Dear friend,
It’s your birthday around this time of year. Happy birthday.
All niceties aside, I hope you know you pretty much ripped my heart out of my ribcage and stepped all over it. And I hope you feel like a little turtle turd right now, because that’s how I feel.
When I first met you so many years ago, I was dying to be your friend. You will have no idea what I went through to try. You have no idea the money I spent on outfits, the hours I spent in front of the mirror contemplating what to say to you, the tears I cried every time you rejected me, how I acted out against my parents, blaming them for you not liking me.
Then, a miracle: one day you decided to let me be in your circle. I guess you won’t ever understand how happy I was; you were the alpha dog, and everyone was around you trying to get close to your awesomeness. So, I guess, in a way, I was your bitch. Ha. The alpha dog’s bitch. The bitch’s bitch. Whatever. And we had a great time of it; you and I always made each other laugh. And slowly, hopefully I thought you would like me because I was me, and not because I was the replacement friend whenever your other friends decided that you were the girl they hated for that week. Don’t pretend like I didn’t know. I knew perfectly well, but I don’t blame you for being such a brat to me. I knew it then, too, and still I pretended that THIS TIME, this was for real. You really did like me.
I stupidly believed we were going to be true friends. That instead of just being the girl you can always laugh with at social gatherings, or the one who could give you the answers for the math homework, I was the girl you would take shopping. I was the girl you would call first to see if I wanted to hang out or go to the movies. That I would be a real friend, not just an acquaintance. Which is what we are, really, when you boil down our friendship into labels.
Then we both started the same thing. And at first it was okay, because we were both horrible at it. Then I just did better and better and you weren’t there next to me. I was the one with all the opportunities and you were the one smling and pretending like you were happy for me. Don’t be stupid, I know what you were doing. And suddenly, before I know it, here I am, thinking of what I could do to give you the best birthday present ever, and you’re off frolicking with our group of friends, and for some reason somebody “forgot” the replacement girl.
So thanks for pretending for all those years. Thanks for giving me the hope (however false) that I would become your real friend.
It’s nice to see your true colors.
Am I being a prima donna? Maybe.
But I don’t think so.
