Steven Weissman

I spent three years with the first of you. I dealt with you when you were detoxing from all the 'shrooms, pot, and god knows what else you put in your system. I brought you cough drops and tea when you got sick, and I even brought you some of my own pills when you said you just couldn't handle being sober. I listened to you cry about your family, and I stayed with you when you moved out of state. Then you started getting controlling and jealous. You raped me, and I stayed with you. You left me because when you decided we should "take a break," I kissed another guy. He turned out great: lives with his mom, car doesn't run, and LOVES Jesus. But I really did love him, and I was almost over you. Then you started calling my friends and crying, saying that people were falsely accusing you of abusing me. YOU WERE ROUGH. I said NO. You didn't listen. Then I met him—the newest boy. One with a good job, patience, and a car with working doors. I love him and he loves me and all you other bastards need to get out of my fucking head. I dream about you, and I puked when I found out one of you is having a baby. I puked when one of you said you were getting married to a woman you didn't love, and I cried when both of you said you still loved me. I don't need that anymore. I want it, and you. Please just let me be happy.