To one of the most dearest friends I have had the pleasure (and pain) of knowing.
I’m not sure where exactly everything went south. It wasn’t my attempted suicide, or my manic phases, or your perception that I was flirting with your boyfriend. It wasn’t me becoming a mom so young or trying to change my life overnight. It was somewhere before that, a deep dark place, where the ultimate connection we had was severed. Broken. Something lost. The true love in your eyes disappeared. There was no spark, no more intimate conversations. Yet I tried like hell, tried so hard to get it back. To make you love me. But I don’t think it was enough. Whatever had snapped was broken for good. And we were just living in the fantasy we could continue our friendship as normal.
It’s been months now, since you left me. You caused me the biggest hurt, I never thought I could feel as bad as you made me feel that day. I was in awe of your apathy, your cruelness, your bitterness and anger. I knew these were traits of yours, I just never thought I’d be on the receiving end. Not when I was already so broken down. It felt like you were hammering the nails into my depressive coffin. It broke me.
And yet here I am, another night thinking about you and what went wrong, wishing I could just see you again. To talk to you, yell at you, hit you, hurt you, hug you, love you. Anything. Anything but the cold emptiness you left me with. I don’t think you ever knew how much I truly loved you, and that was my fault. And I will forever regret that, because your loyalty to me, before the shit hit the fan, was outstanding. I should have appreciated you more.
Getting drunk after school like naughty kids. Talking about boys. Whispering in the dark about our dreams until 3am. Holding you as you cried after your brother’s cancer diagnosis. Listening to you. I always listened. I never responded in the way you needed. But I always listened. And these memories cling to me, consume me in the most arbitrary of moments. When I’m on the treadmill at gym, changing my daughter’s nappy, and worst, trying to fall asleep at night. Seeing your face, realizing those memories. Wondering how I could hate and love and miss someone as much as I do you.
But life goes on. You go on. And I’m glad. You have a wonderful man who adores you. And a family that has taken you in as one of their own. You’re hurt and bitter and twisted and angry but you have so much love thrust upon you that I’m hoping it will change. That you will brighten into that girl I first met when we were 14.
I know I will most likely never talk to you again. And it hurts. You haunt me. I don’t know how long this will take. To move on. To get over you. Because I know just how much I fucked up. And I can’t take it back.
But then, I know how much you fucked up. How badly it hurt when you drove that knife right into my chest. When you abandoned me. Yet I try my best to understand your anger and the depths from where it comes.
And I’ve hit the realization that as much as I screwed up, as much as I hurt you, I did not deserve what you did to me. As I slowly begin to forgive myself for the crazy things I did I realize more and more how angry I am at you. And how much I need to forgive you. And that is why you continue to haunt me. Because I know I need to forgive you. So I can finally move on. And be free. And not have thoughts of you keep me up at night.
This letter is bitter and I’m glad you will never read it. That you hate my blog. Because it just fuels my desire to use this place as the means to let out all my feelings and not be judged by the wonderful people I’ve met on here.
I am sorry Princess. But I am even more sorry for you. Cause you lost something good when you threw me away.
But I will still, always, always love you.