You,

     I will start off by saying that I didn't start this with "Dear You" because you are definately no longer dear to me. You completely ruined me. If you're confused, I don't know why you would be or even how you could possibly be. You're the cause of all my anger and frustration, and for the fact that I do not believe in myself.
     You used to ask me why I don't think I'm pretty. That's a simple question to answer. Its because all the other girls must have been prettier than me, or else you wouldn't have cheated on me with them. Was A's body better than mine? Was B more romantic than I was? Was C more outgoing and fearless than me? Of course not, you were better than them. This was your supposed answer to my questions. But how would I ever know the truth?
     People told me to leave you after you had done all that. They told me that you didn't deserve someone like me and that I could definately do better. But I didn't leave. Why? Pure stubbornness. I thought I could change you, and you ever so definately proved me wrong. So now not only do I not think highly of myself, but now I don't believe in myself.
     You think you've apologized already and that I've forgiven you. No, I've forgiven A, B, and C. I will never forgive you for this. A boy who loves his girlfriend would not do this to her. You put me through enough the first time, but doing it for a second, a third, and even a fourth time? And you tell me nothing is wrong with me. Obviously something was. And now I am constantly torturing my brain trying to figure out what it was about me that just wasn't enough for you. I tried so hard to be perfect for you, to be enough to keep your attention from wandering to every other girl. Either I didn't try enough, or you just didn't care.
     Oh but you cared when I decided to leave. You were upset and couldn't figure out why I was fed up with our relationship and wanted out. I didn't tell you how much of me was eaten up inside. I didn't tell you how upset I still was after about two years of trying to fix a broken relationship. You got mad at me for allowing another guy to try and fix my broken spirit, and refused to talk to me for a couple of months. And you pressured me to get back together with you. And after about five months, I gave in to the pressure. What a stupid decision I made. You swore up and down how much you had changed. I could see that you didn't really change. I still caught you looking at other girls. I took about another month's worth of trying to fix what we had in the first four months of our relationship, the time when we were actually truly happy. And the only time I was truly naive and believed the fairy tale love still existed. Then I finally realized that nothing was going to change, and left for good.
     You are also the cause of something else, something that turns out to be much worse than I could ever have thought. Those moods I get in where I just don't care about pain. The very first night I experienced one of these moods was the night you called me crying about how sorry you were and what you had done. You then let it slip that your mom told you to tell me. So, you wouldn't have told me in the first place. Like I wouldn't have found out eventually from A. She would have told me, so why didn't you? Were you afraid I'd leave you? Because you know I would have. But if you were afraid, why did you do it in the first place? And now I have those moods nearly every week, and people are afraid of me when I am in one of these moods. People are afraid I might do something to myself, just to feel something. And none of this would be happening if you hadn't done what you did.
     And now you want to be friends. After all the hell you put me through in those two and a half years, you expect me to just get over it and be friends. Well maybe after this letter is done, I finally can get over it, and maybe we'll be able to be friends. Maybe. Maybe I'll start believing in myself again. Maybe I'll be able to go out into public with my boyfriend and not have to worry about him looking at other girls. Maybe I'll be able to believe in the fairy tale love again. Maybe, just maybe, I'll think I'm pretty again. But until then, I'll have to deal with the dark gaping hole that lies in my soul.

Me.