No one is supposed to talk ill of the dead, especially those who died of cancer. But, you were the biggest piece of shit and I'm glad you're dead. You stood by while your friend raped me while I was drunk in college, telling him to "go for it." You punched me repeatedly because I spent too much time talking to someone else. You spent your last months reconnecting with another friend who used me sexually and financially and emotionally abused me, the one you called a sociopath, you reconnected cuz "we had fun." You and your family gaslit me when I refused to visit when he was there. You were drunk all the time and would gaslight me on the reg. You threw a full tall boy at me cuz you said I'm a bitch and I said "I don't care." You introduced me to every ex-tweaker piece of white trash that abused or assaulted me during my 20s. But everyone loved you and your charisma. No one believed me. I can't say anything bad about you (even though it's true) because you died of cancer—cancer I noticed and told you about last summer. Cancer on a huge mole that you’ve had forever that your lazy ass never checked. I'm sleeping in your room now, the one with the good view, and I still can't get your drunk BO stench out of the carpet. So, fuck you. I'm glad you're dead, I'm glad you're gone forever and out of my life. You were the worst GBF in the world and I wish I had never met you or pitied your drunk ass cuz you had “no where to go.” You were the cancer in my life for 10 years. It feels so good to have finally found the cure.