"If you really loved me, you would realize that relationships are a sacrifice."
"If you really loved me, you would be willing to give your entire self to me."
"If you really loved me, you wouldn't care about your family's opinion of me."
"If you really loved me, you'd undergo pain for me."
"If you really loved me, you should be able to forgive me for anything and everything."
"If you really loved me, you should be able to risk hating yourself."
"If you really loved me, you'd give up everyone else to make me stay."

I did all these things at one point or another, everything you asked of me and more. After certain lengths of time in our relationship, the statements you made gradually became more extreme, but easier and easier to put into place. The best part? You never had to try too hard; I was too in love with you too much to say no. Either that, or you'd just trained me to believe the word "no" was equivalent to "I don't love you."

Our relationship wasn't a sacrifice, it was a constant ultimatum. It wasn't caring for you, but letting my own needs take a backseat. At this point, I'm not even sure it was love on both ends. I wanted you to have everything in the world, but I spent most of my time feeling like an object. While I don't know if you ever loved me, I know for damn sure you lusted for me. Before I flatter myself too much, you did lust after anyone who got within five feet of you.

I didn't want anyone to do so much as look at me in the end. I knew that it was apparent to others every time we were together that something was wrong, all they had to do was look at me. I flinched when you touched me. I could barely kiss you anymore without being afraid that you'd critique me for being too "innocent" for you. You hurt me, but you knew how to make a point without leaving a single mark.

I didn't want to be near you, but I loved you. The combination of the love and the hatred I had for you has been one of the most confusing things I have felt in my life, and I know you knew it, too. You began doing things to make me stay; you'd use razors over your arm and threats on your life as consequences if I were to break up with you. After months of swearing I would but never going through with it, I finally ended things. I still don't know what gave me the strength to do it, but the amount of obscenities you threw at me in our last words to each other serve as a pretty good idea.

It's been almost two years since I broke up with you, but you wouldn't believe how slowly time moves when you are recovering from PTSD. To this day, I still flinch when people touch me, and I have panic attacks whenever anyone tries to tickle me. I wasn't able to look at any man in my life the same for a while. Every time I got into a car, I couldn't stop myself from seeing your face from the night you threatened to kill us both by crashing your car after a petty argument. I had night terrors and flashbacks occupy my brain almost every night until just a few months ago, and I hardly slept because I was too scared of having them again. Despite these things, I forgive you. Yes, you read right: I forgive you.

Don't delude yourself into thinking it is because of anything you did or have done. I know for a fact that your habits have not changed in the past two years. No, I'm not forgiving you for your sake. I am forgiving you for mine.

It is time for me to move on now. I am ready to allow myself to be happy again, and I am ready to seek out relationships that make me feel important, not worthless. It's about time I did a shred of good for myself in that respect, and I know now that what we had was the definition of unhealthy. So, say what you will about me. I take comfort in knowing that this is the last I will ever give you the time of day again.

Sincerely,

The girl who you never cared to care for.