I’m working on a new sporadic segment that will be a series of letters that I never plan to send. Writing is therapy for me. Names will be either omitted or changed for the sake of legal issues that could potentially arise. These will be personal, they will be honest, and they will be heartfelt. My life is an open book.
I forget about you a lot, but not often enough. Right now is not one of those times where I can forget. My stomach sinks when I drive in the same neighborhood as your craphole dwelling. I spent such a short time there but I knew you too quickly; I caught on to your mental instability from day one. That’s not something most people can help, so I took it upon myself to try to help you help yourself. What a lost cause. It isn’t possible to help someone who can’t see that there’s a problem. It’s not that you won’t see the problem, you quite literally can’t until you make some major life changes.
You’ve done enough to almost have your kids taken from you, your credit destroyed, your health degenerated, and your friends against you with vehement hatred. Yet you still think you can do no wrong. Your own kids are disgusted by you and are desperate to leave, but they still have their internal dilemmas of leaving you alone to continue destroying yourself. You’re dragging them down in to your personal Hell and it is not fair to them.
How many tenants have you berated, lied to, annoyed the everlasting fuck out of since I left? I’m assuming one every 2-3 months; no one can handle your insanity longer than that. You don’t even have a mental illness or disorder, you’re just an angry person.
Someday I hope you find your peace. I hope no one else suffers because of you.