I hate him still. And I’m starting to think I always will.
The son-of-a-bitch took three years of my life. And while I am not without blame, and although I did learn a lot about myself and what I am capable of, I still hate thinking about where I could be if I hadn’t been stupid enough to put my life on hiatus for something that was just a sham. A farce. At the time, I just needed something, someone, to believe in.
What a goddamn shame I chose him. Haha.
Ah, well. He’s out of my life. Good riddance. I just hate looking back on those days. How the fuck did I manage to fool myself into believing I was happy?