I want to leave you. I want to leave you because you were never what you promised to be on paper, University. I am no longer me when I’m with you because you have stolen my identity. Why I want to leave you is written in my silent tears in bathroom stalls between one boring class and the next biased one. Why I want to leave you is written in your silent intentions, those which you could never say on paper but those which you cannot hide. You show me with dirty actions.
Don’t lie to yourself, babe. You don’t want me to succeed because you only use me to advance an agenda that was never intended to make me feel safe. You take my time, my money, my positive energy, and all of my divine love until I can no longer manufacture for you or be happy for me. You’re a liar. You’re a cheater. You deplete everything I have and I am worth more. Let me be free.
But I don’t know how to break up with you by myself. I only went steady with you in the first place because they said unanimously that everyone needs to find the perfect university to complete them. It’s a soulmate concept that was attractive to us, because who doesn’t seek meaning in their lives? And once upon a time there was something so sexual about what you had to offer. There was lust in your identity, comprised of professors with awards and the power to give an A on a paper like you believed in me, but most importantly you could get me a degree. The degree was like a golden ticket to eternal bliss and I was ready to work for you if you worked for me. But you never work for my needs and you don’t even love me because all you ever wanted to do was change me. The truth is that you make me angry, but above all you always make me sad.
I’m sad when you are financially dependent on me and I am running out of ways to let you go. Every time I want to leave, you blackmail me by hoarding my money and saying that it won’t be put to good use unless I stay because you’re not going to give it back anyway. You tell me no one will ever hire me if I leave you, because I am nothing when I am not a possession of yours.
I’m also sad that you’ve now lost your sex appeal. I’m sad when nothing about you enchants me. I sit in lecture halls inside of you and I can’t stand it because you don’t even know me or what I want to learn. You have no desire to please me, when all I want to do is please you and make you feel good.
It makes me uncomfortable that my phone is more interesting than the words coming out of my professors’ mouths. It’s a forced habit to distract ourselves with one-sided media because conforming is our only escape. These screens are sucking the life out of me. You are making me a zombie, University. You only teach me what you believe in, or what will keep the system as oppressive as it stands today. You don’t teach me truths. You lie through your teeth and I have to dedicate my life to memorizing all of your dishonesties.
Also, you never come through with resources. I thought that we were supposed to help each other. Bae, why can’t you buy me a Scantron before every test every time? Or buy my books with all of the money I give you to help me grow, to help us grow together? It’s shady that I have no idea where or how you spend my money. I thought it was like a joint bank account to help us both thrive together as ONE. Why aren’t these teachings free?
And why won’t you take me on dates, University? Why won’t you take me out during class and teach me with nature, where we can transcend professional boundaries that only make us irritated? I want to walk with you and talk with you while absorbing your academia. Why isn’t there space for me to breathe in this relationship? You put me in stuffy classrooms with child-sized desks and seats and talk at me like I’m old but too juvenile, with no room to engage with you. This feels like a condescending relationship. This feels painful. I’m not sure if you were ever into me, and now I’m insecure.
You don’t make sure that I feel worthy of something. I think you like to make me jealous and pit me against people I love. It strokes your disturbing ego that way. You love competition. I hate competition, especially with my friends, and you make us hate each other just to get your approval. All you want is for us to fan girl about you, University. And then I get jealous too, because I feel like you favor other people over me, cheating and giving them more resources depending on the color of their skin or how they interact with you. I’m not a part-time lover. I should be your priority because this is how you sold yourself to me. Then you only love me if I do things like how you formatted them to be. You don’t love my creativity or my lovely individuality, because you are so narcissistic that you can’t love anybody if they do not obey all of your conditions for being a prominent being. You make sure that I am out of touch with my artistic side and that I never question you, so as to deplete any self-compassion I had for that special magic in seeing the world outside of how you show me.
Just like how you’ve been shaming my creativity, you don’t help me with my mental health and ignore the importance of mental health aid. You just think it’s being weak, but truly, it’s me being strong in asking you for help, and you being abusive in making it worse. You don’t make sure that therapists I can relate to are around. You don’t care about my mind prospering. I think you would rather just use it in the moment, and discard it when I’m done giving you money and I am drained of love.
What am I to do after our relationship is over? I mean, I can’t count on you to be there for me with support — even to the smallest degree. You don’t care if I don’t get a job after our relationship is over because all you need is someone to control now. I think controlling me gives you a high. And I’m the one crashing in the comedowns of your power trip.
But here I write a love/hate letter to you. I am still attached to the image of you, especially that which belongs to other eyes. I am afraid of not being with you. I fear I will be absolutely nothing without you. And this tells me that I have lost myself in you, something so basic and silencing. I no longer want to identify with what you are in visions of the best parts of me. I told you that we are on a break until the year ends, so I can get my degree but be as disengaged as possible within this abusive relationship. You’re a prison, University, and I am not sorry for saying this. Until I graduate, I will deplete your resources, trick your system like how you’ve managed to trick me, and take everything you have and run away with it. You will never see me again.
Right now, in this minute and space, I am trying to find myself again, and you cannot intimidate me.
University, I no longer idolize you, but I will admit that I am still scared of you. And I know I can’t leave you until this year is over because I want to move on and no one will love me without you in my completed history. So, I will fake it. I will resist crying over your failing-grade views of me or the paranoia that everyone is out to climb on top of me in hopes of your affection. I will just be as wildly untamed as I have always been — that spirit which scared you into your system’s own insecurity. I cannot be stopped, and until this relationship is done, I will not let you define me.
In resistance and in healing
Your (almost) ex-lover,