A drug. An addiction. An emotional bulldozer. I don’t know what she is, I just can’t get away from her. I know friends are not perfect; but she constantly pokes fun at me, which I can handle as long as its just between us, and tells others about it. She does so many hurtful little things that its so hard to pinpoint her for anything. She thinks she’s so blameless and always right; and she’s so set in her beliefs and such a terrible enemy I don’t dare to defy her. But what do I have to be afraid of? Well, when she dislikes somebody, she dislikes somebody, and is, in every sense of the word, vindictive. She sits behind me on the bus and is an upperclassman, and everyone knows how much they love to hate freshmen. I don’t like half the stuff she does; a lot of the time our perceptions of what’s hot or what’s not totally clash. She calls me a baby when I want to turn away from a conversation, or a tease. She just has this hidden secret superpower of getting under people’s skins. She expects me to always make allowances for her, but as I’m writing this and venting out, I realize I’m not afraid of her. So I’m going to say something stupid:

Yes, I’m talking to you, Christina Schoeller. You expect me to hang out with you whenever you want, but that’s going to change now. I’m hella gonna regret it, but I’ve got to stand up for myself. All my life I’ve been walked over. Not anymore. I’m sorry to realize this and it stings to have it set in pixel text, but you’ve hardened me. Emotionally. But I guess that’s okay. You’ve taught me, by hurting me, to stand up for myself, and I can’t believe, now that I see, that the friends (and loves) I have cherished the most have hurt me the most, except for one single person, and I feel terrible for not contacting her constantly and being a better friend, because she is so beautiful and the best.

We’ve had a great time so far; I can’t have the fun I had with you than with any other person. I’m extremely thankful to you for being my bitching partner. I’m also very grateful that you’ve never spilled the beans I’ve spilled so many times to you, and that you’ve never started rumors about me. Or have you? I don’t think so. I still trust you that much. You go with me off base, even when no one else will, even if it’s on your own schedule or purpose. You’ve got style, even if you act like a wannabe scene kid. You make me feel like an actual, social teenager. But it’s time for me to become my own person, because I know that even if you like me, you don’t respect me. No, don’t protest yet. Don’t fucking bullshit me. Talk to me like a real person. You’ve been a great teacher- Well, maybe not a great teacher, but I’ve learned a lot from you that has or will be useful to me in the future. But I know that I’m better than you, from my perspective of the term “better”. “Better” does not describe me even if I don’t let anger take over me when I get furious,  have an uncommon consideration for the welfare of other human beings who I don’t even like or know, and don’t change boys like I change underwear. “Better” means that I am stronger. Emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically. Well, I have to admit, that last one is debatable, but I think I take care of myself very well considering my less-than-stellar metabolism and notorious nationality.

I hope that you read this, and do try to understand. But that’s probably impossible. So I have one last thing to say:

Thank you so much for walking dogs with me, and I would still like to keep walking with you. But only when it’s convenient for both of us. As equal friends.

Love,
G.