In my observation, I’ve made a lot of concessions over the last year and a half. More than I care to admit to.

You told me from the very beginning that I shouldn’t let you change me because that’s what you do. You failed to mention that you’re a heartless monster who would take me for everything I had and leave me empty.

But, you know, using your words is hard, right?

Unless you’re calling me names.

Let us not forget that this time last year, I was hiding in an Airbnb in Florida, crying my eyes out because you’d left me for the woman you left your wife for. What a story. And the end of the story is that she didn’t want anything to do with you after I told on you for being a cheating dog.

You blamed me.

For a very long time.

Christ, you probably still blame me.

It’s always someone else’s fault.

It certainly wasn’t MY dick in another woman when I’d put a ring on someone’s finger.

But I digress.

The point of the story is that I made a lot of concessions to make our relationship work. I spent so much money between travel and therapy–all in the name of building a solid foundation from which we could grow. I wanted to be with you forever. I thought you were my forever person.

In truth, you’re just another adult child, incapable of empathy or compassion. I believe this is how we describe narcissists, no? Incapable of accepting your own faults and unwilling to realize the reality that your actions bring to others. In truth, you make people’s lives harder than they’re supposed to be, and that’s on you, not me.

People ask me what happened. In truth? I have no idea.

Here’s what happened:

  • You landed in Mexico a day late (after asking ME to meet you in Mexico on a whim)
  • You found a taxi while I was on the phone
  • You forgot I was on the phone, put your phone in your pocket, and started talking to the taxi driver

You then spent 45 minutes telling the taxi driver how fat and ugly I am.

“She’s not beautiful. She’s certainly not the prettiest. She’s no Halle Berry. I could get a pretty one, but a pretty one would expect me to pay for this trip. This one will pay her own way.”

And so on.

For 45 minutes.

When I called you to tell you I could hear you, you were so ashamed. I would have been, too. You were so embarrassed. I would have been, too.

I took a second. Maybe a minute.

I looked for flights home.

Our trip was non-refundable. I made the most of it, and I had the best time I could. But I didn’t have time to process. I just went through the actions. I played the role. I did the thing. We went from you saying, “Do you want to be Facebook friends?” to “I never wanted to be with you” in the matter of four hours.

I have no idea what happened.

When I got home, I lost my fucking mind. I’d lost my best friend. I was lost as a human. I was so hurt and so confused.

Lest we not forget the two months that I let you call me every name under the sun.

Lest we not forget the time you compared me to Hitler.

Lest we not forget the time you told me what your last bitch looked like when she orgasmed WHEN YOU WERE FUCKING ME. I’ve never felt so small.

Lest we not forget the horrible things you’ve done to women, and lest we not exclude me from that list.

My list could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.

I’ve given you so much grace. I’ve given you so many concessions. It is with this, that my concession stands.

You want my brother’s car? Use your words. I’m presently impressed by your inability to communicate like an adult when I’ve been put through so much.

Thanks for the things I learned from you. I learned how to love harder than I ever knew was possible. I learned how to love, laugh, and be free like it was natural (because it was). I learned how to be there through seizures, death, dog grooming appointments, and everything in between. I learned that I’m a pretty amazing woman who can put up with a lot of shit.

The amount of hurt you’ve inflicted on me feels insurmountable. But it’s not. It’ll be fine.

Hot dogs? Soda? Welcome to my concession stand.