This letter is hard to write; that’s the first thing I need you to know. Its hard for me to open up, and it’ll be harder still to share it with the world, but right now, while I’m all alone late at night, it’s all I can think about.
This letter is meant for you, Nameless. Its made up of all the words I’ve kept buried deep down inside of me for too long. Its the thoughts and feelings that I pretended didn’t exist in the hope that someday they’ll just disappear. After all, that’s what you did.
For a long time, whenever I thought about you, I thought about how much I despised you for what happened between us. I was so angry for the years of my life I wasted on you and I hated the control you had over me. Most of all, it destroyed me to watch you get to live your life as if nothing ever happened, while I was left desperately trying to pick up the pieces of mine.
The thing about hate is that its poison. It started to infect everything about you; even the good memories, the times we shared, started to be jaded. I questioned everything. How could you have done this? How could I have let you?
I knew that you had a reputation, but I tried not to think about that. I saw the way you treated other people – people I cared about – but ignored it as a warning sign. I let you rob me of my identity for so long, I forgot who I was without you. You controlled my self worth, so when you were gone, so was it.
I accept that I’m not completely blameless in this situation. I was clingy and jealous, but that’s no excuse. I was young and foolish, but you were so much more. Did it hurt you at all? You sure as hell made out like everything you did was because I left you with no other choice, but do you not feel a slight hint of guilt? Are you really as heartless as I’ve made myself believe?
In my mind, I made you out to be a monster. You were the stuff of nightmares, and you’re actions were even worse. Now that time had passed, and I’ve built myself back up, I realise that you’re just a person, and that scares me so much more.