Letter Twenty: Of He Who Broke My Heart the Hardest

Robert. Also known as Stretch, Rob, Robby, or Bobby.

To Robby:

Well, it's a sad, sad day I write you a letter, isn't it? I have to admit, I pity you (almost) wholeheartedly for all the crap that's gone on. That's funny, right? Me being sorry for you. For two years, you were one of the main reasons I cried, hurt myself, hated myself, wanted to die. You were one of the people that hurt me on the most frequent and painful basis. My first impression of you was that you seemed like a jerk; that I should dislike you for some weird reason. I should have listened to my gut instead of my heart on that one.

One almost good thing I can say about you is that you're a fantastic actor (cough, cough, liar, I mean). I'll give you that much. Every time you said you loved me, I was beautiful, and you cared about me more than anything in the world, I believed you. Trick was on me, I suppose. You got me good, didn't you? But the one thing I have to ask is why, why, WHY are you so damn stupid?

You act as if selling marijuana is the most ingenious way to get through college, right? No, dumbass, it isn't. Stop lecturing me when it comes to parties and alcohol. We ALL know you're still drinking, drugging, partying, and sleeping around. And please, please, please stop thinking you're so cool with everyone. Sure, it was obvious that Steph and Jaz have problems with you, but they're not the only ones. Me. Matt. Jeff. Kevin. Kat. Basically, anybody and everybody that likes me as much as, if not more than, you and has any shred of common sense has a problem with you. If people ask me why you're such an a*s and what happened between us, I simply explain that you cheated on me, dumped me, then took my money. But really, hun, really, babe, it's so much more than that. You led me on freshman year then killed my dreams. You toyed with me, hurt me, then kicked me to the side, obliterating me this year. Until we dated, I didn't at all understand how people could hurt each other so badly. Apparently, it's a question of lust, stupidity, ignorance and disregard. (And no, the reason I didn't have sex with you wasn't because I'm a prude, it's because we agreed that we didn't want you to go to jail and that you'd ensure my first time was special. So you no longer have your favorite excuse of "Mia wouldn't put out" when explaining why you cheated on me so many freaking times.)

Robert Gary, I loathe you with the deepest passions of my heart, but some molecule in this ungodly body still feels pity for you. I don't understand why, but it does. You're an a*s, and the last person who deserves my sympathy, but you have it. Somewhere, buried way deep inside me, I'll always love you. But in every other piece of me, I will despise, detest, hate, and loathe you for a long, long time. I understand that those are strong words, but I mean every one of them.

Good luck with your crappy, ugly life, and check yourself for drips from all the girls you've screwed when you were drunk, high, or sober. Good luck with that life, because I refuse to be involved in it.

Your stupidest ex-girlfriend,

Mia

PS My keyboard is nearly broken from all the beating it's taken just now, so I hope you're happy.

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