The Breakup From Hell: And How His Letter Says It All

Dear Jen,

You selfish bitch. We were together for twelve years. And don’t bring up the stupid break-up in 2012. It lasted five seconds. Fine. Nine months. But you came back. You couldn’t wait to come back. You were practically drooling to wrap your lips around my everything. For twelve years, you lived and breathed me. For twelve years we did crazy, crazy shit together.

Remember that time some deaf dealer was trying to sell to you at the bar and you were doing all that crazy sign language shit with your hands and kept grabbing me across the table while you laughed like an insane person? Remember who was on the floor with you when you puked for hours in our flooded apartment during that nervous breakdown? Are you forgetting that we literally almost died together on that rope we tied over the staircase? And how we finally got up on the rooftop and stayed there for hours?

You made me feel like I was a part of your family. Shit, I WAS your family. I was there for every first. Try, Jen. Try to name a first that I wasn’t there for. Exactly. When we met, you said you were intoxicated with me. That hot thing you do where you tilt your head a little and look up at me and smile? Yeah—you did that and said you wanted to drink me so that you could feel me slide down your throat. And once you got a taste, you only wanted more.

You said I erased the bad. That I made everything safer and less fucked up. We weren’t like other couples. We were in our own world. You never walked away from me during fights. It’s like the yelling made you need me more. You were always so sexy when you were mad, Jen. And I always made you feel that way. Didn’t I? You never went anywhere without me. Think about where that leaves me now.

You called me a “toxic liar.” What does that even mean? That’s a joke. I stood by you for everything. Just think about it for a second, Jen. Six moves. Six. I was there when you packed every single box and loaded every single moving van. It’s like the sadder you were, the more you needed me. And I was there when you had that goddamned baby. Even though he wasn’t mine and even though you treated me like shit when you were pregnant, I waited for you. And of course you came back. Because you are weak and pathetic and empty without me.

When you broke up with me in September, I should have seen it coming. Suddenly, you were doing that stupid exercise class and meeting new people and trying to do more and more stuff without me. I bet it was that idiot therapist of yours. The one who got you hooked on that new-age, meditation bullshit. I knew she was brainwashing you. I knew she’d tell you that I’m an asshole and a bad influence and all that other crap that people say. I can’t believe you fell for it. I can’t believe that, after twelve years together, you looked at me and said “enough.”

You threw me away like trash, but I know you still want me. I know that this “new” you is complete crap. You cut off all of your hair, for Christ’s sake. You’ve watched too many Lifetime movies, Jen. Don’t you know that people never really start over? Don’t you know that without me, you’re not funny or special or smart? Don’t you know that without me, you’re nobody?

You seem surprised that I’ve been showing up everywhere. I see you staring at me. I see the longing in your eyes. You can’t erase me, whore. We have the same friends. I’ll be at all the bars and bonfires and ball games. I’ll be everywhere. I’ll be laughing at you while you try to move on. It’s only been five months. Someday soon, you’ll look into the mirror and realize what you’re missing. You’ll realize that you can’t live without me. I’ll always be the one you want to feel sliding down your throat.

Love, Alcohol