This Doormat Is Done
I'm fucking done. Done with the lies and deceit. Done trying to make your pathetic fucking life a better place for you. Done listening to you whine about how shitty your life is when you actually have a lot of goodness in it, but you're too fucking self-centered to see past your own wallowing self-pity. I'm done listening to you talk the talk but not walk the walk. Done giving you all that I have inside me. Done loving you and not getting much in return. Done listening to stories about your fucking wife, and how much you hate her and wish she would die, but then you stay with her, and don't do anything to change your fucked-up stupid situation. I'm done picking up and washing your fucking clothes that you leave on the floor when the clothes hamper is one foot away from where you threw them. Done with you being a lazy fucking lover. I always satisfy your needs, sexual and any other, and you can't even give me a ride to the doctor without pissing and moaning the whole way. Despite all the hurt, confusion, emotional pain, and self-doubt you caused me—I'm still thankful to you, because now I know exactly what I don't want in a partner. I can't cry or be sad anymore. I don't even have the energy to be mad. I am just fucking done.