(it’s a vent) 

i don’t care. 

you cannot date me for nearly a year, swear that you’ve researched bpd as much as you can to help understand me, see me and be with me through multiple bouts of panic over your presumes abandonment only to write me a letter saying that we will not be having contact anymore and expect me to take it well. 

i always told you no matter what you did to me i would not leave. i know how being abandoned by someone feels. it kills me every time. you know that. so i refused to do it to you. 

i lost my best friends over you. 
you raped me. 
you manipulated me. 
you gaslit me. 
you constantly triggered me. 
you shamed me. 
you guilted me. 
suicides baited me. 
turned me into a villain. 
blamed me. 
held money against me. 

you even gave me the option to leave. 

but i didn’t. because i would never, EVER, make anyone feel remotely close to how i feel when people leave. 

but the .... out of no where, my stuff is at my doorstep with a note saying we need time for “separate growth”? that we can’t talk because... what?

i feel dead. 

i fought for you. 

and you shot me. 

and then you say you love me. 

you did it because you fucking love me. 

i cut myself tonight for the first time a minuet. i banged my head into the wall our entire conversation. i pulled out my hair. not only did i relapse, i think i’ve had the worse self harm night i’ve ever had tonight. and it’s YOUR fault. 

and when i’m dead it’ll be YOUR fault. maybe not yours alone, but just know that you hit me the hardest. 

i hope the image of my fucking corpse never leaves your brain. i hope you’ll never be able to love someone again without thinking of me. i hope until the day you die you don’t fucking forget me. let me ruin your life from afar this time. 

you can cut me off but i will not let you forget about me. i will not release you. i will make your life a living fucking hell.