To My Dear Ex Boyfriend,

Very Happy New Year: January

New Year, new me. Cliche if you ask me, but that doesn't mean that I can't live it myself.

I couldn't take the mental problems the situation caused. I was losing sleep and getting distracted at work. All over the fact that you owed me so much money and were getting away with it. I could just hear the three of you laughing about getting away with it, just like you had done with everyone else prior.

I had to take action. It took a while, but with my lawyer's advice and the knowledge he provided me, I went called the District Court. It only cost about $200, but the complaint was filed, and the court notice was sent your way. The tears I cried after I got back to the safety of my car were those of relief and fear. I didn't want to see you again. You messed with my head in ways that are irreversible. Who would want to subject themselves to that again? Did you know I was having the same reoccurring nightmare every week for months at that point? There were barely any changes to it. The location would change between houses, but the story line was always the same.

No matter where we started, we would end up in your/our bedroom. We would be breaking up over and over again. The harder I fought to keep us together, the more you fought back. The verbal abuse and accusations would pierce my heart like daggers. After that, I would be forced out by everyone. The baby would be tearfully watching from the window, not knowing why I was abandoning him with his neglectful and abusive family.

I would wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes crying.

The thought of having to see you for the first time in months sickened me. Images of those months would come flooding back, overtaking my mind with horrible memories. You yelled at me constantly. If I didn't hear you, you yelled at me. If I didn't give you money for DoorDash, you yelled at me. If you didn't have money for the Devil's Lettuce, you took your anger out on me. Just because you never actually touched me doesn't mean you didn't abuse me in other ways. You pressured me into smoking weed every night to put me to sleep because I'm a 'restless sleeper'. You just didn't like that I'm a cuddle bug, admit it. You made me lay on the pee and poop-covered hardwood floor because you were mad at me the night before we moved in. You wanted nothing to do with me and it was all over something petty I don't even remember.

Every night I stayed there you made me sleep on your absolutely filthy bed, covered in your dog's period blood, your semen, your blood, your sweat, your sister's sweat, whatever the baby dropped on the bed, cigarette ash, burn marks, pee, poop, whatever the dog's stepped in, and I don't even know what else. You had bed sheets. You had a washer. You were just too lazy to wash them and keep the dogs off your bed. I'm surprised I didn't get sick or catch some sort of disease from that mattress.

I hope the day you receive the notice, it crushes your day. I want your smile to fall and your mood to dampen. I want you to scream about it being bullshit. I want you to get mad and pout in bed like you did when you wanted to avoid your problems. This is one problem Chelsea can't fix. Her name isn't on the document, but yours is. So is your sister's and her boyfriend's.

Play with a match near gasoline, you'll ignite a nasty fire. 

'Nightmare' by Halsey was my attitude for the entirety of January.