The Walking Dead: We’re Breaking Up
I’d like to say, “it’s not you, it’s me”, but I’d be lying. It is you. You were once kind, thought-provoking, and full of imagination. But you’ve changed. Now you’re cold, sadistic, and delight in little but my suffering, and seeing what things you can still take away from me.
You aren’t the show I fell in love with all those years ago. You hurt me. Each time we get together you leave me feeling brittle, sad, and full of anxiety. But I keep on coming back to you for more. Week after week. I tell myself that you’ll change. Or that it’s my fault: maybe, if I try harder, it won’t hurt so bad. Maybe I can help you change.
No. No more. I don’t want to live like this any more. Cowering in fear behind carbs and alcohol every week at time you come by.
I hate to leave you because you have the people I love held hostage. They’re all under your thumb. You thought I would be trapped: that I could never leave you because you had daggers dug deep into the people I cared for.
I have news for you: it’s not enough anymore. As much sadness and inner turmoil as it brings me, I’m walking away from you.
But here’s where you couldn’t predict me: I’m not going alone. I’m taking them with me. They’ll remain with with me in my heart, kept safe, far far away from you. Rick, Michone, Darryl, Carl, Morgan, Carol, and all the rest. They’re going to keep living on in me, where I can keep them safe from the horrors that you once subjected us to.
Good bye, Walking Dead. I hope you get better. I hope you find the help that you need to recover from whatever illness it is that afflicts you. You may be hurting in some way, but know this: we aren’t going to stick around and suffer from the consequences of your choices. This is the end.