What is resentment? What is hatred? I never truly felt them. I never felt anything. Did I love her? I was supposed to. My actions hurt her, but did I feel resentment? No. It didn’t sting when I looked her in the eyes and lied. It didn’t ache when I watched my choices cause her tears. Even when she revealed how I broke her down, and how I made her feel worthless, I continued to do it.

She tried, and I hated her for it. I hated her for loving me, for staying when all I wanted was for her to leave. I neglected her, knowing that I was pushing her away. No matter how much she fought to love me, I made her feel undeserving, small, useless. I made her believe she could never be loved. And I don’t even feel bad about it. I feel cold. I feel nothing. I feel bliss now that she’s gone.

What is grief? What is remorse? I couldn’t tell you because I’ve never felt them. No matter how twisted or destructive my actions were, I never felt a shred of guilt. I remember when she was afraid to love me, but I made her fall for me anyway just so I could hurt her. I caused her tears because they proved she cared. They proved she loved me. She was terrified to love me, but she never left. No matter how much pain I inflicted, she stayed.

I know I made her feel unreal, disappointed, maybe even depressed. I know I hurt her, but I didn’t care because her actions made me feel worth something, like I mattered. I lied, I cheated, I broke her, yet she stayed. She remembered who I once was and trusted me to love her like I told her I did. I lied to her face once again by telling her I’d love her. I practically killed her, in every way but the literal. I drained her of everything that made her who she was, her laughter, her light, her strength, until all that was left was a shell of the girl I once knew. And in the end, I left her anyway.

She did everything right. She loved me unconditionally, even when I didn’t deserve it. She forgave, she tried, she gave all she had. And I left. I wanted her to grieve me, and she did. It took me forever to let go because her love, even in my cruelty, made me feel powerful. I liked having someone who would do anything for me, even when I treated her like nothing. She was loyal, she was like a dog.

I changed her. I tore her heart out, twisted it, and put it back. Now, she’s different. She’ll never be the same because of me. I stripped her of her essence, her hope, her life, her humor, her personality. 

What is resentment? Am I supposed to know how to feel it? Why don’t I feel anything? I know I should. I should resent myself. I know I should be haunted by the wreckage I left behind. But I feel great. I drown myself in girls and parties, telling everyone how she was the problem, how she was crazy, unstable, obsessed. I spin lies to keep anyone else from seeing her as that amazing, sweet, beautiful girl I destroyed. I ruin her name to keep her lonely and unliked, even after I already broke her. Nobody else will know her. I ruined her character, her life, her love. I enjoy lying, people feel bad for me and comfort me like I was the victim. Did I love her? No. I never did. Did I want to love her? No. I wanted to change her and break her completely so she would never be offered love. What is resentment? I cannot feel it and I cannot change. Maybe this is what my existance is for, to live without guilt, without remorse.