the only time I’ll write about it. leaving it for nobody.
You tried to say I was abusive. I accepted that you could be right, because that was what you were trying to make me so desperately see. But then you wanted to stay friends with me? It makes no sense to tell someone about the chains they left on you and the hurt they caused, while still wanting a positive relationship.
I looked again at what we’re calling this, and now this time I’m looking at what you did, because we never discussed that, because I’d done so wrong that nothing you did counted. Keeping me from my friend didn’t count. Upping the ante constantly, raising the bar to “earn back trust” didn’t count. The blackout drinking didn’t count. The name-calling in fights didn’t count. The invalidating of my intelligence didn’t count. The tests where I was supposed to chase you and didn’t and got yelled at for missing it didn’t count.
I might have been bad, but so were you. That’s why I tried so hard to end it. But you couldn’t accept that. I was just stupid/depressed/not trying hard enough.
But of course, it was me. I was the abuser.