Hey Mofos! 

 I hate when the truth hits mid-scroll.

You’re sipping your iced coffee, minding your business, thinking you’re healing. Then boom, your brain throws a flashback into the ring like it’s the main event. And suddenly, you’re sitting there, remembering everything he said, everything he didn’t do, and wondering how you ever mistook that chaos for love.

Let’s just call it what it is:
He never loved me.
And real talk? He probably didn’t even like me.

I know. That’s a hard pill to swallow without wine.

Because when you look back, it’s all there in plain sight. The gaslighting wrapped in “I was just being honest.” The constant taking without giving. The weird little digs at your confidence, your body, your choices, dressed up like jokes. The way he only got soft when he wanted something, and sharp or ghost the second you needed support.

He said he’d fight for me.
Said I was special.
Said I was the one.
But chile, he asked for money more than he asked about my day.

He didn’t show up when it mattered. He didn’t protect me from the world, or even from himself. He used my pain as a punchline. Brought up things I only told him in whispers and turned my trauma into ammunition when he ran out of ways to win an argument.

That’s not love.
That’s not even basic decency.
That’s someone who wanted access to the benefits of me without ever truly respecting the reality of me.

You can’t tell me you love me and then make me question my worth. You can’t say I’m your peace and then turn around and become my storm.

The truth is, he liked what I could do for him.
How I made him feel.
How I showed up.
How I held it down.

But me? The real me?
He never sat with her long enough to even see her.

And once you realize that, really feel it in your bones, it shifts everything.

You stop replaying old messages hoping they meant more.
You stop rewriting red flags into love letters.
You stop begging memories to make sense.

Because now you know. It wasn’t love.
It was convenience.
It was ego.
It was survival for him, not for me.

And yeah, it hurts. It’s okay to cry about it. It’s okay to grieve what you thought you had. But when the tears dry, you get up. You get wise. You get free.

And next time, you won’t just be asking, “Does he love me?”
You’ll be asking, “Does he even like who I am when I’m not pouring into him?”

Because if the answer’s no, you already know what to do.

CUT THAT MOFO OFF and BLOCK!

~Meik