Wednesday, January 21st, 2015

Dear C,

You wanted me to take down these posts and I agreed for a moment when, yesterday, respect was mutual and love was shared. But after considering further the email I received last night, all bets are off. For just a split second, it's time to let in the anger I have been hesitent to feel:

These posts are not specific to my breakup with you, they could be addressed to any past or future love; they are about the loss of love, they are about mourning love; this isn't about you, this is about me. I'm learning to take what I need, to do what I need, to be more selfish, and rather than let others control me I'm learning to control myself. No, you idiot, this has nothing (or little) to do with feminism. This is about me becoming an adult, freeing myself from my role as the baby of the family, and learning to listen to the baby inside myself without becoming helpless. I'm going to do what I want to do and if it hurts you, well, sometimes people get hurt.

It feels foreign to wake up and not immediately meet an impulse to cry, roll over and sleep for four more hours, and eventually tumble out of bed at 3:45; perhaps a tiny dose of madness is what I need at the moment.

You're a dipshit.