I forgave you. Every time. Until the end. Now I can't get the things you did out of my head. I hate that I forgave you.

Every time we broke up you always sent me the same message. And I believed it for a long time. Your "I'm sorry, but I don't know what I'm sorry for" messages. They continued after our last breakup every time your new girl left you.

And this last time, I know I snapped. I wish I hadn't. I do love you. But I don't.

I loved you when we celebrated 4th of July after 2 years. But I should have left you when we got back... I should have told my mom you screamed at me. That you were the one who left the dent in the trailer when you punched it because you wanted to punch me.

I should have told her when you screamed at me at the park. Or at school. Or when you left that bruise on my shoulder.

But I loved you. I thought you didn't mean it. You always apologized. You cried when you thought I was going to leave.

I should have told her your words while I was pregnant. Your threats. I should have seen who you really were.

She knows you yelled at me. She knows I was afraid of you. She knows you raped me.

But I didn't tell her you told me you would do it again. I didn't tell her I had told you I'd forgive you if you hit me. I didn't tell her I felt like it was all my fault.

But that day... You yelled at our daughter. I pictured you hitting her... She was a baby. Of course she was awake at 7am. I know you wanted to sleep until 2, but I had to get up. I had to pay rent and clean and make food for you and for her while you did nothing.

When I pictured you hitting her... I did the right thing.

I kicked you out. I wasn't supposed to let you live there, anyways. But you wouldn't leave. But that day, you left. And I moved.

I should have gone through with my plan to get a restraining order. But I loved you. I will always love you.

But I hate you.

Now that I know what a real relationship should be, I hate you. I hate who I was and who you made me.

Now that I know love and communication I hate what we had.

Now that he tells me, "It's not your fault" when he is upset. "It's alright. It still looks good" when I burn his food a little. How could I accept any less?

Now that I love myself, I hate you.

I am glad you have nothing to do with pur daughter. You have no rights. You can't demand I let you visit just so you can try to get me back. You can't make me the bad guy while you tell everyone I don't let you have the visits you got weekly.

I don't care what you say about me, now.

Go ahead and say I am a bad mom. That I was the bad person. That I'm a liar. I am done with you.

Worried

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