#the fact that house is consistently selfish. that he’s an addict. he’s always in pain

[lovehours]

i don’t even fucking care

[oliverhqs]

✧ °˖ — ( casey deidrick. cis-male. he/him. ) looks like oliver carmichael just signed back in at the front desk. word around is, that they’re only staying at the northern star because his family took their annual family vacation to their manor and he decided this year he didn’t want to stay amongst his insufferable relatives for the duration of the trip, so he found somewhere much more relaxing to stay instead while he explores ireland by himself. apparently the twenty-seven year old can be a bit apathetic & opinionated. but their open-minded & relaxed personality usually makes up for it. i hear they like to play piano, paint, and read in their free time. it makes me think of them as a quiet mid-afternoon walk on the italian countryside, staying up throughout the entire night in a dimly lit room talking about books, philosophy, love, and the stars, & well loved sheet music sprawled all over the floor and desk.

hello potential, friends !! i’m late the to party as usual but this ball of anxiety goes by the name of rue ( she/her pronouns ) and i’ll be playing Angsty Boi™, oliver carmichael. if you would like to hit me up for plots / scream about connections all night long, please give this a big ole like and i’ll come bouncing like a happy ferret in the snow to your DMs !! under the cut, you’ll find a brief biography and stats about oli’s life. you can find all my connections here though if you want to check those out. can’t wait to start interacting !!

+ disclaimer: slight talks of cancer and mental health are mentioned below. read at your discretion.

layer one: the stats.

NAME. oliver alexander carmichael.

ALIAS. people usually just call him by oliver but sometimes oli makes an appearance.

TITLE. over time, he has proudly deemed himself an obsessive pizza addict, artistic nutcase, or one of the missing dead poets society members.

AGE. twenty-seven years old.

GENDER IDENTITY. cis-male.

PRONOUNS. he/him.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. predominately panromantic demisexual. it isn’t so much so that luca is completely disinterested in sex (he’s got a perfectly good libido, thank you very much), he just doesn’t find himself sexually attracted to people based on physical appearance or initial impressions. instead he finds personality, intellect, and existing emotional attachment considerably more compelling. the idea of intimacy with somebody he’s not close with rather repulses him.

CURRENT RESIDENCE. he currently lives in east village in new york but he travels quite often for his job, so residency usually fluctuates depending on how long he stays there. 

BIRTHPLACE. new york city, new york.

NATIONALITY. american.

RELIGION. he was raised roman catholic but converted to spiritual agnosticism when he was eighteen. he views that universal ethics and love are far more important than claims about any deity and trivialize the arguments supporting or rejecting such claims. to oliver, it doesn’t matter which religion someone might follow, nor does it matter whether or not someone believes in God. what matters is what someone does, not what they believe. he has his parents’ full support in his switch even though the rest of his family practices catholism.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. english (fluent/main), french (fluent/2nd main), italian (still learning but can understand it quite well).

EDUCATION. graduated with a bachelors in music therapy and minor in visual arts at brown university.

PROFESSION. works as a freelancing artist in his spare time as he work full time as a music therapist.

layer two: about.

When someone hears the name Carmichael, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. And who wouldn’t? With the father being a State’s Attorney and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. In the public eye the Carmichael family was flawless. Lilian was the always supporting wife who thrived in raising money for fundraisers and showing off her cooking skills and David was being a husband who brought home piles of money and was devoted to his family. Everyone wanted what they had. Oliver Carmichael was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. The Carmichael family are one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and Oliver’s parents were no exception. He grew up learning how to be charming and handsome, and aware of his superiority over those of inferior to him. Oliver’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restless at various fancy parties and dinners, while his father kept him from all the treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. Oliver’s father was always cold and emotionally isolated from him; only after a perfect son to show off to the world.

He has a brother, who is three years younger than him, named Nathaniel. His relationship with his brother, however, is a bit estranged just like with their father. As much as he loves his brother and wishes they could see eye-to-eye, sometimes they tend to butt heads often. Whether that might mean your typical sibling arguments or full-on blown out fights, they just can’t seem to see get along.

As a young, restless little child, Oliver sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. His friend taught him that there was such thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of Greek mythology, and he learned that his father had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. However, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. Since then, Oliver kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself. Unfortunately, as time went on, Oliver grew up to become a lot colder and more isolated like his father—leaving the feeling of pure joy of meeting that friend he met long ago, had vanished. With his family situation being completely dysfunctional and rottenly horrible, he never experienced what being happy was all about.

Sometimes calling someone selfish is a gross exaggeration, but in Oliver’s case its right on-point. Eventually in his early teens he became distracted, always preoccupied with his own affairs and matters of interest. Whether it was schoolwork, his multiple and usually explosive relationships, or his many existential crises, Oliver was one for waving people away and turning the conversation back on himself. This wasn’t necessary out of narcissism or some hidden agenda: Oliver genuinely doesn’t know who he is. Perpetually fidgeting and restless, it’s not uncommon to see him rapidly flicking a cigarette lighter, or playing with his hair, or bouncing on the balls of his feet. In high school he’s brilliant: it’s that simple. He is the golden boy. Prone to spilling into intellectual spiels - and labelled a know-it-all - he internalized everything, memorizing tiny details, eyes skipping here and there. His intelligence is among his most useful traits and is by far the thing he values most about himself. Much of his ego is built around the confidence that he is effortlessly smarter than almost anybody he encounters. Knowledge is power, and he weaponizes his superior intellect, using his brains more than brawn to protect himself and intimidate the people he doesn’t care for.

Although his parents were the bane of his experience 100% of the time, his mother wasn’t all that insufferable when she had her moments away from his father and not trying to be this pristine ‘perfect’ woman beside her husband. In fact, throughout his childhood she often encouraged Oliver’s belief in extraordinary things and hoped he had carried it throughout his life growing up. His mother had always made him promise to have courage and be kind to others, for—as she explained to him—kindness has power, and that she would see him through all the trials that life could offer, in life and death. Cancer/mental illness TW—when he was thirteen, his mother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. Upon hearing the news, Oliver’s whole world clasped.

Not only was he at a pivotal stage in his life where everything was changing and becoming more stressful ( becoming a teenager, starting high school, going through puberty ), the only important person who had actually showed him any kind of love in his life had be claimed by the deadly disease altogether. So many thoughts and feelings were going through his mind at the time, that he ran himself physically sick and had experienced his first panic attack. He has since been medically diagnosed with panic disorder. Thankfully the cells on his mother’s cervix were diagnosed at precancerous stage and the doctors were able to treat it because it developed and spread. However, that didn’t and doesn’t stop Oliver from being in a constantly state of panic every time his mother so much as feels pain or coughs due to irrelevant reasons. The entire year had changed him and his family for a while.

Despite issues with his own family, Oliver has a lot of personal of his own he deals with. He is capable of enduing tremendous hardship. Though he may not handle difficulty in the healthiest or best way, often repressing emotion, he mostly like emerges on the other side. He doesn’t know how to express his emotions in a diplomatic way, but rather fumbles it all up and starts to ramble. Rarely opens up because of this. He usually distracts himself from his insufferable emotions with hobbies such as playing the piano, painting, and reading some of his favorite classics. After he moved out the house at eighteen to pursue college and became more independent, he started to come into his own style with his wardrobe. To put it simple, he’s like a hippie dippy child of the universe. No joke. No seriously, his place at home is full of sensual shit and art. It’s getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. He strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself—not just through photography and painting—and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. Because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. His appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of hipster shit. His clothes can be very flowy like, but don’t let that fool you. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you. His hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

After he graduated high school, he furthered his education at Brown University where he majored in Music Therapy and minored in Visual Arts. At the age of twenty-one he graduated and about 6 months later started working as a freelanced artist while working at children’s hospital as a music therapist.

[inspitecomfortingsounds]

cinnamon boy

I don’t feel alright, in spite of these comforting sounds you make.

To say I’m devastated would be an understatement. 

When we were messaging and you said that you were you know what I was talking about when I mentioned a bigger issue, I was disappointed when you just mentioned our relationship and our sex life. How could you not see it was something else?

See, when I went through your phone a while back and saw all that stuff and we had a “good talk” that one night, I feel like you thought it was all gonna be put behind us. And at first I did too. But did you really think an apology and you reassuring me you loved me so much and that it would never happen again was going to solve everything?

Like I’ve said before, I forgive easily. And I really do. Almost to a fault. And while I kinda feel like I’ve always been this way, I’m starting to think it is a fault. After being hurt so many times in the past, I was subconsciously assuring myself that I deserved all of this pain, this abuse, this mistreatment that people were causing me. 

And while I did forgive you, it really didn’t fix everything. You see, something changed. Someone was lost. I felt like my love for you changing. Like it was dying. And I’ve been trying so hard to pretend like it hasn’t but meanwhile I feel like while I’ve been experiencing resentment. While I thought this emotion was reserved for Nico, I’ve been realizing that it’s not. And as much as I try and forget and move on from this notion, part of me feels like it���s growing stronger. 

It was one thing to find that you tried to fuck someone (whom you previously expressed a distaste for) at our own party. Someone I’ve known longer than you have. Someone I’ve known longer than you. At least one person in this fucked up community had the decency to be considerate and actually turn you down to a degree. But after seeing your convo, especially the part talking about how you wanted to fuck him but couldn’t because I was still awake? That made me sick to my stomach. Still does.

No only this but seeing that you’ve been swapping photos and videos w/people and texting them vile things about you want to taste them and eat their hole and fuck them etc while you’re with me, the fact that you’ve been doing this consistently since we’ve been together? What the fuck.

On top of this, the VERY first night I don’t stay w/you while I’m at this cabin, you hop on grindr and decide to go for the person just barely more pathetic than you. Bryan? That sad excuse of a human being trying to hang and prey on younger, cuter gays that walking STD, someone you also loved to talk shit about (am I sensing a theme), an old pathetic loser that we’ve all expressed how much of a creep he his. Can I not leave you alone for one night? On top of that, you lied about what happened. Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Saying that not much happened at all and that y’all just made out? I knew that wasn’t true because I’m not a dumbass but I had to fish out of you that y’all gave each other head. And if more happened and you’re not telling me, you’re  fucking coward. I better not find out first before you admit it. 

This has all made me so much more depressed. I can’t blame anyone for my actions or addictions, but I’ve been detoxing these past couple weeks because I’ve been using more and more. To escape my depression, my hurt, my pain. You. 

If I hadn’t found all that shit on my own, were you ever going to tell me on your own? How long were you going to keep this from me? Forever. When I cheated on my first ex, I told him about right away. Because it was fucked up for me to do, because I hurt someone who loved me, and because they deserved to know the truth. Because I’m at least somewhat of a decent human being. 

You know after we talked about all this and I admitted to you that I didn’t mind if you were sexting people or what have you, you told me you didn’t want to or have a desire to because you said that it was trashy. But more importantly because you said it was disrespectful. And that gave me some glimpse of assurance, of hope. Until you changed the password on your phone not long after because you didn’t want me going through your phone anymore. Which I understand to a degree, but after all that had transpired, what were you thinking? Planning on doing what you’ve been doing to me what you’ve been doing all along?

I was planning on writing so much more about all this and how I felt about it. I came home tonight in a good mood. I had so much motivation. I was going to garden, do laundry, clean up around the house. That changed completely.

You didn’t lose your phone. I took it. I hadn’t even wanted to go through your phone out of fear of what I would see. What I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me, right? I guess not. You assured me you stopped talking to jake and that you had no desire to yet you’ve been doing it this whole time. For the record, I didn’t say anything to him about us fucking, I just asked him why he seemed so surprised that you and I were fucking after he asked me. And he seemed pretty fucking surprised. I don’t know why you’d ever believe anything he says over me. I also don’t know why you’re still not over him after assuring me you wanted nothing to do with him whatsoever.

And after you changed your password on your phone, I discovered that all my suspicions were accurate. But what I found was so much fucking worse. 

You know I wasn’t so upset that you didn’t water my flowers as I was w/the fact that you told me so many times you would do it and then admitted to me you purposefully didn’t because it was too hot outside and wanted me to do it instead. More importantly, if you asked me to do anything at all for you, I would drop anything to do it. Because I love you. You know how much my flowers mean to me, but the real issue with this whole thing, is that you only help people when it conveniences you. Which sickens me. I became a nurse because I wanted to care and love for people. People that I didn’t even know. No matter how much I didn’t feel like it or how much it inconvenienced me. But that’s not the case with you. 

You’re selfish. Besides driving me to work and back and letting me use your car, how do you show that you love me? Apart from us calling each other bae, pecking each other goodbye and cuddling at night, what even makes us a couple? 

What sucks is that you were cheating on Ty the whole time and every time you tell me about a story, you express no remorse. Almost sound proud of it. I feel like bad for him that he had to endure so much pain you caused him. I honestly wish I had known more about it sooner. 

You’ve been hitting up guys, sexting them, telling them nasty shit. You know I’ve felt insecure about feeling that you’re not attracted to me. In fact, when have you ever  told me I was handsome or beautiful or sexy w/out me having to drag it out of you? And when you do and say that I’m the only one you wanna be with and how attracted you are to me, why do you hit up all these other nasty ugly guys begging to taste them and hook up w/him?

Why do you all your stories involve you hooking up w/someone? And ugly ratchet people at that? To make yourself feel better about yourself because you’re more attractive than them? You know, it seems like all you care about it your appearance and hooking up w/disgusting pigs to validate yourself. 

And why’d you have to make  me feel so stupid about showing up at Bryans unannounced when I hung out w/him before you when he was so into me? And how did you have the audacity to come so fucking hard at me about Tommy when I’ve literally done nothing with him and only said I thought he was kinda cute and you lost your shit about when you’ve been w/Bryan and have been cheating on me this whole time? Like fuck, serioulsy the audacity blows me mind. 

You make me feel ugly and disgusting and pathetic and gross and hurt and depressed. Sometimes all I feel like you ever do is make me cry. 

I hope you’re satisfied. I hope you feel validated. I hope you’re getting what you want in life. Because you’re tearing me down in this process.

[monstredemiroirs]

Dear ------

This will be the very last time I ever write about you. I want you to understand that I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. I need to close the final chapter in the horror story that was us, and this, to me, is the way to complete the story.

In order for me to progress with my life I had to get rid of you entirely. You’re a blight, and you would never be happy seeing me succeed or be happy. It’s funny. For so long I tried to climb out of the mud we cultivated. And any time you saw me start to finally climb out, you would reach your hand out, knowing that I would always grab it the moment I saw. For the longest time I thought I could pull you out. I was wrong. I finally understand, now, that you never wanted to be pulled out, you wanted to pull me deeper. Back into the pit with you. I finally understand this, and I refuse to ever grab your hand again.

Cutting you out of my life was actually surprisingly easy. I thought I could never do it, that you’ll always, somehow, be a part of my life. But no. I got out. I finally feel the sun shine on my face, and I have absolutely no intention to ever feel as cold, dirty, and dark as you made me feel.

You’re a black hole. A void. You’ve convinced so many people that you’re this good man, but you really aren’t. I know you. I know the deepest recesses of your soul, and truth be told it’s ugly. The fact that you can sit back and live with yourself after all the hurt you’ve caused someone you supposedly “love”(though I doubt you’re capable of such an emotion), and take no action to better yourself or seek help for your addictions, leads me to believe that you feel justified in your actions. You did nothing wrong. It’s not you. It never is. It’s the alcohol. It’s the cocaine. It’s your upbringing. Stop it. You are your own problems. You can’t keep committing horrible acts and then just feel sorry about yourself like that makes things better. It doesn’t and it’s not working. You’re still garbage.

Can I tell you a secret? A long time ago you asked me if you should move up north. Far away from down here. I convinced you to go. I told you that you needed to get out of the poison in this town to start fresh. This is the most selfish act I may have ever committed. I convinced you to leave because I would never be lifted from your spell had you stayed. The cycle would’ve continued, and I wasn’t strong enough at the time to break through. This town isn’t the poison. You are. You’re toxic sludge, and everything you touch succumbs to your toxins.

I know I’m not without my own faults in this. It does take two to tango. The difference is that I own up to my actions, and I sought help in time to become better than the person I was with you. And even with all I did, it doesn’t come close to all the abuse you put me through.

Speaking of abuse, let’s talk about some of it. I heard through the grapevine that you were asking about me. About how I “couldn’t handle you being in a relationship with someone else.” Ha! Really now? Truth be told, I feel sorry for him. He’s going to have to go through all the same pain and hate I endured. And if he knows all the acts you put me through, and continues to stay, then he deserves every last ounce of the pain. But I digress. Since I can’t handle not being with you, let’s talk about some of the things I went through when we were together.

Let’s talk about your disappearing acts. About how you wouldn’t answer my calls or texts for sometimes weeks at a time. You knew me well by then. You know I was a ball of anxiety and you knew every moment you couldn’t just give me confirmation that you’re still alive made things worse. I spent so many nights unable to sleep because I straight up didn’t know if you were alive, if you were hurt, or even if you cared. By the amount of attention you would give me, at least one of those questions was consistently answered, I was just far too in denial to believe it.

Let’s talk about how you were obviously in love with your roommate while we were “together.” You lamented to me, your then partner, your feelings for this man. Oh how you went on for hours about how you two can never be. He was straight, and had no feelings towards you, and it crushed you. You know who it crushed more? Me. I couldn’t leave then. I kept thinking to myself “what can I do to make him feel for me like he feels for him? Is there anything I can do differently? Maybe if I did X, Y, Z, then maybe, just maybe, he’ll see what I can be for him and he’ll love me back.” I was sick. You were worse. Instead of letting me go then and letting me mourn, you continued to string me along like a sick dog on a leash. Oh, and then you drunkenly cheated on me with him. Remember? Remember how you would call my phone for weeks, drunkenly sobbing? Unable to say any words. I knew you were broken, but I never knew how absolutely shattered you were. It was so nice of you to finally tell me about it on a day where I was riding high. So excited about a Halloween Party and a costume contest I won 2nd place. I was so used to being 2nd place with you around. You took such a great day and made it so ugly. You were astounding in your ability to suck any happiness right out of me.

Let’s talk about how you treated me as if I was some shameful disgusting secret to be hidden away from your world. Any time anyone from your life became suspicious, or even was about to see you and I was there, you immediately dismissed me. The Freak. The Monster. He cannot be seen. He’s not worthy of being a part of my life or in my circle. No. I can’t have that. And yet I stayed. I thought that if I showed my loyalty and dedication, maybe someday you would see me as worthy if being part of your court. Wrong. I never stood a chance. Even when you finally, FINALLY, accepted me into your world, I still couldn’t be anything significant to you. I was introduced as your friend, or worse, an ex. An ex that you were currently still seeing, sleeping with, and telling you love behind closed doors. The damage that caused me. I felt so worthless all the time. I believed I was nothing because I couldn’t be anything to you.

Let’s talk about your addictions. You’re an alcoholic. We all know it. No, it is not normal for an average person to down two cases of that disgusting piss-water Bud Lite in one evening. So often you would convince me to take you across county lines at 2 AM just so that you could continue drinking. And no matter how much I begged you to stop, slow down, or maybe take the night off, you absolutely refused. Night after night I saw you pound down drinks and become more belligerent. And the chain smoking. Oh the chain smoking. How I wanted so much for you to just sit with me when I was over and just spend time with me. Hold me. Tell me that I mattered. And you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Instead, you would just smoke and drink. Did I disgust you that much? So much so that you couldn’t be around me without being so intoxicated you couldn’t function? Smoking so many cigarettes in succession you’d lose your voice? Were you that horrified by my presence? Why continue to keep me around? Questions I probably will never have answered. Not that I honestly care to know any longer, anyhow. 

Let’s talk about the worst night. That night. The one you probably had hoped, if I really had ever sent this letter to you, that I wouldn’t bring up. Let’s talk about the time you had your best friend over, who in return invited me over. I remember driving to your house on my highest of highs. Finally. I was being accepted as part of your life. Someone knows my existence. Only to have you open the door and see a face of shock and horror at the sight of me. Let’s talk about how you humored me for a moment, then immediately kicked me out because you couldn’t handle the fact that someone would find out more about me. Do you remember that night? Probably not. That was the night that, in a panic, my car broke down on the highway. I walked home. Distraught, all I wanted was to call my boyfriend so he can talk me down. I called. I learned something that day. I learned that you were good friends with little white lines. A shock to me. I had no idea. You couldn’t form sentences. You went off on wild nonsensical tangents over nothing, and become enraged the moment that I tried to end the call. I was shocked, uncomfortable, and frankly disgusted. It was the first time I was ever disgusted by one of your actions. And the more I tried to distance myself, the more you berated me and called me horrible names. The following morning I begged you to never do that again. I had never asked for anything of you before that. Just this request. You wouldn’t even give me that.

Let’s go deeper. Let’s talk about the night you finally cut me loose. I’m glad you did, but did you have to do it on Christmas Day? After me ending a call because I was horrified at the sound of you snorting a line? After you spoke to my mother the very same day, excited to meet her and be part of my life? Did it really have to be on that day? Needless to say you ruined Christmas for me. And now, five years later, Christmas still brings me back to that night and how worthless and disgusting I felt because of you.

I wish I can say it ended there. I wish I can say that was it over. It wasn’t. Just two days later you convinced me to stay the best of friends. I needed to still feel like you cared. To this day, I wish I knew why. But I agreed. I agreed to remain a close friend, because clearly you still hadn’t taken all that you could away from me. But, truth be told, this is where the hurt took a weird turn.

Suddenly when I wasn’t a romantic partner in your life, now is when you wanted me around the most. You now had a sudden fascination with me. You kept me around. Strung me along. Slept with me whenever you could. And then we get to the end of a big chapter. The night before you moved away.

The weekend before you moved away, you stayed at my house. I let you in. You slept in my bed, ate my food, lived with me. Truth be told, this was the best time I ever felt with you. I felt like you loved me. Truly, truly loved me. I never wanted those days to end. Then came the final night. I left for a few hours. Couldn’t be more than 3-4. I had planned a big good bye for you. I even brought you food. I got home and you were gone. All your bags packed. No trace you were ever there. I felt abandoned. A feeling I felt often, but not and intensely as I felt that night. You told me that you weren’t a fan of goodbyes, and that you stayed at someone else’s house. You robbed me of my goodbye to you. I told you I forgave you. I told you that I forgave a lot. I didn’t. I harbored it all. I had developed a cesspool of anger and self-hatred. And that night made that pool bubble.

Was it over? No. At one point, it felt like it will never end. This was my life. I existed to build you up, and when you inevitably knocked yourself down, I was there to pick up the pieces and rebuild you with what I had left. It felt like I had less and less to work with each time.

You still needed me. I became your security blanket. Oh if I can just remember all the drunken calls at 3 AM because you were all alone. And you knew I’d always answer. And no matter how many times I would beg for you to seek help for your alcoholism, to please visit AA or see a therapist. It fell to deaf ears. You always told me that all the advice I gave you, you took to heart. You were always a fantastic liar.

It suddenly became a consistent cycle. I would distance myself to begin my climb out of the mud, you’d eventually notice and reach your hand out, I pulled, you pulled harder, and I fell in. It always ended with you getting drunk and doing actions that upset and hurt me, even with all the distance. You never seemed bothered by my pain. A simple “sorry” got you far with me. Eventually, you apologies felt like ghosts. Hollow. You made me feel like a ghost too.

Then came the night. The night that I decided that enough was enough. But before the night came the day. Let’s talk about that day.

You called me after a month hiatus. I pretended that I didn’t know why I hadn’t contacted you, but I did. You got drunk the month before and almost had a 3-way with your cousin, you classy beast you. But I digress, you called. Eventually you got to the topic of having a new boyfriend. I had mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I was truly happy for you for finding a new romantic partner. But on the other hand, I felt bad for this boy, knowing what he was getting himself into. That was exacerbated by you telling me that you were already performing your now infamous disappearing acts on him.

What dug under my skin, and what started the series of events that led to me stepping out, was when you told me that you were cutting down on your drinking. You were cutting down because you didn’t like being drunk around this boy all of the time. I’m sorry, what? You mean to tell me you couldn’t cut down 1 beer when I literally begged you to, but for this boy you were practically quitting drinking? What made him so special over me? And how insignificant was I that you wouldn’t even try? For someone you claimed you love so much, you really put no effort into meeting me halfway on really anything. It was always me giving it my all, and you taking everything you can get. Loving you was like loving a drunk brick wall.

Shortly after our conversation, when I still had a Facebook, I remember you changed your status to in a relationship. And posted a picture with him. You won accolades from all your friends for living your truth. And a part of me wanted to celebrate with them. However, I couldn’t. All I could think about was how I wanted to be him so badly back in the day, and how you treated me so shamefully. Why was he so special? Why was he the one to displayed to the world and I was considered too disgusting to be seen? Was it because I wasn’t as much of a closet case as you? That’s more than likely the case. Far be it from you to be seen with such a diabolical faggot on your arm. But I digress.

Let’s finally talk about that night. That night, the very same day you told me you cut out drinking, I get one of your infamous drunken 3 AM phone calls. Except this time was different. I’m not answering. You were no longer my responsibility. You had a new boyfriend you paraded around like he was best in show, and it was his turn to learn who you really were behind the smile and charm. I let it go. You couldn’t take no for an answer. You never could. You called, and called until finally I answered. I don’t know who was on the other end of the phone, but it wasn’t you. It was a belligerently drunk monster. One that couldn’t form sentences between howling and sobbing like a coyote at the moon. Something about being found naked on a beach, being yelled at by patrons over your nudity, being in an Uber(despite not having an account), and bleeding from your foot. Truth be told, I thought you had been raped and assaulted. I stayed on the phone with you until what I think was you getting home. I don’t know. I can’t tell. To this day I don’t know more than half of the words that came out of your mouth. All I can think of was the rage I was feeling. You told me you were better. At this point, I genuinely didn’t want you to be my partner. I just wanted my friend to get better with his addictions. I thought you were finally getting there, and that call solidified that you will never get better, because you probably still think that you don’t have a problem.

I took a half day out of my job because of you. I took a half day because I didn’t sleep that night. I was convinced you weren’t going to make it through. Do you remember what I sent you that following day? It was the information for an AA center in your town. It wasn’t funny any more. It was never funny or cute. It was dangerous and scary and you couldn’t do it alone. And all I got as a response was “sorry.” Not accepting a problem. Not even a false promise that you’ll try it. Just another one of your constant ghost apologies. As hollow and false as you are.

This was my breaking point. I starred at that excuse for an apology and I thought to myself “Is this what I want for the rest of my life? To never launch because you can’t let me do it? You need me to be as low as you. You need it to feel alive. You need to have that control over something weaker than you. Not any more. I am not your fucking clown any longer. I decided that this was it. I don’t need the fleeting moments of feeling your love followed by the hours, days, months, and years of agony you make me feel.

I wanted to be free of the poison you had coursing through my veins. I wanted to climb out of the mud, stare at the sun, and grow tall. That is why I blocked you out of my life. That is why I cut all ties and made sure that there was no way you can ever dig your claws into me again. It was never about how I “couldn’t handle you seeing someone else.” If that’s what you need to tell yourself to keep denying the blight that you are, then keep thinking that way. It’ll keep you going that much further. I honestly can keep going on with more, but I feel this letter really is long enough.

So you asked around how I am doing, allow me to divulge you one last time. I am amazing. I actually sought help for my demons. I went to therapy. I worked hard on myself. For the first time in my life I have self respect, and self love. A feeling I would never be able to develop with your influence. I am fantastic in my finances, got a new car, and have an amazing support network of friends and family that I would never give up for anything in the world. And how are you? You don’t need to answer. I can take a wild guess. Still drunk. Still sad. Still self-hating. Still pathetic. And it is no longer my problem.

So like I said, this is the last time I’ll ever write about you. This is also the last time I’ll ever speak of you, and think of you. I relinquish you from my mind, body, and soul. I free you of me. Good bye, ------.

May you never cross my mind again,

Me.