I’m working on a new sporadic segment that will be a series of letters that I never plan to send. Writing is therapy for me. Names will be either omitted or changed for the sake of legal issues that could potentially arise. These will be personal, they will be honest, and they will be heartfelt. My life is an open book.
I get it. In our teen years I was not nice or cool to anyone, even you. We became best friends again after I stopped being a piece of shit. I thought we were fine and had something good going again. A fifteen year friendship shouldn’t be broken that easily, right?
I’ve spent the past 5 years doing everything I possibly can to love and support you. Every time you came to town, I’d clear my schedule entirely and wait for you to tell me what my plans were for that week. Every time, I’d be one of the first you’d come see (awesome!) and you’d try to make sure we saw each other a 2nd time (or that’s what you’d say, anyway). And yet, when I’d say I’d be down to tag along for anything at all, you still neglected to invite me to things. Then you’d tell me all these crazy fun times you had with your other friends. (You know, the other friends that you’ve always acted like I’m not cool enough to even meet.) And you’d have the nerve to say “You would’ve had so much fun! I wish you could’ve gone!” I could have. If you’d asked. But I’d smile, laugh, talk with you about it anyway because we’re BFFs.
Throughout your trip to another continent (2.5 years of strained contact) I missed you so much more than I knew I could miss someone. I sent you support at every possible minute and flooded you with love to the point where I worried about annoying you. But, you said you loved it and to keep it coming. So I did.
Then you finally move back to the US and I think I’ll finally get to see you again. Nope. Here for a short time then off to another state. During that time you were constantly too busy with your other friends (as usual). Across the world, I thought you sucked at texting because you can’t get internet in the middle of a tribal village and mud hut. Turns out, you just don’t think as highly of me as I do of you. You actually texted me more in Africa than you do in America.
Since you’ve moved you’ve been a complete shit friend. Completely shit. I handled it for a year now, trying my best to be understanding and to give you space. Then I had a horrid night where I tried to kill myself (yay mental illness). You were the only person I thought could help me come out of it. I reached out to you. You initially gave some concern and wanted to make sure I’m alive (which is obviously great). Then, you quickly continued to say you’re too busy with your other friend’s depression to even bother trying to help me out. Essentially, I got a big “well, that sucks, but you’re not that important to me and I don’t want to make time for you.” I was crushed.
I gave you three chances to make it up to me. Twice, I scheduled phone calls so we can talk about why I wanted to kill myself. Since you’re my best friend, I thought that would be normal. But no, you blew off each plan we had for a phone call and continued to go anywhere from days to weeks to reply to me. Then you started to only want to talk if I was being positive. So I faked it for a bit. Then, on the very last chance, I decided to not answer you and see what you’d do. You blew that, too. We haven’t talked for a month.
I spent every day thinking of you and how much it hurt to care more about you than you do about me. Every day. EVERY FUCKING DAY.
And today.. today I got the last straw. After days and days of being hurt about you blowing me off multiple times and failing every communication test I’d given you, you tell me that you realized we hadn’t talked because you forgot to reply to me. Oh, fucking FINALLY you grace me with the fucking gift of your gracious concern. I reply to tell you (as nicely as possible in this situation) that you have left me feeling hurt and uncared about and that I’m still mad about it. Then worst of fucking all…
After all of this. After everything I’ve done to bend over backwards for your friendship with less and less reciprocation, you act like I’m the one at fault and like I deserve you being even worse to me.
You are dead to me.