Since Monday when you kicked me out of the bedroom I've laid on this couch every night. A thought in my head, screaming to get up and fight for us. Fight like I've always done, and despite all odds, manage to come out on top. But all those battles have left their scars, and now I no longer have the will to fight.

Four months ago I lost the best job I've ever had. And depression is crippling me. But its already killed your respect for me. I'm halfway through life and figured I'd follow my dreams, no time like the present. But I hesitated to tell anyone because I knew nobody would get it. I thought you would. How could I be so wrong?

Ever since you left to get the transplants, you changed. They wouldn't let me see you. Covid rules. When I finally could, I saw it that look. Part of you went somewhere and never came back. And the part that took its place? Something dark. Something very dark.

It been almost a year since you've been home. Since all the alcohol has left your system. But that didn't make you better. Now you're so angry, so quick to lash out. And then you get scared at what you've done and you jump in my car and you skip town, running away from your problems. Leaving them here to greet you when you return a few days later. Return to begin the cycle anew. Borderline Disorder is a fucking bitch.

Some would say I should cut my losses, that you are a narcissist and I need to get free. Maybe thats true. You did so much damage to me, I can't even count the traumas.

You tried to cut my throat. You punched me in the back. In the face. You tried to claw my eyes out. We let that friend from high school into our circle and you fucked him. You fucked my methhead brother. I don't visit my family anymore: I'm so ashamed of what isn't even my failing.

My chest feels so heavy. Like my body wants to just shut everything down, piece by piece. I'd rather be dead than feel this. I'd never take my own life though. There's an element of conviction I lack to follow through.

On D-Day, you tried to rip the bandaid off. Telling me how you truly felt about me. You now tell me that you just said those things to convince me to leave quickly and silently, but there had to be some truth to it. And even if not, those words have damaged me in ways I still haven't recovered from.

Then you told everyone on FB how I beat you up, showing the bruises on your face that I left in self defense. You sucker punched me in the neck, what came right after was pure instinct. But you played the victim. And I got to see people who were once friendly with me say I should be raped and murdered in prison.

Because how could someone as pretty as you lie about that? You have everyone wrapped around you finger like that.

You blamed me for your decision to cheat. Accused me of stealing away your fun. Ruining your life. You told me that you two had fallen in love while we were planning our wedding. The marriage you convinced me to agree to, when I said never again after my disastrous first.

It took months but I started to come back from the depths of despair, actually entertaining the notion that I could actually survive without you. In fact when you called me that day, I was going to ignore you, instead of picking up and starting the old pick me dance again. But you called me four times. And a fifth. After the sixth, I realized something was wrong.

He had beaten you up, and it soon came to light that he had been beating you pretty much from the start. You asked me to come back. And I did. Like a fool. Then I realized after a while that you were still seeing him.

And so began a whole new level of psychological warfare. And somehow, I came out the victor. But at what cost? Several rounds with you have one way or another left me with tinnitus. It screams at me, and nobody can hear it but me.

After a decade of treading on eggshells here I am. Physically, mentally, and emotionally broken, and your response is to throw me into another room and distance yourself from me. I feel like a ghost in this house. An invisible echo of what I once was.

And still you blame me. That I myself hammered the nails of my mistakes into the coffin of our marriage. And still you hold yourself free from responsibilities.

You say you see so clearly after experiencing ego death on mushrooms and that its my negativity thats bringing you down. (Fun fact: Ego death rarely, if ever happens on a microdose) No, your ego is as strong and toxic as ever.

I can't even tell you these things because you refuse to listen. You refuse to entertain anything that could fracture your carefully-crafted self deception. You barely even accept your BPD diagnosis.(Which apparently is typical BPD behvior).

I'm watching you die inside, being replaced by that self harm demon once again. And I can't stop it this time. You may not cut anymore, at least not on your skin. But the gashes are just as deep.

I'm too exhausted to fight for you.

I'm too burned out by the seeds of destruction you planted in me since the beginning.