OR.... The list goes on. When I am gone for 8 hours at a time, and you cannot do one simple thing, but have somehow managed to jack off 5 times --which you then brag about doing- and then repeat the process while I'm home and after I repeatedly ask that you don't let me see the evidence.... It's selfish, uncouth, rude, and a metaphorical glove slap to the face.
It makes me genuinely sad to realize that I'll never come to know the man I saw hiding behind a boy's carefree, negligent, hurt and hurtful exterior. It makes my heart ache to know that by breaking up with you, I hurt you deeply. But I feel that it's time for me to move on. I know now we can no longer work, and have not in fact been working for months, but you never realized it. I did. I watched, and waited. Tried to change, tried to accept, tried to move past the temper tantrums and the whole, "turning every conversation around so that it revolves around you" persona that you have. I resent a lot of things that were said and done to me over the course of our relationship, and I regret what we could have had a chance to be; I regret not being what we should/could have been; and I weep knowing that you can be a bigger, better man than you'll ever realize, but probably will never be. Or at least, not until you stop degrading other people, stop focusing on yourself, and learn how to act like a responsible adult.
I realize that you've had problems through your years. I was more than willing to work through them. I encouraged you to see a counselor, I held your hand through your brief journey through college before you flunked out of free schooling, I stood up for you to my family and friends (hurting many of them to do so), I relented and would set aside my time so that you wouldn't feel deprived of your "us" time, I never asked for more than you were able to give, I didn't harbor any resentment that you never once took me out somewhere without me having to pay at least a portion of something (be it gas, tickets, the tip, etc), I didn't feel angry that I never received any gifts from you on holidays or birthdays, I did my best to ignore/see past a lot of your faults. But when you told me "Congratulations! You're just like my fucking bitch mother and my fucking step-mother! Only you're worse! You've made me see that all women are cold, heartless bitches who will always walk away and break their promises!"
I will not go into detail about how I feel about everything. But I will thank you for a few things. Thank you for helping me learn and create a detailed list of what I DON'T want in a mate. And thanks for moving away from home with me. I wouldn't have had the courage to do it otherwise. Other than that.... I could take or leave everything.
I leave you with some advice. Stop the melodramatics. Don't expect credit where it isn't due. Get over yourself; you so far have accomplished NOTHING by yourself, except becoming homeless, getting out of a psych ward, losing jobs, failing school..... When you promise to do something, or give someone something, DO IT! I got so sick of knowing that when you said you would do something, it meant the opposite, that I wanted to slap you whenever you made a promise because I knew you wouldn't keep it. Learn how to get along with others. Get over your abandonment issues. Learn and embrace, if not tidiness, then cleanliness. Be sincere when you apologize, because it means nothing if you're saying it only to get what you want or to appease your conscience. Learn from your past, but don't dwell on it. And above all.... GROW THE FUCK UP.
Sincerely Hoping You Feel Guilty,
Your Misused and Abused Ex-Girlfriend