(NOTE: Inspired by a journal about past events, does NOT reflect the present.)
To Girlfriend
I keep trying to give you things I do not have to give. I keep overestimating my generosity, I keep telling you things are fine that are not fine at all, I keep saying I want you to be happy in Girl’s company when all I want is for you to say my company is enough and never see Girl again. I keep thinking I can hold one too many cheeses like Gus Gus in Cinderella and I wind up with all of my cheese rolling across the floor and hungry all night. I keep trying to be what I was taught a proper woman is supposed to be, long-suffering, endlessly tolerant, sacrificial, a martyr, trod upon, selfless.
It is all just shit.
I am lying to you, lying to Girl, lying to myself because I am so sure I need to be more than I am. I am tired of this.
Dear Both of You,
I need space from your “friendship.”
You can still hang out, but I don’t want to be there, because being there feels like someone is shoving nails between my ribs.
I do not want to spend any more hours witnessing your suppressed affections pour from your cells.
I do not want to pretend to be normal while being electrocuted by the crackling voltage of your longing and desire.
I do not want to listen to you tell me you are just friends, when what my ears hear does not sound like friendship, when what my eyeballs see does not look like friendship, when my body feels you are Not. Just. Friends.
And if you tell me I am being “dramatic about your friendship” one more time, I may want to punch you both. And I will be capable of punching Girlfriend in this case, because she’ll be caught in the haze that follows you two wherever you go. I guess. I probably would still miss. Whatever.
So you can keep your all-day texts, keep your hours of Facetime, keep your car hangouts and find out where this so-called friendship takes you. Maybe it’ll develop faster with me not around. Maybe you’ll end up going steady. You know, as friends.
Sincerely, Angela
