To my ex-husband,
All I ever wanted was for you to love me until I was me again.
And I didn’t think that this was too much to ask.
I should have took more notice of the way you’d complain about wanting the old me back.
Where did she go? And I didn’t have an answer, because my mental illnesses took over and kept me their prisoner.
Do you realize just how paralyzing that was? I struggled so hard to be that old version of myself again, but it was a long battle, not to mention an impossible one.
I am mostly me again, but I’m certainly not the same old Merry that I was back in 2011.
Because I’m a stronger, updated version of myself now, partly because of the hell you put me through.
I read and hear from many sources that I need to forgive you, but that’s something that I’ll never be able to do. I will never wish you well, nor will I pray that someday you’ll see the light. That’ll never happen because you’ll never admit that you did anything wrong.
Your evil superpower is an ego the size of your ass.
You’ve caused me far too much damage for forgiveness to ever take place.
Because of your early subtle and then later insidious abuse, I have a persistent voice in my head that tells me that I’m not worthy of love.
That I’m not worthy of empathy and human kindness. That being mentally ill is something to be ashamed of, ostracized and mocked for.
I have a deep river of anger and hostility towards you. I wasted 15 fucking years of my life, the entirety of my 30’s, with a cold, heartless, lying, cheating son of a bitch. Those are years that I’ll never get back.
They are now all lost to the hands of time. All I have to show for those precious years is a greater understanding of how to detect an abusive person and then steer clear of them.
And I will not allow myself to be treated like human garbage ever again. I deserve so much more than what you were ever capable of giving.
What do I wish for you?
I wish that someday, when you become sick yourself and you’re scared shitless, that you end up alone in an ER somewhere, desperately hoping for some reassurance from your beloved that you’re not a miserable burden, better dead than alive.
Do you remember that day? That awful day when I tried to kill myself, but you couldn’t be bothered to follow the ambulance to the hospital to comfort me?
I still cannot wrap my head around it. What sort of human can do that to someone that they claim to love?
I suppose someone like you, because that’s exactly what you did. Such cruelty is absolutely disgusting and everyone that knows would agree with me.
My mother despised you, by the way. Your heart hurt when you learned that she passed away, eh?
Save the bullshit for someone who might believe you.
I hope that someday I run across your mind and you experience even the slightest twinge of regret. And if that day ever comes, I hope that you can feel my hatred for you over the miles that gloriously separates us.
I pray that your new soon-to-be wife wakes up one day to discover that you’re also cheating on her, because like you told me in a sad attempt to rationalize your deplorable actions, you have a sickness that makes you want to fuck as many women as you can.
Because of course, you’re the victim.
I really hope that she has the nerve and determination to kick you out of her home, just like I did.
Because of you, I have many years worth of therapy ahead of me. And I hope that each session, when I speak your name in an effort to finally redeem and recollect my sense of self worth, it burns your soul.
Whatever is left of it.
Your ex wife,