I don’t need to say who this letter is for; you know it’s for you, and you know why I’m writing it. But I need to get this out.
I thought we were friends. That seems like such a childish thing to say, but really, I don’t know how else to phrase it. I know everyone always says you come to college and get too close to people too soon, that a few months in you’ll get to know people better and find your real friends, but it didn’t feel like that with us; there was an instant bond. We said we were soul mates. I don’t even know what that means, really. But I felt that I could tell you anything, things I didn’t even know were within me to share. We had everything in common, I had more connections with you than I did with anyone I’ve ever been close with in my entire life, more than Mollie, Emily, Shannon, Gretchen, Nina, my mom, even Drew.
We’ve been through so much together. When Robert broke up with you, I was the first person you told. When Sam died, you came to me immediately. My mom texted Drew, but he didn’t come. You did. The first time you ate cereal, who was there with you? Me. You were the only person to ever hold my hair when I threw up, and I remember you saying I was the only person you would do that for; you know you’re the only person I would do it for, too. Do you remember that time when we were walking back from Giant, and I told you about that one Sex and the City episode, about Carrie and Samantha? You know the one. I said we were that good of friends, that we would do that for each other. You laughed, told me I was disgusting, but then you agreed. You agreed, because we were soul mates.
Then in November, everything fell apart. I tried to hold on for as long as I could, but I guess it’s just like that .38 Special song; “If you cling too tightly, you’re gonna lose control.” I held on for so long because you just never understood. This isn’t about her, it was never about her. This is about us. It’s about the fact that you wouldn’t fight for me, you wouldn’t fight for us.
Do you really want to know why I was so angry? Yes, I messed up. I get that. I understand, and apologized to all parties involved. But Edwin and I were the ones that made the mistake, and he and I have both moved on, forgotten about it. She, and for some reason now you, are the ones that can’t let it go. But I don’t care about her, not one freaking little bit. She is a bitch, and I won’t pretend that when I see her on campus my stomach doesn’t flip, but that’s only because I know now what a horrible person she is. Yes, I made a mistake, a horrible mistake, one that affected many people, people that I care about, and I’ll have to live with that for my whole life. But love, everyone makes mistakes. That’s what makes us human. But she, she did much more than just make one mistake. She went out of her way to make me miserable for an entire month. She made everyone she knows despise me; worse, she did everything she could think of to try and make me despise myself. I’m ashamed to remember that it almost worked. When I think back to the last two months of first semester, my heartbeat picks up, my stomach becomes queasy, my eyes tear up, I feel faint… You might think it’s because of the things she did; it’s not. It’s because of what you did.
I could have, in the end, dealt with all of that. I could have dealt with her if I had my best friend by my side.
Do you remember the letter you wrote me? The first one? Let me remind you: “We’re going to do this shit together, you and me. You go hard and fast and it terrifies me, but I love that you understand that life is short and it’s got to be made the most of. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. And goodness knows I’ve got problems. You do too. And I worry about you all the time. But it’s a mutual thing and no matter what you do, I will be there. If you fall, I’ve got you. I will always tell you what I think, and we will probably get mad often But as long as we move past it it we’ll be okay. I just wrote you a love letter. How do you like that. You are my BFF. Even if that’s a dumb term, it’s accurate. Please don’t give up on me.”
Well I didn’t fall, I was pushed. And my best friend wasn’t there to catch me. Worse, you stood by and watched her push me. And now you just walk around with her, and what, now you two are best friends? You tweet at each other, hashtag soul mates? Well that’s awesome. Maybe you deserve each other after all.
I know this is petty, but this is an anger journal after all. Here are a few random things I never told you that I really hate about you:
The tea obsession? I can tell you’re just doing that for your image. Bad boys are never going to like you. Stop saying you like them, because no one really ever likes bad boys. Robert wasn’t a bad boy. You’re never going to be a hippie. You don’t act like one now, you don’t dress like one, and you’re never going to be one. The whole Matt thing? You act like you turned him down; that’s a complete falsity and you know it. He turned you down. He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like you at all. Also, Jim Morrison really isn’t that attractive.
You really hurt me. But I never did anything to hurt you. So you can go on and pretend you’re best friends with her, I really don’t care. You can tweet about what a slut I am, you can hang out with her friends, call yourself an ice queen, and stage whisper “whore” when I walk by. Better yet, you can work out all the time, go to yoga, go on tea binges and pretend that you’re the better person because I’m the one that couldn’t forgive you. But you were supposed to be my friend. And honestly, you stopped acting like one a long time ago. I don’t miss you; I miss who I thought you were.
Prompt 2: Time to rant, rave, and foam at the mouth: the piece of mind you would like to give that old so-and-so. This is about anger.