Illustration by Kalah Allen

We knew each other for three years and were always friendly and respectful. You flirted with me, said you needed some good sex, climbed into my bed. I cheered you up and gave you everything you wanted (except for helping you get drugs), but the one time you couldn't have me when you wanted, you sent a nasty ultimatum text message to either come over and have sex that night or "we're over"?!? You apologized, and I did yet another nice thing by taking you on a trip, only to have you get shitfaced, fall into a campfire, say I have a substance-abuse problem, then want to have sex. (FYI, I just pulled YOUR drunk ass out of a FIRE, YOU use drugs and drink at work and have a DUI, and falling into a fire is NOT SEXY.) The next day, when you finally figured out I didn't want you sexually, you shoved me, had an insecurity meltdown, acted like a 12-year-old (we're in our effing 30s), and silently pouted for the four-hour ride home. BUT YOU CROSSED THE FUCKING LINE BY INSULTING MY DEAD GIRLFRIEND (a single mom, ex–foster child, child-molestation/multiple-rape victim who worked and volunteered for women's rights groups, whom I CARED FOR AND LOVED DEARLY, but finally succumbed to depression and suicide). You suck as a human being even more than you do in bed. You come across as nice and bubbly, but I've seen your TRUE COLORS, YOU BAT-SHIT CRAZY, INSANELY RUDE, SELF-ABSORBED, UNGRATEFUL, BAR-SKANK BITCH!!!—Anonymous