This post is dedicated to my ex…
Fuck you for coming to visit me on holiday and leaving the decision of how to handle the sexual attraction between us completely up to me; fuck you for refusing to give me any meaningful input on what you wanted.
Fuck you for agreeing that there shouldn’t be a long distance relationship when you went back to Canada after holiday was over, but not telling me “no LDR” meant you would ignore me for the majority of the summer.
Fuck you for stringing me along for a whole mother-fucking month and a half, complete with tears when you got on the bus back home.
Fuck you for having your best friend email me to tell me hello for you, because you were too fucking busy to send a two-word reply to my letters. Fuck you for getting me so worried about you that I started checking with people I don’t fucking know to me make sure you were still fucking breathing.
Fuck you for fucking with my head. Fuck you for, just when I am about to declare that I’ve determined we’re nothing but friends now (if even that), throwing something into your email that indicates otherwise, like the Dr. Tongue nickname in your closing.
Fuck you for writing incoherent gibberish when you finally find the time and money to visit an internet café. Fuck you for turning my good-bye rant about your boorish behavior and my subsequent rage into an excuse about how fucked up your life has been since arriving in town. Fuck you also for not telling me what the hell happened so that I might have some basis to understand where you’re coming from. Fuck you for asking my forgiveness anyway.
Fuck you for telling me you’ll write me soon and leaving me hanging for almost a month, now that we’ve established that it’s this type of behavior that earned my full-blown bitch-mode the first time around.
Fuck you for continuing the legacy I thought you would break – the legacy of being completely, royally, undeniably fucked over by every single man that meant anything to me.
Fuck you for using me and claiming you didn’t. Fuck you for hanging out on email until I knew for sure I wasn’t pregnant with your child, then dropping off the face of the earth once you knew you wouldn’t be hearing from an attorney about paying child support.
For this incredible head trip that started in April but didn’t get to the interesting parts until about June, I must say…
FUCK YOU, PIERRE!!!
Subvert the Dominant Paradigm.