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Posts Tagged ‘Fucked Up’

We were sitting at your computer, looking at your blog. There were ads for Asian fetish porn. You noticed and got all in a huff that you weren’t in control of the ads on there. Like by owning the blog you should decide the ads. But what I think you failed to realize is that it’s not the blog that makes the ads, it’s your google searches. Things that you look at and you click on and you search for feeds google the information, making different ads pop up for different people on different computers based on what they searched for. If I looked at your blog on my computer there would be ads tailored to me.

I am disappointed in this on so many levels. I think you know enough about ads and google and how it works to know how it works. So either you knew and were lying to me to pretend you didn’t watch Asian porn. Or you are assuming I am dumb enough to not know.

Either way, yuck. And not because I have anything against porn.

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Finding out you slept with men while I was pregnant was the start of my rolling downward life. And the snowball grew–how did I not see you for what you were so long ago? You are such a liar. And you want me to apologize for saying you were a lying? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That’s the funniest thing I have ever heard. EVERY person I have told that to laughs and laughs. YOU want me to apologize for thinking you are a liar? You lied last week. . .last month about our daughter’s whereabouts–in front of her. And futhermore every thing that went wrong in my life the past three years was based around your lies. You are gay. You have sex with strangers off craigslist. You are immoral. You cheat and steal from others. You disappoint me. I wish I could be done with you. I find you to be disgusting. I hate you for all you have done and I hope you one day learn to be a good person. I am not counting on it.

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You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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The saddest things you said to me:

“You can contact me if there is an emergency.”

&

“We tried this for three months longer than anyone else would have.”

If you hadn’t said those things, I would have called you by now.

Sometimes I really have no idea why we broke up.

I just feel like I could call you and say “come over” and things would be the same and we would laugh and smile and make out.

You were perfectly perfect in every way. I just wasn’t sure how much you loved me.

I guess those 2 sentences answer it for me.

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Dear Fucking Asshole,

You have successfully mentally and physically fucked me. Fuck you. Unfortunately, you’ve made me desire things I never thought I would. In a small way, my heart thanks you. Fuck you. Please keep in touch and I would love to do it all again, or whatever your sick mind comes up with. Also, I will probably need help with a project proposal this semester, if you’re available.

xoxo,
L.

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I know you are really proud of yourself for making all those changes. I know you think you’ve pulled yourself together and you are doing good things and excited and better.

But that doesn’t make me want to talk to you again. That doesn’t make me miraculously have a crush on you. That doesn’t make me want to spend time with you.

I am happy for you and happy that you are happy. But you need to leave me the fuck alone now. Because pulling your shit together does not excuse the icky way we left it.

It doesn’t excuse all the asshole things you said to me. Sadly, going for a jog doesn’t change your personality. It’s not me, it’s you.

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I had another dream with you.

First I was on a hill in the dirt and I was being dragged down the hill by a baby carriage that I was trying to hold onto and not let go of, because I didn’t want the baby to get hurt. But it was dragging and dragging me down the hill, and I was running to hold on and dust and rocks and twigs were everywhere. When we got the bottom of the hill, my mom was the one in the stroller.

Then I realized I was sort of running from something.

I ran to your house and you and your dad were inside the kitchen. I told you I was in a rush, and there was this man in your house. I didn’t trust him and he made me feel really uncomfortable so I asked you to ask him to leave. You wouldn’t help me and told me that I shouldn’t have a problem with this guy and you and your dad were both jeering me for being nervous about him. But I knew he was a bad man who was going to do something bad and neither of you would help me and you both also thought I was stupid and you were laughing at my fears, so I ran and ran away and I couldn’t believe you were letting the stranger stay over me.

I don’t actually think that you were protecting him and not me.

But I did trust you.

I would run to you.

And all I ever wanted in the world was for you to protect me.

I know you can’t or won’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

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