It’s been two months since the break up, a month since we last fucked, and a week since I blocked her and every platform, from our shared photos album to WhatsApp and iMessage and both her IGs, to even Pokémon go and Snap.

Your stuff’s been in a plastic bag somewhere, don’t know where and don’t really care. I sank so low but I’ve honestly had the most peaceful time after I blocked you.

And although I still think about you, and although there are moments like tonight when I am tempted to unblock you, all I have to do is remember how you gaslit the shit out of me throughout and made me question my sanity, brought out the worst in me and exacerbated my alcoholism. How I’ve cried to you, how I came out as a rapist in your twist when the truth is you were on top of me, how I believed your bullshit and cut myself over it, how I’ve forced myself to see your side every time because it was you, but you never forced yourself to see mine. How I’ve gone to sleep sober every night since blocking you without even trying. I spent way too much time blaming myself when I should’ve just left you. My friends, your friends, everybody told me to leave you, that “[you’re] crazy,” that it isn’t worth it. And I held on and said no, because “I love her” and there’s “so much more to her.”

I should’ve left. I love you, but stay the fuck away from me. So as the song goes “if you were dead or still alive, I don’t care.”