Letter to the ex

I never asked you to visit me; you wanted to see my new cats.
I never asked you to have sex with me; you wanted to see the house, we ended in the bedroom.
I never asked you to move out your parents house; you just showed up at my pleace with your things.
I never asked you to find a job; it was obvious my salary was not enough for two.
I never asked you to have children with me; after a year of pleading, I gave in.
I never asked you to quit your job to care for the children; the other choices were: both with half a job and not enough money to live on OR me quitting my job and starvation for all of us.
I never asked you to estrange my friends from me; after some years I saw that all my friends were replaced by new friends, your friends.
I never asked you to cry so much; there was always a reason: parents, brother, addicted prostitute who was a friend.
I never asked you to listen to hear about my problems; there were only your problems that mattered.
I never asked you to be miserable during our holidays with the children; you made it look like it was me.
I never asked you to be sneaky and have chat sessions on the pc while I entertained the children.
I never asked for a divorce nor was it a joint decision to have one; you wanted it and later told everybody it was me.
I never asked you to take everything away from me; I have to admit I gave you every chance while having our property estimated by the wife of your brother and going along with a ridiculous evaluation of everything in the house.
I never asked you why you wanted my cat; even after three months of not seeing me, he recognised my voice, jumped in my arms. I was in tears when I left your flat.
I never asked you to take the car; you said you needed it and within a fortnight it was replaced by another leaving me with nothing.
I never asked you to tell stories about me to the children; it was very effective: now they are your's only.
I never asked for your sympathy, but it is strange that while my problems are visible and I need continuous medical care, you tell people that I simulate my pain.
I never asked you to spread lies around about me; it was certainly not me who has cheated while we were married, but you got what you wanted: your friends are just that, your friends.

I would never ask for you to be unhappy for the rest of your life: you deserve it, but I could not be bothered thinking about that.
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