an open letter to my toxic ex-boyfriend
reflections on a breakup that's been a long-time coming (8 years!)
You were my best friend, only because you’ve seen me at my worst and I’ve seen the way you ruin others’ lives and leave them with nothing. We made a promise. I won’t tell if you don’t.
It was our little secret, holding us together like glue, but I called it love because it felt nicer to say that than to call myself trapped.
To others, you were a concept. To me, you’ve always been a man because when living in your heteronormative world, I had to be a girl. I had to be a woman or else I couldn’t compete because then I couldn’t be in any category. My existence didn’t make sense. I had to deny being a lesbian because it was not useful for you.
I was content with that for a bit because you promised I’d be able to live my truth if I just stuck with it. You were right, except I realized I can’t fully live my truth with you still in my life.
Before officially breaking up with you, I talked to so many people, close friends and new acquaintances. Somebody I talked to said that you’re like a toxic boyfriend that I need to break up with. I couldn’t argue against that.
When I told people I finally decided to break up with you, everybody immediately lit up and said congratulations. All my friends have always fucking hated you, even when I told them you just wanted the best for me.
I always left out how much I gave up just to make you happy. I believed in trickle-down happiness. If you’re endlessly happy, I get morsels of peaceful moments.
You’ve been around for half of my life. I have been with you since I was 12 years old. I’ve spent the past 7 months practicing what it’s like to live without you. And I think I’m finally for you to be fully out of my life.
It was our little secret, holding us together like glue, but I called it love because it felt nicer to say.
In some ways, you saved my life. Without you, I wouldn’t have escaped from my hometown. Without you, I wouldn’t have met some of my closest friends (who, hopefully, will stay friends with me long after you’re out of my life). Every time I placed in a tournament or when my team won, I felt invincible, thanks to you.
But honestly, you’ve ruined my life. You’re responsible for the reason I started this whole substack.
One of the reasons I had such a hard time leaving you is that you were such a nice shield. You were an easy excuse for having no friends in high school, because how was I supposed to make friends when I was spending every weekend with you in bumfuck middle-of-nowhere desert towns?
I was so fucking unhappy with you. You were a constant source of misery, and you never even liked me. It always felt like I fighting to be the perfect fit for you. I was never going to be good enough for you, and that made me believe I was inherently never going to be good enough. Ever.
I have only been able to make the decision to break up with you because I have finally learned self-respect. I finally realized I can’t keep looking for approval from someone—something—who will never ever respect who I am. But it’s still difficult to leave, not because I’ll miss you but because I’ll miss the way you hurt me. At the end of the day, I knew you would always be there for me, not for the better, though.
The hardest part is you’re never going to say sorry for ruining my life. After all, you’re a fucking sport, a four-letter word that shares a letter with love. But you’re also a man, a concept, and you were, at one point, my life. And I have to be okay with never getting an apology.
That’s why I’m writing this letter, inventing closure that I know I’ll never get from you. You don’t care. You don’t even want to be sorry because you have no idea the extent of what you’ve done. I don’t blame you because I don’t forgive you either. We’re never going to be okay with each other.
You were my best friend, and I always mistook your mistreatment for love because I wanted it so badly. Do you miss me yet? I hope you do. I don’t want to, but I hope you do anyway.