This letter is to my best friend’s douche bag husband.
She has been my rock, kept me grounded and loved me through all my moods for more than a decade. For you to ask or assume or tell me I said and did things I KNOW I did not say or do. So adamant you were on these things. No matter how adamant I was otherwise. Could you believe me or would you, no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You had to pick it apart, decipher it, and try to understand my mind.
I told her, you know, when I first felt uncomfortable. After you told me it didn’t feel complete without me there. She reassured me it was nothing like I thought. It couldn’t possibly be anything like before. You knew! Our friendship took a nose dive for four months. Because of a boyfriend. You are her HUSBAND and you have a child together. Do I risk the only person who loves me completely?
You chalk it up to some kind of chemical imbalance. Something to do with your medication. Does it really matter? You should have never crossed that line in a million years. She is my person. She always has been. How could you put me in this position? How can I ever look at you again?
Forget about respect. There is none.
I can’t stand you. I can’t stand to look at you. Or talk to you. Or be around you. I just want to punch something through that thick skull of yours. I tried to cut you off at the knees before you really got moving on it. Nope. Still kept coming. You’re attracted to me. I should be flattered I guess but I’m not. You think if you hadn’t been hyped up on vicoden you would have seen me, had a chance with me?
I never even looked at you in that light. EVER. I saw your friend. He was intelligent. He was funny. He had this goofy look about him I came to love. Hell you practically threw me at any guy you got a chance to. Would that have been easier for you?
You think I am a bitch now.
Watch me go cold-hearted.
You did this.