My dearest friends, and my most compelling tormentors.
I tend to think that you don't really realize how much you've hurt me. I tend to attribute that time of our lives to teenage immaturity. Few teenagers know who they are, where the stand in the world, or where their true wealth as human beings lie. Truly, I cannot blame you for your actions back then. I was the same way, and I know exactly why we were all so cruel to each other.
Today, though, you can still hurt me. It surprises me that the actions of two women I haven't spoken to in years could still have any effect on me, but affect me you do. I still agonize over us. Over who we were, and how close we could be if only the stars aligned ever so properly.
But then I remember. I remember that I cannot spend a night with you without somehow saying something you feel I shouldn't have said. I remember that, rather than being an adult about a "foot in mouth" moment, you feel the compelling need to react. I remember that you choose not to have a constructive conversation about why what I said hurt you, that you would rather exact revenge on me. That you would rather shame me, isolate me, and generally make me feel like a socially retarded moron than ever admit that I had hurt your feelings.
I get it. I'm not the most socially cognizant person in the world. But here's the thing: I'm really not all that far away from social awareness either. I don't have autism-level social retardation. Mine is more along the lines of guy-level retardation.
For so long, you made me feel like the outcast. The girl who always said the wrong thing, the girl who should be ashamed of herself because her poise was imperfect. You knew my weaknesses. You knew that I was incapable of retaliating in a like fashion. So, you passive-aggressively pushed my buttons and then shamed me for expressing my emotions openly and honestly. You were the victim in my anger. Oh, you were so very, very good at what you did.
But here's the thing: you're tiny. Hell, you're downright minuscule, and you know it. Maybe not on the surface, but deep in your subconscious, you know. And you're not okay with that. You feel the need to be big, bold, and brave. To shine like the light of a thousand stars. We all do.
But you don't know how to make yourself shine more brightly. You never did. That's why you hated me so much. That's why you still can't stand to hear me talk about my successes. You don't know how to shine more brightly. You just know how to make others appear more dim.
You aren't brave. You don't know how to face yourself; to look yourself in the eye and say "I'm not good enough." You pretend at confidence, but you can never achieve it if you can't even turn your eyes inward and look for your own failings. That's why you choose to put me down. What is that about a plank in the eye?
Honestly, when I'm not angry at you, I feel bad for you. I know that sounds patronizing and I would be hella pissed if someone said it to me the way that I'm about to say it to you, but I really do. I don't think you're going to amount to anything. And I think you both know that, and that is why you exert so much effort in catty gossip.
The sad thing is, you could be so much. Cecily, you are so kind. Not when you're feeling insecure, not when there's someone around who appears to shine brighter. But, when you see someone who is genuinely pitiful, you don't even think twice. You just care. Eliza, you are so smart. You can see the truth in things that few others can see. But you choose to use that intelligence as a tool of manipulation rather than a tool of betterment.
You, my oldest and dearest friends, have wasted yourselves. I wish with all of my heart that we could have grown together instead of apart. I still see so much potential in both of you, no matter the pain you've caused me. I just wish that you weren't so afraid to look inside. Yeah, you would see some ugly things, but I think that you would see so much beauty as well. You just have to take that first step.
