u/Aeon_Fox

I am so fucking angry at you.

I am angry in a way I don’t even know how to hold properly, because underneath it is grief, betrayal, humiliation, fear, love, and the unbearable knowledge that even now, even after all of this, some stupid, loyal part of me still wants to protect you.

And I hate that.

I hate that I am still sitting here thinking about your feelings. Thinking about how to word things so I don’t hurt you too much. Thinking about whether you feel safe, whether you feel pressured, whether I’m giving you enough space, enough grace, enough gentleness.

Where the fuck was mine?

Where was my grace?

Where was my gentleness?

Where was your carefulness with me?

You fucked someone else. You let someone else touch you, mark you, leave visible evidence on your body, and I only found out because I saw it. Not because you respected me enough to tell me. Not because you sat me down and owned what happened. Because I saw the hickeys on your neck.

And then you tried to lie.

That is what I keep coming back to.

You can say you “knew you needed to tell me.” You can say you were “thinking about how.” But when the moment came — when I found out — your first instinct was not honesty. It was to lie.

So what am I supposed to do with that?

What am I supposed to do with the fact that I had to discover the betrayal on your skin?

What am I supposed to do with the fact that a stranger got to bite marks into you, but when I nipped your neck, you stopped me?

I respected that boundary. I stopped. Because I loved you, because I cared about your comfort, because your “no” mattered to me.

Did you give me the same respect?

Did my boundaries matter to you?

Did my “no” matter?

Did my hurt matter?

Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

It feels like your shame mattered more than my pain. It feels like your discomfort mattered more than my betrayal. It feels like the second my feelings became inconvenient, I became the problem.

“You’re just not going to let this go, are you?”

Do you have any idea how cruel that was?

As if I was being difficult. As if I was dragging things out for fun. As if I had no right to be upset about being betrayed, lied to, and humiliated.

No, I wasn’t “letting it go.”

Why the fuck would I?

Why should I swallow something that big just because it makes your life easier if I do?

And then, because I felt so violated and betrayed, it dragged up other things. Things I have carried. Things I have tried to explain before. Things that apparently mattered so little to you that you don't even remember those conversations.

You pushed past my sexual boundaries. More than once.

You were drunk, yes. You may not remember, yes. But I do.

I remember what it felt like to say “no”, “stop” and not feel heard properly. I remember what it felt like to watch you become someone different when you drank too much. I remember the fear that came with knowing that past a certain point, the person I loved was not fully reachable anymore.

And you don't even believe me.

Do you understand what that does to a person?

To be hurt, then have the person who hurt you look at you like your memory is the problem?

To have something serious minimised because you “don’t remember” doing it?

To be left holding the whole truth alone because acknowledging it would require you to face something ugly about yourself?

I am so tired of protecting you from that ugliness.

I am tired of being careful with truths that have already cut me open.

I am tired of acting like my pain needs to be softened before it is allowed to exist.

I am tired of being expected to regulate perfectly while you leave chaos behind you.

And then after all of that, I become the scary one.

I become the dangerous one.

I become the person who has to apologise, explain, reassure, tiptoe, give space, stay gentle, stay contained, stay predictable.

I scared you. I know that. I am not denying that. I lost control, and that was not okay. I am responsible for that.

But I am furious that somehow the entire story has collapsed into my reaction, while everything I was reacting to gets to sit quietly in the background, like it didn’t even matter.

You betrayed me.

You lied.

You dismissed my hurt.

You crossed boundaries I trusted you with.

You drank until you became someone who could not hear me properly.

And now I am the one sitting here trying to make sure I don't damage you further.

Do you understand how fucking unfair that feels?

Do you understand how exhausting it is to love someone who has hurt you and still be the one trying not to hurt them back?

Because I do love you. That is the worst part.

If I hated you, this would be cleaner. If I thought you were evil, this would be easier. If I wanted to destroy you, I could stop caring about how any of this lands.

But I don’t want to destroy you.

Even now.

Even after everything.

I want you to understand.

I want you to wake up. I want you to get help. I want you to realise that “I was drunk” is not a shield. It is not a defence. It is not a magic eraser for harm.

I want you to understand that if you keep drinking yourself into that version of yourself, you may hurt someone else. Someone who will not love you enough to protect you. Someone who will not hesitate to name it, report it, expose it, burn your life down with the truth.

And the awful thing is, part of me thinks maybe that is what it would take.

Because you don’t believe me.

And because you don't believe me, you don't have to change, right?

That terrifies me.

It terrifies me because I know you. I know the good in you. I know your softness, your humour, your brilliance, your ridiculous little habits, your heart. I know why I loved you. I know why I still love you.

But I also know what you are capable of when you are drunk enough.

And I hate being the person who knows both.

I hate that I am grieving you while still being angry at you.

I hate that Koda misses you and does not understand why everything is wrong.

I hate that your things are still here, like little emotional landmines scattered around my home.

I hate that you leave gifts and take sentimental things and leave other belongings behind, and somehow I am meant to interpret that sanely.

I hate that the Vietnam trip is still hanging there like a loaded gun. My money. My name. Our plans. Nothing resolved. Nothing clarified. Just more ambiguity dumped into my lap.

I hate that I am apparently supposed to sit quietly and politely in the wreckage while you go out with your friends, including him.

Him.

The person you fucked. The person who got to leave marks on you that I had to find.

And I’m meant to be calm about that?

I’m meant to be gracious?

I’m meant to keep choosing the high road while my chest feels like it is full of broken glass?

Fuck that.

I am angry.

I am allowed to be angry.

I am allowed to feel betrayed.

I am allowed to feel violated.

I am allowed to feel like my trust was taken for granted.

I am allowed to feel like my feelings have been shoved aside again and again because they are inconvenient, intense, messy, or too much.

I am allowed to be fucking tired of being careful.

But I am also not going to become cruel just because I am in pain.

That is the part that makes me angriest, honestly.

Because even now, I know I will not burn your things. I will not use Koda to hurt you. I will not send the most vicious messages. I will not go after your life. I will not expose you just to punish you.

I will not become the worst version of myself just because I have been hurt.

And I hate how much restraint that takes.

I hate that the decent thing feels like swallowing fire.

I hate that I have to be disciplined when what I want is to scream until the walls understand me.

So here it is.

The truth, without softening it for you:

You hurt me.

You betrayed me.

You lied to me.

You crossed boundaries that should have been sacred.

You made me feel like my pain was a problem to be managed instead of a wound to be witnessed.

You left me holding memories you don't even believe.

And I am furious.

Not because I never loved you.

Because I loved you so fucking much that I trusted you with parts of me I don't trust easily.

And you were careless with them.

That is the part I cannot forgive tonight.

Tonight I am angry.

Tonight I am hurt.

Tonight I am done pretending that your pain is the only pain that matters.

Do you legitimately not remember hurting me?

Or the conversations we've had about it?

Was that so unimportant that it didn't even stick in your mind in the slightest?

Was I so unimportant that it didn't even stick in your mind in the slightest?

Or are you just ashamed?

You're a monster in the making. On the way to a spot on a registry. And "I was drunk, I don't remember" isn't a valid defense in court.

And you don't even believe me.

And because you don't believe me, you'll never get the help you so desperately need.

You'll hurt someone else.

You'll never understand the all-consuming fear that comes with watching you pour another glass of wine, because you'll be too busy drinking it.