Let me just start off first by saying it’s been nine years. Nine long years, where I gave you advice you never followed, drove miles out of my way to save you from something you went right back to, shared everything I had, opened my house to you…let you into my family. And these nine years have not been beneficial to me in any way, shape, or form.
I write this because, I know that logically, none of these things could ever be said in colloquial conversation. Let’s face it: I know you. A phone conversation that doesn’t make you happy – hang up. Text messages that are less than nice – call me a bitch. Even tweets… for fuck’s sake, tweets… are less than nice when your feelings are hurt.
Now let me ask you this question. When did you ever really help me? When did you give me advice that could’ve possibly saved me from a terrible conversation? When did you drive four hours out of the way to pick me up?
Now I understand that these things are so very specific that they may not even make sense. But I’ve given a fucking lot to you. I let you drink illegally, I bought you food, I brought you Gatorade and chicken noodle soup when you had the flu: I might have been one of the best damn friends you ever had. I never stranded you. I always wanted you to tag along, and you always bailed.
However, I’ve long since let those abhorrent feelings go. You made me laugh, and were usually good company… those were the pros of our friendship.
But we’re not really discussing the pros at the moment.
Don’t act like you take such great offense to a tweet that wasn’t even about you. I follow fifty other people – I don’t even see your tweets. Loose lips sink ships, and I’m not about to go down with this wreckage.
Also, don’t act like I don’t know how to work a phone – like you don’t know how to text, call, drive, whatever. I’m hours away from you – you’ve been in more contact with my parents than you have with me. Get the fuck out. You don’t deserve them.
Don’t act like losing me as a friend is the worst loss you’ve ever experienced: whatever. You’d sacrifice me for Shawn in a heartbeat. You’d leave my house on my visit in (if I called you, which I don’t) to see other people that you see every day (and this is why I don’t). I’m not trying to act like a bitch. In fact, I feel rather peaceful about all this. Just airing it all out. Regardless of my past and things I may have said, it’s all irrelevant now. I’m a big girl. I moved away. It’s not like anybody’s willing to come all the way to JC just to flatten my tires. Please.
You called me out first, Brooke. With drunk tweets, of all things. Now, I’m not a twitter fiend – I’m not concerned about who’s following me and who’s not. Whatever. I just like to be entertained about what’s on my dashboard, not disgusted by you talking about shitting or fighting with Shawn or wtf/e. It’s over.
I’m actually pretty positive that the only things we really have in common anymore is the past that we used to have, the friends that we share, and the place that we are both from. I honestly don’t even think you’re all torn up about it, either! You’re just playing the victim… always the victim. “She said this about me.” “He did this to my car.” “She left me at a gas station.” I always wonder exactly what it is you might’ve done to have had these results, but it’s okay now, because now I know.
And it’s just that… whatever. I don’t care, really. I know that I might not even ever see you again… maybe through your sister. I love your sister. She’s pretty fuckin’ cool. I see her every now and again.
But excuse me for being busy. For going to college. For making a way for myself.
I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m over it.
Take your tweets and juvenile texts and go somewhere. I’m done.
Sincerely,
Me
