These breakup letters were sent in by FTS readers
Not Dear Steve,
Where to begin with you, oh boy. You were not supposed to be important and yet you wormed your way into my life and decimated it for a brief year and a half. I met you July 2015 and it seemed innocent enough at first. I was out with friends, enjoying a hot, wonderful summer filled with my personal exploration of the world and myself as a professional. I felt like I was on top of the world that night and then you asked for my number. When I told you I was leaving the next day, all of a sudden I wasn’t worth your time.
Okay, that hurt. But boy were you wrong. The months came and went, fall semester was flying by, and I stumbled upon you a few times, without you recognizing me any of those times, until one night a little green monster sneaked up on me. My gorgeous friend was dancing with a guy at the raunchiest place in town and not one to be out done I grabbed you and we started to dance. One thing led to another and we ended up in your car, which is when you finally remembered me. Now it goes without saying I was relatively drunk but not enough to forget any of this.
Truthfully, the only reason I’m recapping these experiences is because I know you don’t remember. That’s the problem when you deal with someone who gets black out drunk, smokes more than Woody Nelson, and gets coked out of his mind. I know that now. I also know that I’m better than getting pregnant and staying in Flagstaff with you for the rest of my life, watching you self-destruct and being trapped in a downwards spiral toward mediocrity with you.
Now I’m making something out of myself, not for me but for those I do love and those that I will love in the future. But that’s what hurt you, wasn’t it? That I didn’t give you validation as a person, you couldn’t get what you wanted, huh, Mr. Quarterback? I knew what I wanted from what we had and it wasn’t feelings. You may think that I was just a stone cold bitch but I was keeping you at arms-length so I wouldn’t get hurt. After having someone bruise you up and act crazy in a previous relationship, could you blame me? No, you can’t, but you most certainly tried. By taking what I said all the time at face-value you showed that you didn’t care to know the deep underlying causes for my words. And that’s okay (you don’t need to read my mind or pry) but don’t try to say you have feelings for me; you’re lonely and you know it. You want me there to cater to your whims and make you feel good about yourself and your choices but I’m not going to be a trophy for you to have on this mountain.
And yet you still try to make appearances in my life, don’t you? Acting like you have a right to reach out to me, after giving me an STI but deeming it not your fault and wishing me luck in figuring it all out? Surprise, Steve, I am now HPV-free. I will get to live out my life with my beautiful goddaughter and maybe even tell her this story one day. The story of the boy that gave me the worst fright of my life, the potential of getting cancer. She’ll try to understand the boy who tried to get me back after he did so much damage, but who wasn’t supposed to matter because I was graduating and I was going to be somebody. She’ll hear about him who ended up being the boy who didn’t stop me, no matter how hard he tried, who is now and will forever be a nobody. He who will always be the boy who taught me the lesson that once you’re fucked, it’s time to pick up your clothes up from the floor and move on, because in life only you’ve got your back. This will be a story to warn and guide in understanding individual identities and what happens when you stop caring about your decisions.
You stumble upon a Steve.