You’re my best friend. A complete role model to me, and to everyone else. You know who you are and you have things figured out for yourself. You never drink, smoke or tease your curiosities about drugs. Your family are your closest friends and your truly beautiful.
1 year ago, I started to drink. The people I hung out with accepted me for it and I thought they were fun. I thought that was how someone made the most out of life, by living extremely on the edge.
You know about the alcohol. But you don’t know about how much I drank it, and how sometimes it was when I was alone. You don’t about the pills I popped to give me an ultimate high. You don’t know about the weed I started smoking last winter. You don’t know about the guys I hooked up with and gave parts of myself to while I was intoxicated. You don’t know about my feelings of suicide and how I started to cut myself in February. You don’t know about how I started to resent your boyfriend from taking you away from me, and how I started to resent myself.
You know that you are my best friend. But you don’t know about how you saved my life. You don’t know that its been 3 and 12 days since I last smoked. You don’t know that its been 9 weeks since I last got drunk. You don’t know this because you make your own assumptions about me.
I hate that you judge me, with your perfect christian philosophy, though you say you never judge.
But I love that you’re back in my life.
I owe you much more than I do any of my other friends.