Why was your desire, your lust, your god-damn desperation more important than what I wanted, than what I was ready for.
Why did you claim to love me, but when it came to your fingers you never once asked “do you want to?”
Why would you spend months manipulating me, conditioning me to believe that me not wanting your hands on me was my issue—that I was odd, I was the f*cking problem.
Your needs were desperately fulfilled whenever we were together. For four months you did whatever you wanted to me and I had to fake enjoyment just to satisfy your ego, and to get you off of me.
You only ever cared about consent when it came to sex. When if you didn’t ask, it would’ve been impossible to not call it rape.
But how could I say no when it’s all you could ever talk about, when that aim was all you really loved me for.
I thank god, everyday that you couldn’t keep it up.
And how could you possible lash out when I decided to leave you. When I was finally away and could see how abusive you truly were.
How could you try to turn it on me, spewing all kinds of hate.
And once I left, your friends harassed me, tried to break me down and you are -somehow- still some kind of god to them.
My mum cried when I finally told her, so many damn months later.
My friends still don’t know because unlike you and your friends, I didn’t want the responsibility of ruining your reputation.
How can I tell them that your sadistic fetish was the reason I had bruises on my neck, because strangling was more your style than choking. Not that you would admit it.
Do you still think I wanted your touch?
What about when I said I was on my period because I was too damn exhausted to fake it after an eight hour shift.
Thank god you’re afraid of periods.
How about shaming my scars? Belittling my anxiety? Attempting to force me into anxious situations because all i needed to do was “grow up.”
Thank god I left town, otherwise how long would it have taken for me to realize that you abused me?
But you still tried to contact me months later, after experiencing one ounce of anxiety, as if you suddenly understood.
But I didn’t talk to you, because I know you didn’t understand, I know you still don’t.
You still won’t see be able to see what you really put me through
You were too damn clouded by sheer desperation.
I hate that i’m terrified to talk about you.
I hate that i’m terrified to see you.
I hate that i’m terrified to tell people because how can I expect them to believe me, when I had to make you believe I liked it.
I hate you.
It’s almost been a year since the first time you invaded me and I still haven’t let another guy come near me.
You ruined me, and I hate you for that.
– your ex ‘girlfriend’
Author: Tamara Kettles
Link to social media or website: https://twitter.com/wonderlandtee