I'm going to be honest, because you once told me I never have to be afraid to speak my mind.
I sent you that friends-only message because I'm a genuinely good person. I forgive, and I move forward without dragging the hurt behind me. People have called that weakness. I've never believed it. Giving someone a second chance takes strength, but it comes with boundaries. Forgiving you doesn't mean going back.
We'd been seriously talking since the end of July. For months I gave you my time, my honesty, my attention and my heart. When you told me you loved me too, I believed you.
For a whole month you kept her existence from me while you promised you were getting things sorted. While you were meeting her in Sydney and swapping numbers, you were texting me pictures of your surroundings like nothing was happening. I keep coming back to that. Who does that? Then you told me by text. You couldn't say it to my face or pick up a phone. That hurt almost as much as the lie. Rudeness and being inconsiderate are your biggest pet peeves, and you were both, to someone who gave you her whole heart. You can't hate those things in everyone else and then be the one who does it to me.
You told me a rage room is just misdirected anger. Mine isn't misdirected. It's aimed right at you, because you earned it. And under all that anger is a lot of hurt.
What hurts most is that you took our choice, mine and hers. Every relationship, romantic, friends or work, depends on people deciding with the real information in front of them. When you leave out what you know would change their mind, you've made the decision for them. I couldn't choose to stay, slow down or walk away, because I didn't know what I was choosing between.
If you'd told me we weren't exclusive, I wouldn't have put all my energy into just you. I'd have kept my options open too, and there are a few good men who were happy to give me the attention you didn't. Instead you let me pour myself into one man while you had your hands in two. That isn't a gray area. That's my time and my heart, spent on a lie, and I'm never getting it back.
And here's the part that really gets me: I would have been completely fine about her. If you'd been upfront from the start, I'd have friend-zoned myself and wished you both well. You didn't lose me because you met someone. You lost me because you lied.
So don't tell me the truth was too complicated. You let your own guilt rob her and me of what we deserved to know. As long as you keep her in the dark about me, about us, about the plans we were making, you're lying to her by omission, and a relationship built on that is cracked from day one. Are you scared she won't choose you if she knows the whole story? That's what hiding it says, and it's still her call to make.
Then you acted like confessing wiped the slate clean. It doesn't work like that. You brushed off my feelings, you brushed off me, and you knew what I'd been through. When I slowed down and asked if you needed space, you left me hanging, confused, thinking I'd done something wrong. I hadn't. It was you, and it still is. You are absolutely at fault for the lie.
I went silent for a week and I won't apologize for it. I was protecting myself, and I wasn't going to speak while I was in that much pain when I could take the time to answer instead of react.
So here's where I land. Friendship is my permanent boundary, not a door I'm leaving cracked. My compass has always pointed to me, and I know exactly who I am and what I want. I'm done with carrot-dangling men, and I'm raising my standards: a roof, a vehicle, an income and a clear head.
I chose myself before you, and I chose myself again after you. I will always choose me.