Letters Never Sent, 6.

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.

Letter #6

Dear Cactus Dick,

“If I had it my way I’d slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back.” – BMTH

Your unrelenting selfishness has gone unpunished for too long. Your abuse broke my mind in to thousands of tiny, scared pieces. Three and a half years later I’m still scrambling to find them all. Every red flag they warn you about, every bit of advice you’ve heard in your life is about people like you.

You showered me with affection at the start, convincing me we’re soulmates and should run away to Vegas to get married. The first two months were bliss. We were such a cute couple and everyone was envious of our “love.”

Then one night (seemingly out of nowhere) you broke your tooth from clenching your jaw in anger at me. What did I do to invoke such fury? Oh, right. We were with my friends and I was being the exact fucking same as always but suddenly around them it meant something else, right? “I never knew I was dating such a ‘bro.'” Yeah, definitely a justifiable excuse for dumping me on the spot.

Confused and disappointed, I let it go and went on with my life. One day of crying and I felt better. It had only been 3 months, after all. I got a cat and had a large support system of friends. If I knew then what I know now it all would’ve stopped right there and we’d be fine.


You begged for us to get back together because you felt stupid for dumping me over such a small issue (ya think?). This is when your true colors became apparent to everyone but me. You’d constantly brag about how many girls want to fuck you, then you’d text them all night in front of me. If I so much as talked to another male without your explicit and genuine permission I would be accused of cheating or not loving you. You’d go hours without answering your phone when I’d call (but you’d answer for other people) yet if I missed a call from you I was in deep shit. You constantly gaslighted me by accusing me of confusing your likes/interests with my exes (which was bullshit because I still know what they like and it’s not the same as you’ve ever mentioned liking). It got to a point where I legitimately thought you had split personalities. No worries, I support those with mental illnesses and wouldn’t leave you over it. No, I’d fix you. I’d make it all okay. You always told me you wanted me (an atheist) to go to church but when I’d offer you’d shut me down. You’d constantly barrage me with ideas of what I should be like and how imperfect I am.

Then there were the fights. You sneaky cunt. You’d spend the entire car ride to a friend’s house/family gathering/social event riling me up and picking at my insecurities. You’d tell me things about the people we were about to see… awful things (that I know now are most likely not even close to true). I’d get out of the car with no smile; no motivation to be kind to anyone in my company. Then you’d flirt with the first girl you could find to make me jealous. You’d do everything in your power to subtly antagonize me until I’d snap and yell at you in front of everyone. All they saw was me “being crazy” to you; the poor, charming, sweet young man that they love so much. Later, you’d tell them every bad thing you told me with one major difference: you’d tell them that I said it.

Those, among other things, were the red flags. Stupidly, I went on to buy a house with you. You had no interest in it and were content with living with your mom and her boyfriend. I, however, wanted more so I pushed for it. We found the perfect place and bought it. Within a week you had kicked me out of our bed to the guest room. You started hanging with notorious cheaters from work. You’d get texts the length of college essays late at night from girls you never talked about to me. (I never read them but I sure as fuck saw that they existed.)

Feeling dejected and alone, I reached out for help from my friends. I then realized that you had sneakily isolated me from them and I had no one to turn to. I cried myself to sleep every night, alone in the guest bedroom with my cat. I had no idea what I could possibly have done to have you hate me so much so suddenly. You forced me to become addicted to your love only so that it would hurt more when you ripped it away with no explanation. You told me to move out the day that I finally finished unpacking everything (since I’d spent forever painting and scrubbing every single room of the house). You started staying at your mom’s (yeah right). In this time you’d IM me at work and try to get me to chat with you like we were friends still. You told me that I’m so good in bed you may just go celibate

Then you told me to move out asap (because you made me so depressed I started cutting myself for the first time in my entire life at the age of 23). I had no one to help me. No one. I was homeless for a while so you offered to watch my cat until I found a couch to sleep on. You and your vicious hag of a mother abused my cat until the stress almost killed her. That cat fucking loved you, you piece of shit. Abusing my pet because you’re mad at me (for no goddamn reason, may I remind you) is utter bullshit and makes me angrier than anything you ever did to me personally. Still homeless, I had to go get my cat because of this. She wouldn’t even let me near her. How could I blame her? I left her in your “care” for 2 weeks where she starved and got smacked around. Now she’s fine again, thanks for asking (fucking prick).

Then I started hanging with Neb; your supposed bff who you always talked mad shit about and treated like garbage in his time of need. In time, he revealed to me that you had mentioned celibacy to me because you’d been “fuckin’ a 19-year-old who don’ know what she’s doin'”. Your boss’s daughter, even. And the real kicker? She moved in right when you kicked me out. So, essentially, you found a perfectly normal and awesome person, turned me against myself while you tried to force me into a “perfect wife” mold that doesn’t exist, then when my mind snapped and I became unrecognizable you threw me away and replaced me with your next victim. I now know that she wears my ring every single day since you two got married.

I fucked my current bf in your bed.
I hope you slept on the cum stain.


Toodles bitch,



I would have said “yes”

There are so many areas that appear to be grey to us when faced with sexual consent. It should be simple for everyone: “yes” means “yes” and everything else means “no.” Sadly, our culture sets us up for failure. Men are expected to be sexually aggressive and able to interpret women’s messages of playing hard-to-get. Women are expected to put up a small fight even when they’re interested. Not only that, but women are expected to look sexually available even when they have no interest at all in having sex that particular day/night. There are hundreds of factors I’m leaving out, here, because there are just simply too many contributors to rape culture.

When you’re at a party with close-knit friends you should feel safe to stifle your inhibitions and let loose. Even if one of those opposite-sex friends has a really cool snap-button shirt that’s fun to rip open when you get really tipsy.

That’s the last thing I coherently remember. His awesome blue and purple flannel shirt with the snap buttons. Then I passed out on the couch in the living room. I woke up naked next to him in a bed. No, I do not remember leaving the couch. No, I do not remember him being all over me all night. No, I certainly do not remember having sex; but I do remember a single flash of a moment of having my legs hastily thrown to the side so he could enter me. In that half second of clarity I tried to say “stop.” I don’t know if I did or not; I don’t remember anything.

The part that makes me the angriest about this is that I would have consented if he just fucking asked. Instead, he took it without my permission and left me scarred.

Moral of the story: Don’t rape.
Sub-moral of the story: ASK and you might receive.

Letters Never Sent, 3.

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.

Letter 3

Dear Bonono,

There really is no way to start saying this, so here it is: I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry. You always deserved better from me and you never got it. You had me at my worst and stuck by my side only to be hurt again and again. Someday someone will treat you like royalty and you will make them feel complete. Someday someone will let themselves love you like I once did, but they won’t let it fade like I did. Someday someone will know how stupid it would be to give up and stop trying. Until that day comes I hope you never feel too badly about how awful I was to you; I want to know you’re doing okay.

For a long time I meant it when I said “I love you” and I am so sorry that that didn’t last. We were kindred spirits, watching each other grow and learn. Unfortunately, our paths pulled us in different directions and I let it get to my head. I became controlling, dishonest, and flat out mean. I hate that side of myself. I never want to see it again. You never have to see that side of me now that we’ve spent so much time away from each other. Being friends again would be nice for a time, yet eventually we would begin to wonder.

I’m happy now and I want to know you are, too.
If anyone in this world deserves more happiness than they’ve been given, it’s you.

I’ll always care.

If only…

You make eye contact across the freezer in the middle of the grocery store aisle. Nonchalantly browsing through the various meats you keep glancing up to check if he is looking, too. He is.

He saunters up to you, clean black button up shirt unbuttoned just enough to see the muscle of his smooth chest. His swept back hair shines almost as much as his eyes as they pull you in. Before you know it he is inches away, his warm breath tickling your cheek. The alluring scent he emits is familiar and calls to your very core.

Your heart races as he speaks to you and after a while, you realize you haven’t heard one word he’s said. It doesn’t matter. He moves closer, hand on your hip, gently pulling you against him. Your body is a web of electricity as you feel his warmth. You are helpless in his grasp. You are filled with more desire than you knew you possessed. His whispers grow urgent as he leans you back as if you are dancing. Your body begins to ache with the need for him to take you, fully and completely.

Soft piano music drifts in to your mind and this glorious dream of finally making it with Nathan Fillion dissipates. Your alarm clock ruins yet another glorious sexcapade.


withdrawal nightmare

I have to get this dream out of my head. Here’s some backstory so that it is slightly easier to follow:

Right now I am suffering from painful SSRI (anti-depression medication) withdrawals (yes, my doctor is who had me ween off of them, it wasn’t a simple decision made on my own). I know it doesn’t sound serious if you have not been through it, but I assure you it is in the ballpark of opiate withdrawals. Shivers, flu symptoms, dizziness (so extreme that I can’t drive), “brain zaps”, muscle aches, extreme anger (and all negative emotions come to think of it), as well as many other things that I am done boring you with. I cry at the drop of a hat over almost everything and I’m so emotional that I can’t handle work or school right now. It is only temporary, but being in my 2nd or 3rd week straight of this I’m starting to feel a little hopeless.

In high school I had a friend that we can refer to as “C” for privacy’s sake. We were such close friends that we called each other our respective twin. Our bond was so close I thought that nothing could ever break it. Eventually we realized we were this close because of sexual attraction, but we could not act on it since I was in a long term relationship with his best friend for seven years. Unfortunately, C stopped caring and stopped respecting us. I started getting nudes, dirty texts, and advances in person. As much as I wanted those and shamefully reciprocated a few, I knew we could not carry on that way and remain friends. My guilt escaped through admittance, I was forgiven, and I tried to move on with my then-boyfriend. We cut C out of our lives completely. Later we learned through mutual friends that C was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and severe depression. I still feel awful about leaving him without his two best friends during the biggest time of need and I often blame myself for some of his depression and his fears of abandonment. I’m too weighted down with the fear of accepting this blame to make amends or to speak to him again.

My dream started off as me playing Majora’s Mask with the childhood friend who introduced video games in to my life for the long term. We were playing and enjoying reminiscing until, oh my, it was nearly 3 am! Being 25 it was weird to be back in this room  I had spent so much time in as a kid. It was even weirder to walk back home (literally next door) to find my mom still up having a drink with C’s mom.

C’s mom was wiping tears from her eyes with a Kleenex and went quiet as I entered the room. My mom took me aside and we almost stepped on a tiny scorpion (I am unsure what that symbology means in dreams). She let me know that C had started taking massive amounts of steroids and despite looking damn good, his heart was failing at age 24. She said his cartoid artery [after waking I looked up parts of the heart and found it was actually his superior vena cava] was not connected to anything anymore and he may only have a few hours to live (because dreams are just so realistic like that). I panicked and instantly demanded to get his phone number so I can talk to him. She refused saying it would be rude to wake his family at that hour. Crying, I reminded her they were most likely awake and at his side with the obvious exception of C’s mom in the room. She gave in and gave me his cell phone number. I called him to apologize and he decided he wants to come see me.

Immediately upon entering the room it’s apparent that he has some sort of hernia poking out of his chest where his heart should rest and his heart is lower than his stomach; somewhat near his right hip bone. The was a circle suctioned to his skin and I realized this was his cartoid artery searching for life outside of his body. I gave him a hug as gently but tightly as I could. His artery/vein suctioned to me and without thinking, my mom ripped us apart to “solve” the problem. He instantly collapsed as if dead. Overwhelmed with horror I fell on to him and begged him not to die yet. He responded by wrapping his arms around me and trying to kiss me. Knowing he only had hours left to live at most, I obliged and went with it. He asked me why we never tried to make it work with each other. My response was that we couldn’t build a relationship off of our romance only occurring when one of us was cheating. Despite that reply, I gave him another heartfelt kiss. Naturally, this is when my current boyfriend walks in [he has never met C] and had no idea what was going on. I tried explaining but it obviously didn’t sound truthful because it was such an extravagant circumstance. He stormed off threatening to walk in to a fire (one was conveniently burning in my backyard near us).

I became torn between comforting C in every way I could until he passed away and reconciling with the love of my life. As I was pacing back and forth between the two (running from one to the other like an indecisive maniac) C thought I was leaving him again and he died right then and there. My dream ended with me collapsing to my knees and screaming in anguish over the loss.

I feel like this dream is asking me to befriend C again, or to at least apologize to him for letting romance/sexual tension ruin the friendship we had. At the same time, I feel like the dream is warning me not to talk to him again because I’d be endangering my current healthy relationship. Regardless, my eyes are still wet with tears and my heart hurts as if I’m the one with complications. There is also the deep fear that this was prophetic and that he will die soon without ever knowing how sorry I am.

Does anyone else have a different insight or advice to offer? What is this dream trying to tell me?