Diary Writing

A Letter to My Ex

“You fucked me over and left my brain impregnated with these bastard babies called memories.” 

Dear Matt,

I was already broken when you waltzed into my life.

You seemed so charming and different (aren’t they all when they want something ?) and thoughtful and sweet.

Did I dare dream of a man like you? Were you the answer to my string of devastating relationships, of insecurities from a lifetime of being told I was inadequate, of being downtrodden, of not giving a fuck anymore?  I was tender and hard, a lover and a hater, passionate and cold, apt to leave at the slightest sign that things were getting serious and moving on to the next thing without so much as batting an eyelid.That was how I survived through my turbulent teenhood of broken dreams, false promises and feelings of deep-seated alienation, of love unexpressed and expressed in all the wrong ways.

I had always thought of myself as strong, as not needing a man, but with you I fell harder than a tonne of bricks.

But just like all the others, you left. Only this time, a part of me died inside.

For months after our break up, I stalked you on Facebook and kept tabs on your life, smiling at your smiles, laughing at jokes not intended for me, allowing my heart to feel a fresh wave of pain each time I looked at your pictures and traced your face with longing fingers.

You said we weren’t meant to be, that you couldn’t deal with the distance. You left me feeling unworthy; that mere miles could defeat my feelings and my sincerity and my wholeheartedly stupid trust in you. You denied that we had something special. I was just a girl whom you had an online fling with. While you talked about the girls you dated in high school, girls you fell for and were falling for, not a single mention about me.

I wasn’t even a dirty secret of your lies and deceit – I was nothing. And that hurt the most.

After the pain came the rage. They say that the opposite of love is hate, and how quickly the tables turned. I wasn’t just angry, I was furious. Who gave this man, this seemingly sweet and thoughtful farce of a man, the right to trample all over the heart I so preciously saved for the one – not only breaking it but stomping it into the ground like so much dirt and dust? I was angry not only at you, but at myself for ever believing you were different. I wanted you to feel sorry for leaving.

When your other ex dumped you, as terrible as it sounds, a part of me was vindictively happy that she left your sorry excuse of a hypocritical ass. Not only did you leave me because of ‘distance’, you had the nerve to get into another long distance just a few months after we ‘broke up’. Oh, she hurt you. She hurt you really, really bad. You flunked your degree and you were an emotional train wreck. In that dark place where exes deserve nothing short of pain, pain and pain, a part of me was glad that you were tasting a slice of what you inflicted on me. What can I say, karma’s a bitch.

And then you picked yourself up and moved on. Found another long distance chic to date – a pretty blonde who seemed like a nice girl. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to hate you, for daring to find happiness. I wanted you to be miserable and admit that you were wrong  and that you were sorry – something you never said, or felt, I believe. I went through your loving, happy photos and I got mad all over again.

I was still angry.

It was a lot of work, and it was tiring.

The saying goes that time heals everything. I don’t believe in that – I think it just sort of dulls the pain, until all that is left is a scar. A souvenir of all the memories and words and could-have-beens. What time does is it teaches you to move on. A few years down the road, I realized that I was silly to think that I ever ‘loved’ you. What I had for you wasn’t love – it was infatuation turned to dangerous loathing, as I poured out a life’s worth of insecurities and hurt and anger and projected them onto you.

Over the past year, I found that I was going through your profile less and less. And even if I did, the pain got lesser each day, until one day I simply saw you as… a stranger. With a blonde girlfriend. It was your birthday recently – and I completely forgot about it until FB prompted me. Funny how I used to keep such a close watch on the date so that I’d be the first to wish you Happy Birthday.

So after four, long years of missing, hurting, hating, I finally deleted you from Facebook.

I didn’t need you anymore.

In a way, you’ve taught me a lot of things. I’ve learnt that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I’ve also learnt that good things come to those who wait. So for that, I thank you.

And Matt?


You’re still a bitch.



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