My Open Letter

While you’ve been scratching your seven-year itch with vodka, excuses, and dramatics, I’ve been doing some thinking.

Why have I held myself back out of respect for someone who clearly doesn’t have respect for those who love him and, most importantly, himself?

There are days when I’d LOVE to bury myself in blow and a bottle, the bed of a sexy stranger, a far-off corner of the globe. But I don’t. And I sure as hell don’t expect anyone else to take on the responsibility of babysitting.

I’ve worked way too hard to separate reality from fantasy, and keep past where it belongs. It takes a drowning victim to know a drowning victim, and this time, I’m not jumping in the water.

Learn to swim. Get yourself to the shore. Then we can talk.

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