Dear █████████,
I think you will forever haunt me. I remember the first time we met and how sick you made me feel. I felt as if it was normal to feel this way. To feel strangled, suffocating just to be with you. I shared my home with you. My friends, my family, my whole life. And you’d take clothing from me. You'd take time from me, you even still can take the essence of joy from me. I felt isolated, abandoned, and alone. Seeking a sense of depraved solace within our conversations. Anything I adored you’d tear to shreds. You’d make me feel ugly, and I could not push you out.
Sometimes you still knock on my door. I wish you’d take my silence as an answer and leave. You’re aware of my resentment to your very presence and yet you find new ways to weasel into my insecurities, yearning for the day in which I open the door to you and your nauseating embrace.
Shame it’ll never come.
For my life is far from perfect, and the ways in which you continue to plague me often leave me hollow, disheveled, and imperfect. But that very imperfection is what makes me beautiful. I am a being of my own creation, not yours. No longer will I let you smother me.
I am beyond you, my vengeful dysphoria. I will never let you take her back.