I gave you a second chance. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I accepted your apologies and decided to move forward with you because I couldn’t imagine a world where I lived without you.

Even though you messed up, even though I could have easily walked away without any feelings of guilt, I cared about you enough to give you one more shot — and what did that get me?

Hurt. Lost. Broken inside.

I feel like an idiot for trusting you when you had already showed your true colors. I let myself believe you learned your lesson and would not risk losing me after coming so close to saying goodbye. I thought you would get your shit together if you loved me enough.

I was wrong.

Unsurprisingly, history repeated itself and I cannot even blame you, because it’s my fault. It’s my fault for believing there was even a slim chance you were going to change. It’s my fault for letting my heart take control of my actions when my head should have been in charge.

The first time we both screwed up, I should have realized you were only saying what I wanted to hear. I should have known you didn’t regret what you did to me, you only regretted that I got mad about it.

I was stupid enough to give you a second chance — but I am not stupid enough to give you a third.

At this point, I don’t care if I have hurt you because you did the same to me. You made me doubt myself. You brought tears to my eyes. You fucked with a strong man until he wondered whether he was weaker than he thought.

I am nice, but I am not a complete idiot. I am not going to put myself through hell once again when I can already picture the end result. If I give you another chance, you will hurt me again. If I give you another chance, you will make me regret it again.

I am walking away this time and nothing you say can convince me otherwise, because I should have done it the first time. I should have saved myself the pain.