The best apology is changed behavior. You’ve apologized to me before. Several times in this decade long debacle, actually. I’ve yet to see any changes. We always get back to you being mad that I won’t bend to your unreasonable requests to stop writing or feeling any sort of way about my past.
You’re entitled to your feelings about it all. Just don’t get pissy and try to “teach me a lesson” when I refuse to engage. That’s the only issue I have with you. Seriously. That’s it.
It’s either the worlds worst coincidence that petty criminals only seem to target me when I ignore you… or you feeling jilted that I shut you down. I may be a little quick on the draw because of my PTSD, but I’m not paranoid. I don’t go throwing accusations around for the hell of it, Pants.
You are the last person I consider when unfortunate things happen in my life, and yet they just keep happening unless I acknowledge you. Can I stop talking to you without having to worry about egg on my siding, a flat tire, or someone creeping around my house? Because I really don’t have anything else to say that hasn’t already been said a hundred times.
You can have the last word. I’ve given it to you a hundred times. Just take it already.