We’ve been “friends” for years. I remember not liking you when I met
you, but I wanted to be nice. We never clicked and there’s no doubt
that is why we didn’t talk for so long. God knows why we ever ended up
being “friends” again. I was probably bored. For a while we filled a
dangerous void in each other’s lives. People told me to stay away from
you, but I didn’t. People told me not to tell you my secrets, but I
did. I was probably lonely. I know you think you’re better than me. I
know you think you’re prettier than me. Really, I think that’s why you
liked hanging out with me—it boosted your self-esteem (and it
really didn’t need boosting). Your fake self-deprecation is bullshit.
You’re so goddamned transparent. You fuck your friends’ boyfriends to
feel better about yourself and then blame it on “mental illness.” You
have people fooled into thinking you’re someone you aren’t—I’ll
admit that’s the one thing you’re good at. You ruin lives. I hope you
get caught, and I hope it fucking hurts.
—Anonymous
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