We were friends. You knew I was in love with someone else, and you lent me your strength, told me she was crazy for not noticing, for not loving me. I trusted you with the parts of me I couldn’t piece together.

When you decided you wanted to be more than friends, I jumped at the chance to numb my pain. Maybe I could learn to love you, I had thought. I tricked myself into thinking I liked you in order to assuage my guilt. I was using you.

I let you define the relationship because I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Turns out you weren’t either.

I should have taken a hint when you continued to call me your friend. We weren’t dating, we were flirting. We weren’t a couple, we were just two people who wanted a hand to hold. We had nothing in common except a desperate need to feel needed.

I told you jokes, and you didn’t understand; I told stories, and you weren’t interested; I told you my dreams, and you told me they were unrealistic. You broke down what was left of my heart and convinced me you were the best I could get.

I told you I had boundaries, and you stepped right over them. The worst part is I let you. Why did I let you do that?

I thought I was your friend. I thought I was using you. I really thought I was the emotionless bitch in the relationship.

The first time you kissed me, my heart was racing. I thought maybe we were becoming something, and that maybe I was moving on from her. I thought maybe I wasn’t cheating you out of love.

Turns out I was cheating myself.

I don’t think you understood how big of a deal it was that I let you touch me. I don’t trust anyone with my body. Or maybe you knew, you just didn’t care; I never asked.

But I guess I was so distraught that I would have done almost anything to make me feel better. At least that’s what I tell myself: I needed someone, and you were available. That’s it.

You told me I was beautiful when I felt like I was nothing, and I believed you. You made me feel desirable. I needed that.

But then you told me you didn’t believe in love, and I don’t know why I thought I could change you. The more you talked, the more I realized we could never be anything, not even friends. We were nothing alike. And yet I still stayed.

You just wanted to fuck me, put another notch in your bedpost and try being with a girl.

The second you found out I wouldn’t give you what you wanted, you left. That was when I figured out that we had never really been friends; you had seen me as a conquest right from the start.

It shouldn’t have shocked me, and it really shouldn’t have hurt me as much as it did.

I needed someone, and you used me. You broke me. I saw you on campus the other day, and you blatantly ignored me like I was no one to you.

You were a mistake. My friends will say your name just to watch me cringe.

I wanted you to know that. I want you to know that I regret ever having met you. I want you to feel bad about what you made me go through, but I know you don’t care.

It took me awhile to realize, but I’m glad you left.

I’m usually not one to hold a grudge, but I hope life fucks you over. You deserve it.

And do you know what else I figured out? I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be loved. So thanks, I guess, for showing me that I deserve so much more than you.