To the friend that
broke up with me,
You’d think after
eight years of friendship I would be heart broken, but in honesty, I
am beyond better off without you. In fact, anyone would be better off
without you. You are the world’s worst friend.
We were never really
even friends. We met in first grade, and somehow we always ended up
hanging out with the same people. We only became close during middle
school, because you and I didn’t know anyone else except each
other. Sure, we had things in common. We both were in the “emo”
crowd, so we once again ended up hanging out with the same people. We
dressed the same, listened to the same bands, had similar taste in
boys, but beyond that, we were totally incompatible as friends, but,
then again, who would be a compatible friend for you? You have
ridiculous expectations. You judge others so quickly, and you always
have to be the star. You are not a star. You are a black hole that
sucks people in, and they don’t realize that you are a horrible
person until it is too late. They are already sucked in – forced to
put up with your neediness. In the last decade of my life I have lost
a lot and had a lot of horrible things happen to me, but it was all
manageable, because you weren’t in my life dragging me down.
Looking back at our friendship, especially in those middle school years, you were always the kind of person who expected things to get done for her, but would never, ever do anything for anyone. How many favors did I do for you? So many that I can’t even count. What did you ever do for me? Spread rumors about me to the point that teachers were hearing the stuff you said about me? Spill all of my secrets, and not just spill them, but exaggerate them to the point that they were just lies? Have your other friends prank call me and hack my social media accounts? Yup. That’s how you repaid every single things I did for you – letting you have this guy, and not listening to that band because they were “your” band. I kept your secrets, even the juiciest ones. Today, I still haven’t told anyone a thing about you, because that’s the kind of person I am – I keep secrets. I keep promises. I will bring that shit to the grave, even though you treated me the way you did. And, even after our friendship ended, I didn’t say a word in high school when everyone else was making comments about you for having a boyfriend who was older than you. I know what I did to make you want to stop being my friend, so I knew I had no right to judge, but why do you? How can you go and call me a “slut”? How can you say anything badly about me?
It’s not even what you were doing. What
you were doing was fine. It was how you were doing it. You basically
became 14-year-old me, which basically just showed me even more
how jealous you were of me. I got the guys. Sure, guys liked you, but
only because you were the friend with the boobs. Other than that,
everyone thought you were miserable and needy, because all you did
was order people around and complain about everything. I got the
boyfriends, the make-out sessions, and the awkward preteen boob
grabbing. Why me and not you? Because I was kind-hearted and thoughtful. I put others first. I might not have been as attractive, but I was nice, and that goes a lot further than just boobs. You want to call me a whore? You want to have your “cool
older high school friends” prank call me to call me a whore for
you, because you were too much of a wimp to say it to my face, that’s
fine.
Towards the end of eighth grade, I heard you talking to one of our friends about me. I didn't really hear what you said, but I knew it was about me. You told the one friend that couldn’t keep a secret, by the way, and I knew what you were up to. I knew that you and I were almost done, and I counted down the days until you were out of my life. And you didn’t even do it to my face. You did it online. Way to let go of eight years of somewhat friendship.
I don’t miss you, and I don’t wish you the best even a little bit. I hate you more than anything in the entire world.
See you never.
Much hate and loathing,
Nikki