“If you can’t be by yourself, you can’t be in a relationship.”
That’s what I was. For a year. I was the reason you didn’t feel lonely. I was the bandaid over a gaping wound. I twisted, I bent, I fell at your knees.
Now that I am no longer within your reach, you have turned cold. You have taken control over your own feelings, thinking you can treat me like a pile of steaming shit.
Sick of being stepped on.
Sick of the nasty texts, of the disrespect, of the disregard and lack of sympathy.
You’re miserable and I dulled that for you.
I made everything seem comfortable to you.
You’re at home. You’re not working. You’re alone with your thought, your feelings, dwelling on what you can’t control.
I am not a puppet. I am not at your beck and call.
You told me I’d be successful, and I am.
Are you mad that you threw away your job and I now have it and am thriving?
That I am starting school, reconnecting, making a living and happy life for myself?
Get your miserable shit fuck life together.
Once you throw out the trash, you can’t scramble for it back.