I’m writing this because yesterday you reached out to my husband again.

With one decision, you re-ignited chaos in a life already carrying too much. You stirred danger where it did not need to land. You dragged instability back into a system that has been constructed—carefully, deliberately—around survival.

This is not new damage. It is a continuation.

You were present at the origin of this hell—the drug-fueled destruction, the fallout that pulled my family into crisis and permanently altered our lives. That is the context. That is the cost. That is the reality you don’t get to pretend away.

And now, because you exercised poor judgment again, here we are: me, dropped into yet another iteration of a reality I did not choose, absorbing consequences that are not mine to carry.

Apparently, when your life feels empty, you reach for someone else’s wreckage.

This is why I’m writing.

Not to compete.

Not to dramatize.

Not to explain myself.

But to place responsibility where it belongs.

This is about the choice to pursue an abusive man—and the moral consequences of mistaking access to harm for intimacy.

This Is a Choice, Not a Misunderstanding

This is not confusion.

It is not naïveté.

It is not love.

It is a choice.

You know who he is. You know what he’s done. You know the harm is real, ongoing, and dangerous. You have access to that knowledge—through my words, my visibility, my refusal to suffer in silence—and you proceed anyway.

That is not ignorance.

That is consent to harm.

What You’re Actually Reaching For

When you pursue an abusive man, you are not pursuing intimacy. You are pursuing proximity to power—power you believe will be directed toward you instead of against you.

You are betting that the damage is selective.

That cruelty has a preferred target.

That abuse is circumstantial, not structural.

That belief is not romantic. It is reckless.

Abuse is not a phase or a reaction. It is a practiced behavior—learned, reinforced, and rewarded. It escalates when indulged and metastasizes when excused.

By offering attention, access, or curiosity, you are not interrupting that system. You are feeding it.

The Myth of the “Different Woman”

You seem to believe what happened to me would not happen to you.

That belief requires you to assume one of two things:

That I caused the abuse, or That you would somehow deserve better.

Both assumptions are ethically bankrupt.

Abuse does not happen because a woman is insufficiently loving, patient, desirable, or compliant. It happens because the abuser values dominance over reciprocity and control over consent.

Believing you would be the exception does not make you special. It makes you complicit in the mythology that protects abusers and blames victims.

Complicity Is Not Neutral

There is a difference between being harmed and enabling harm.

I did not choose this violence.

You are choosing to perpetuate it.

Every message reactivates entitlement.

Every reach reinforces obsession.

Every rationalization normalizes danger.

This is how abuse spreads—not only through the person who commits it, but through those who decide the cost is acceptable as long as they are not the one paying it.

This Is Not a Competition

I am not fighting you for him. I would hand him over immediately if that were possible.

But abusers do not relinquish control cleanly. They do not release victims out of generosity or growth. They overlap, triangulate, punish, and retaliate.

So when you reach out, you are not “winning.” You are escalating risk.

And if consequences were fair, the punishment would fit the behavior: you ending up in my shoes. So think hard on that. There is no greater suffering than to live the reality you’re flirting with from a distance—I promise you.

About Your Child

This is where moral failure becomes ethical negligence.

Children do not need bruises to be abused. They need only to live inside fear, volatility, and conditional love. They absorb what is modeled. They normalize what is tolerated.

Choosing an abusive man is not a private risk. It is a decision that drafts a child into harm without consent.

Children learn what love is by watching what their parents accept.

Choose carefully.

The Question You Should Be Asking

Not What do I want from him?

But Why am I willing to excuse this?

Why is access louder than conscience?

Why is desire stronger than responsibility?

Why is the fantasy of being chosen worth the real-world cost to others?

These are not romantic questions.

They are ethical ones.

And until you answer them honestly, every step toward an abusive man is a step away from integrity.

This is not jealousy.

It is accountability.

And accountability does not care how badly you want something—only whether you are willing to harm others to get it.