She was my best friend for seven years. She controlled me, said awful things to me,
beat me up occasionally, made me do thinks I hated myself for afterwards, told
my other friends not to talk to me, and made me feel stupid and unworthy of
anyone’s friendship. And that was just
elementary and high school!
When we got older you started hanging out with boys who
called me fat when I was around. You
told me the homemade clothes I designed were ugly and made me look poor. You never
missed an opportunity to tell me I’m a whore. You let your dog bite me without disciplining
him and told me to suck it up and get used to it.
When I stopped eating, you encouraged me. You took me out for long bike rides and runs
and yelled at me, “Keep up! Do you want
to lose weight or not?” When I cut
myself, you told me I was doing it wrong and showed me how to properly kill
myself.
Sometimes you were nice to me and I felt like our friendship
was genuine. In retrospect, however, it
was never enough to make up for how poorly you treated me. I haven’t spoken to you in two years nor have
you spoken to me.
We just “drifted apart,” as you say, but I also know that
you think homosexuality is sick and wrong.
“It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” you told me when I came out to
you.
When I look at you I realize I don’t even know you
anymore. I was always your loyal friend
because you made me think no one else would ever be my friend. You caused me so much anger and hurt. So why the hell do I miss you so much
sometimes?
I was really stupid to hang out with you for as long as I
did. What a waste of seven years. Now you’re bleach-blonde, thinner than I am,
you have a mustang and a steady boyfriend.
I’m not envious of you though.
I’m just pissed that my friend stopped using me as a muse for her
artistic photography and switched to you.
In pictures of me I was art. In
pictures of you, your eyes are dead and you look like a posed doll. Now I get to call you a whore, even though
I’ll never say it out loud.
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