Dear Friend,

I really miss how you used to be — before the drugs I mean. And I know you don’t think that you’ve changed that much, but sometimes I think about how you used to be, and I remember that you used to actually listen to people when they talked to you. And I can tell when you’re high because I can see it in your eyes, this glossy kind of look that tells me that you’re looking at me but you’re thinking about something else.

I know when you’re high because I’ll wake up with a string of text messages with the time stamp reading 2:03 a.m. and they say: “I miss you, how come we never talk anymore?” or “When are you coming home from school?”

I know when you’re high because you’re mean to me and you speak to me like I’m less than dirt. And I’m not surprised that you don’t remember that time you threatened to hit me because you were so high that I bet you couldn’t even remember your own name.

I remember that one time I was sitting on your bed and you told me what it was like the first time you took LSD. You said that you drove your friends home, and on the way back to your house “the trees uprooted themselves and walked right across the road in front of your car.” You thought it was so funny, but images of you wrapping your car around one of those trees blurred my vision. I started crying and begged you to never do something so stupid again, but you shook your head and said: “It was just LSD.”

I came home last summer to the news that you got arrested for selling drugs on the street and I was relieved. You had turned into someone I didn’t even recognize, and I thought that maybe this would help you get clean.

When I heard that you were getting help, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest because I had been so tired. I was tired of calling our friends and asking them to make sure you didn’t drive high or drunk. I was tired of having nightmares about you.

You called me the night before you went to rehab, and I sat in your basement with you until the sun came up because you didn’t want to be alone before you had to go — and to this day you still haven’t thanked me for it.

I know I’ll never get a "thank you" for all the times I told you I loved you despite the fact that you chose drugs over me. I know now that all along I couldn’t have fixed you or loved you hard enough to make you stop using. I know that there was nothing I could do except forgive you.

I forgive you.

I just need you to know that it was so hard watching you do that to yourself, and I am so thankful that it is finally over. I hope you never go back to a place where you feel like using is the only option that you have. I need you to know that I still love you so much and want the absolute best for you, and I am so incredibly proud of how far you have come since you’ve been clean. But, I hope you’ll understand why I don’t play as big a role in your life anymore. I want you to know that when you use, it doesn’t just hurt you; it hurts the ones that love you. I cannot imagine my life without you, and I am thankful for all the lessons I have learned because of you, but one lesson that will stick with me is that I couldn’t make you stop because you had to decide to stop yourself. So just know this: I love you and there are countless of other people in your life that love you, but the only thing that can come between you and the drugs is the love that you have for yourself. I always have and always will do anything for you, and I love you unconditionally.

All my love, your old friend.