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“I never thought that my pathological need for my father’s approval as expressed through my compulsive use of junior hockey players would lead me to you…

You seemed to have it so together, you and your fancy plans for college. I was a fucking hot steaming mess of a garbage fire, but you had plans. And over those three or so months, you led me to believe that some of those plans included me. In writing that, I have no memory of you telling me that. I have no evidence that I was anything more than a sexy diversion or hobby and a tool of mass jealousy for the young woman you really wanted to be with. You never shared a thing with me about your life, or what you thought about, and I know for sure that I must have told you something about how I was broken. How could we be together for three months, with me so in love with you, and us not know one damn thing that was real and true?

At the time my interests included: getting fucked up, getting fucked, smoking and writing. With you, I listened to songs that I didn’t (and still don’t) like, drove around a lot, played in a game of softball, watched you mock and make fun of half my DNA family, and then dump me while I’m isolated, around YOUR friends and family for another two days, then get stuck alone in a car with you for two hours, then you show up all sweetness and fucking light around my family and My Own Mother takes YOUR SIDE when I start losing my shit. You made me smoke in front of my mother for the first time. You left me devastated AND you acted like Eddie Haskell around my family.

All of this and I would have testified under oath that I loved you more than anything.”

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