An Open Letter to You

Dear You,

I’m not really sure where to start this. I can’t help but think of how you’ve always believed me to be strong. Well, I’m not sure how strong I am when I’m writing this but not actually intending to give it to you. I think if I tried to say these things in person I would break down. I would let you back in, and I don’t know if that’s the best thing for me. I might actually break next time.

I guess everything started out freshman year. We got close. We spent damn near 4 years next to each other. We smiled, cried, and laughed together: weekend band trips, sleepovers, and deep discussions about our favorite books or fandoms. We seemed to fit together like two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle.

Well, at least, that’s how I thought it was. Granted, I was only under this impression until the night when you, “Felt sorry for him while he was dating you because you are so mean,” and you “Didn’t understand why you were friends with someone so bossy and overwhelming”. This revelation sucked for multiple reasons: I was under the impression that everything had been fine because you had never acted upset before and because hearing all the horrible, nasty things I already whispered to myself spoken out loud (in your voice, no less) cut me pretty deeply. But we moved past that because that’s what friends do, right? They forgive and forget.

After all, I should be understanding. Good friends are understanding. But where is the line between being understanding and letting yourself get sliced up again and again so that you don’t think that all of those things you said I was are still me. I’ve changed! I’m a good girl now. Don’t you notice what a good girl I am? A pretty little spaniel you can kick as hard as you want and she’ll still come trotting back?

Isn’t that what friendship is? “No,” you said, “not just friends. We are sisters!”

The choking fears begin to bind me even closer, whispering, “You can’t upset your sister! If you mention how you feel, she will cry. Do you want to make her cry? You’re the bad guy if you make her cry! You're a horrible, worthless creature who doesn't deserve friends.”

So, I pushed my feelings away. How could I be upset when you didn’t show up to hang out? It was only the 20th time you’d made me call you to find out you suddenly couldn’t make it. It’s not like it was that big of a deal.

“If she was really your friend, she would understand that you’re busy. School comes first!”

It got even worse when you told me how much your mom hated me.

“No, not hate you, but she really doesn’t like you.”

But we moved past that, because that’s what friends do. That’s what friendship is, isn’t it? And the fucked up part is that the more you spit on me, the closer I held you. I let you treat me like shit. Maybe it’s because I really am worthless, but even worthless things get tired of being shown and told how worthless they are.

I’m not sure when I hit my breaking point. Maybe it was when I was sitting alone in your dorm room 2 hours after you said you were going to be home and I was still alone. Maybe it was when he said, "You don't mind if we hang out alone tomorrow night, right? After all, I haven't seen her for a month!" What could I say to that? Yes, I do, in fact, mind quite a lot? I haven't seen her for a half a year and I will only be here for a week, so give me this week. That's what I wanted to say, but that would be selfish. That would make me the heartless bitch again.

Maybe it was the next night when I cried myself to sleep because I felt so alone visiting you. Honestly, that week was a living hell for me.

Maybe it was a few months before that when I was making myself sick with pain and guilt.

“What can you do? If she wants to kill herself, it isn’t your job to stop her. You should be concentrating on your school work.”

You have no idea how much I just wanted to disappear. I’m a burden; you’ve already made that clear. I think my breaking point came when I decided to see just how long it would take you to contact me if I let you make the first move.

It’s been 6 months since then, and guess who I haven’t heard from?

And the shitty thing is that I still feel guilty. I feel guilty for not telling you happy birthday. I feel guilty for trying to protect myself. I feel guilty for hurting. Hell, I felt guilty when I read about how he had made you feel and realized that’s how you made… make me feel.

I’m not sure what the point to this letter is. I know that if you’re reading this you’re probably crying. I’m going to try to make myself not care. What’s the point of caring about someone who doesn’t care about you? That’s the difference between your situation with him and my situation with you; he actually cared about you.

I’m not sure if I will ever really want to talk to you again. Ok, that’s a lie. I really want to talk to you. I want to tell you happy birthday and show you my new piercing. I want to tell you about the crazy thing that happened last Saturday and this cute guy from Michigan I’m dating now. I want to tell you how much I care and how much this has been killing me. I want to tell you lots of things. I want to be friends.

But the way we’ve been doing it isn’t how friendship is supposed to work.

You have my number. Don’t use it unless you really care. I don’t think I could stand it otherwise.