unsent letter

hard no

dear Asshole Who Inspires a Hard No,

You wouldn’t talk to me about difficult things when I loved you and we were close.  So why do you want to talk now?

Now you push me, trying to force me to engage you.  It’s one more violence to the list of violences you’ve done while pretending connection.

Go back in time and talk to the lady who adored you and supported your every fucking need, a year ago.  We checked in daily.  When you were traveling, you updated me on your progress.  Arrived north, you showed me the projects you did, that you were proud of.

You showed me your owie, when you got hurt pouring concrete, your hands harmed from the chemicals.  The path you made, a flier you designed.  You showed me a photo of your action, shutting down the freeway.  I showed my spouse the picture.  We pondered your role, and was this good.

I sympathized with your every hurt and celebrated your every triumph.  I lived for that!  But when I needed a difficult conversation or attention to any specific matter, you were vanished.  Crickets.


You would accept my adoration, offers, storing your stuff, praise.  Food, resources, attention, endless listening to your long-ass, self centered stories, where you were always the hero.  I made the right caring sounds and gave you the eye contact and touch you were looking for.

You used my spouse for his work.  When you did work for us, the terms were defined and money paid as promised.  When he did work for you, you dillydallied, fed him and considered it good, promised things you never delivered, made terms vague, turned it into something social and pretended you were doing him a favor.  You acted like a dick in every way.

As for my labor, it was emotional labor, so it wasn’t even acknowledged!  Let alone reciprocated or paid in any way.  I listened to you talk shit about your wife.  Cringing, I put up with your scolding her puppy.  I comforted my spouse as he cried, after he watched you get kicked out of a bar.

Constantly a green light, I gave, cared consistently, and ate up every crumb I could scrounge.  Or I coated a crumb in gold and framed it.  This is the time ____ did something for me!  Look, he loved me.


You gave me nothing, unless it was super easy for you.  Then you performed it like you were pulling a rabbit out of a hat.  You put on a tux and went on stage, so everyone would clap for you.

“Ta da!  I have done a thing for you!” you said.  “Admire the thing!”  You were like a parody of yourself.  Such a bad faith actor, every moment.

Steadfastly, I would admire what you had done and thank you.  But you had not given me a kidney.  You had held open a door for me, or gave me a glass of water to drink in your backyard.  You gave me stuff you didn’t want anymore, as you moved.

I think you could tell I could see through you.  But we did all that anyway.  We played roles, do-si-do-ed, and you came out the victor, always.


The lady I was a year ago would have loved your knock.  I’m not opening any door for you.  But please go back in time and care for that lady, who you used like a doormat, a rug, a tissue–a flushed, soiled material.

I deserved nothing like that.  I was shining kindness and care.  You used me as a mark.  You used me like the conman you are.

When my spouse and I offered you a month of housing, while you were deciding what to do–your plans to travel overseas thwarted–you didn’t understand.  You stood there, almost dumbfounded.

I didn’t understand why you didn’t understand.   You were trying to wrap your head around the idea.  Why would we offer you free housing in our guest room?

Suddenly it hit you.  “Oh, love!  Some people love.  That’s right!  They might genuinely care for my well-being and want me to be safe and happy.”

It was weird, to see the lightbulb go on.  Love was not your state of being.  I understand now that you are not into it.  Everything you do is motivated by your own gain, mostly material gain.  So you couldn’t even comprehend what we were offering.


I am totally done with any words you want to send my way.  I’m a huge, hard no.  I am a no so large, I could be seen from space.  I am a hard no like those huge arts that Native people made long ago, that can be seen from the sky in an airplane.

They were making art for the sun, or a God, I guess.  My hard no is for me, mostly.  I remind myself that you are a creep.

I saw your bullshit and decided against you, years ago.  Then I got sucked back in once, tender-hearted and wanting to believe the best.  Never again!

You are pretty, confident, thin, white, abled, have money, have charm, know how to behave.  You’re a man.  You’re a sexworker, but a rich hobbyist pornstar who does it for the novelty of fucking hot ladies for money, then pretending you’re oppressed.

Mostly you’re a cad.  Like a cad but extra gross; you behave dishonorably to all people. You will get nothing more from me. Leave me alone.

fuck off,

Nest Valorfixer

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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