Let’s cut the shit and straighten it out right away, shall we?
You were unhappy with your life the entire time I’ve been alive. So therefore, you cared about no one else’s happiness but your own.
Since I was never court-forced into therapy, you’re going to have to hear me out. (You wouldn’t dare, of course. That would mean you did something wrong.)
You never said goodbye. Twenty-one years, and no “see ya, I’m leaving your life for good.” What kind of person does that? I’ll tell you what kind. Someone who should have never been a parent.
It’s been four years since then. I’m still pissed. (You don’t care.)
(It’s never your fault. How could it be? You’re the innocent victim. Nothing’s ever your fault, because every decision you make is from the most logical process! Every single human being in the world is inferior to your higher mind!)
Where’s the logic in ignoring your child for 25 years? The child who blindly loved you, regardless of how shitty you were?
All I knew of you was going to work, losing so many jobs, and being glued to your computer every single day of my life.
You were never there for anything. I was always too much of an inconvenience. An irritation. You made sure I knew that by your silences and fake, strained smiles and brooding moods that made us all pay.
What did I ever do to you? Try to make you laugh? Make you handmade, stupid, motherfucking 49ers merch that you only kept because it was expected of you?
I’ve tried to find the good moments. Ones where you were a genuine person. The list was so short it’s not worth reading.
You missed your chance. You missed everything a good parent is supposed to be there for. You just stayed in your cave, cheating jerking off to teens whoring your own oblivious spouse on your fucking computer.
And you think it’s okay to have an epiphany out of nowhere and say “let’s meet (so I can lie to you more and defend my perfect actions.)”
I hate the kind of person you are. I hope to god I’m never like you. I cannot trust you again. You don’t act like a parent, so I finally came to my senses and stopped considering you mine.
Are you happy now? You got away. You won.
If you’re smart, you won’t defend yourself. You won’t flip what I say back on me and make me look like an immature lion that attacked an innocent, wise mouse. There’s nothing wise about the shitty things you’ve done in the dark.
We both know you’d cut me down anyway. You’ve done it every single time before. I know that’s why I can never send it. It’s the only way I know how to get my message to you. But it wouldn’t make any difference. (Because emotions are a small man’s tool. Only geniuses can function without them.)
That’s why I Give Up on You. I’m tired of wishing you were someone you could never be.
I’m disappointed. I’m embarrassed. I’m devestated. I can’t even tell people why you live in the same town and aren’t in our lives at all. It can’t just be “oh because he never cared. He’s an asshole.”
But for my own sake, I’ll still say the goodbye your (meticulous) indolence thought fine to overlook: