"I won't bother you, but I'm going to continue to egg you on." Fuck you, man.

But allow me to illustrate the striking difference between Sykes*, Wrath, Tomoya, and yourself:  they didn't go batshit insane. They didn't spam my phone, make suicide threats, call me a whore countless times. They didn't make THREE new Aim accounts just to continue slinging threats at me. They didn't find loopholes to leave more voicemails. They didn't harass me. They didn't fuck up my brain, or give me anxiety attacks. Only one of them had me in tears, but that was because I cared. You had me in tears because I was so stressed I didn't know what to do with myself.

I don't think you understand: I nearly called the police on you. Aren't you the lucky devil that I didn't?

They were actual fucking human beings. You? Nah. You're something worse than a hellspawn cracked straight through the earth's crust out of hell.

I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I thought you got that message what, five months ago? It isn’t a matter of communication, Josh. If I could project all you have done to me back then onto you, I would. But I’m better than that.

You can’t just say “sorry” and expect it to be better, nonetheless expect me to ever talk to you again. You can apologize a thousand times over, you can “own up” to your mistake, you can get some bitch from your ever-growing harem to try and beg me to give you another chance. But I still don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you did to me. I haven’t spoken to you since then, but you have haunted me for five months. You have managed to screw so much with my head that you didn’t have to so much as whisper a syllable to me, and you broke me down.

I don’t want your empty fucking apologies. You know what I want?

I really would love to see you suffer, to be quite frank, but I’m not a vengeful cunt.

Oh what the hell am I even doing here? Of course you won’t see it from my point of view. I don’t expect you to, ‘cause you’re a fucking self-absorbed, manipulative wannabe Casanova.

There. You got me to blow up at you, because god fucking knows I've been itching to do it for what seems an eternity.