NoJoMo – 30 The Letter I Finally Wrote
There are so many things I need to talk to you about. I hate you for not being here. I hate you for not being able to change, to fix yourself.
I am sitting here alone right now, wishing I were outside on the phone with you, telling you about everything that’s happened—everything I’m thinking and feeling and wondering—smoking and screaming and crying and laughing… just like we used to.
I hate you for making me leave you. I know what I said, and I know that I’m the one who left you behind, but we both know that I had no choice. We both know YOU left me no choice. You kept pushing. You just wouldn’t keep a promise. You just couldn’t stop lying. Sociopaths never can.
I know that rationally I shouldn’t blame you, anymore than someone can blame a dog for shitting on a rug. But I still do. I’ve worked my ass off—walked through fire and come out the other side of hell to fight this bipolar bullshit God blessed me with. You never even tried. I fell for your act when you pretended to try… but looking back, I see the strings. The smoke and mirrors fooled me.
Mostly though, I am mad at myself. How can I still worry about you? Winter was always the hardest time of year for her, I found myself telling Grant. Bullshit. If you kill yourself, the world will have one less sociopath. Your family and friends will mourn, but the innocent people you’ve yet to hurt will have been spared. Am I cruel to consider that?
I hate myself for caring if you live or die. I hate myself for wondering how you are, if you are still living in filth, surrounded by stupidity and pathetic half-breeds because they are only ones blind enough to accept you. I hate myself for wondering about you. It’s been over six months… and I hate that you matter.
I love that I am still just as certain of my decision today as I was on May 10th. In fact, I am more certain. Sitting on the bed at Faye’s house, waiting for you at my graduation party that you PROMISED to come to, I was angry.
Done.
That was my last message to you. It will be the last thing I ever send you.
{ In fact, if you are reading this now, you are a bit more psychotic than I’d have imagined, because I’m posting this in my Open Diary – and you have no business being here. This is a place for me to vent my thoughts… to my friends… of which you are not. }
Today, I am not as angry. You didn’t show up because you are basically evil. Sociopaths have no sense of right and wrong, and therefore, in my mind, are evil. Today, I am simply done.
I do not want you in my life. As much as I want to be outside smoking and laughing and talking to you, I am so glad to be 1300 miles away from your reach.
You’ll never again be able to squirm your way back into my life.
I’ll miss you and cry for the friend I thought I had… the friend I kept thinking you’d be one day.
But when I finally accept that the “Lou” I loved never existed, the “Leila” that exists can go straight to hell—do not pass Go, bitch, just take your ass on. You’ve caused enough grief in eight years for a lifetime.
I haven’t written this letter in weeks because I thought it would be one of the most painful things I’d ever have to write… a letter saying goodbye to a friend that existed only in my mind and fuck off to the bitch that conned me for eight years… and then, Thursday I came across a pain that made you, and our entire relationship look so inconsequential that I figured, to hell with it. It’s the last day of the month; let’s end her with a bang.
So here’s to the friend I kept hoping to find in the demon who kept her away… cheers.
