Thursday, February 25, 2010

Goodbye to you

Dear K,

The next time he punches you, kicks you and shoves you… the next time he insults you or spits on you or punches your car window...remember, you chose this. You literally chose him over everyone else. The next time he throws a lit cigarette at you…the next time he tells you he’s going to cut you and watch you bleed… the next time he actually does cut you…remember, we spent 18 long months trying to help you.

We did everything friends are supposed to do. We offered you more support than you ever could’ve asked for. We offered you everything: a way out. Money. A place to stay. Counseling. We offered you escape. Silly us… we actually thought you knew you deserved better, because we’ve all told you hundreds of times.

You were beautiful. You never drank. You quit smoking. You worked out. You made good money. You laughed. You spent time with us. You enjoyed life. It wasn’t perfect. For some reason, you were always insecure even though you used to look like you just stepped off the runway. But it was your life. You were in charge of it, and you seemed to enjoy it.

I don’t know what went so wrong in your life that you thought this filthy, ugly, vile alcoholic scumbag with no job was the best you could do. But ever since he came along, you’re nothing like you used to be. You chain smoke. You drink like a fish. You don’t sleep, and it shows. You take pictures of yourself trying to look sexy and you look hollow, worn out… like you just want to die. You’re destroying you’re God given beauty for someone who has never done one nice thing for you. You’ve left perfectly nice men for minor infractions but you don’t bat an eye when this one treats you like a pile of garbage.

My twenties have been the best times of my life. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. How much of this precious time of learning, living and fun do you have to miss out on before you finally get it? You’ve missed two chances to go to Vegas, a chance to go to LA with me and meet your favorite soap stars, numerous Sunday brunches and girls’ nights because of him… because he made you feel like shit and you couldn’t leave your house, because you’re so wrapped up in his drama you “forgot,” and because you’re so busy paying his bills you can’t afford your own fun. Your twenties are a time of growth. You, my old friend, have only regressed.

You don’t live with this asshole. Supposedly you won’t even let your daughter be around him. You have no ties to him whatsoever and he acts like he doesn’t even want you… because he doesn’t. He doesn’t respect you. Now you don’t respect yourself. Sorry, K, but I don’t respect you anymore, either. I pitied you. I listened to you. I cried for you. And then I rallied the troops and we offered you everything. There’s a saying, “If you can’t handle me at my best, you don’t deserve me at my worst.” Well I guess I don’t deserve to be your friend, K, because I cannot handle you like this. I cannot be friends with someone who chooses such misery over their own beautiful, smart little girl who will probably grow up to repeat this sick pattern. Way to go, Mom of the Year.

The worst part is, you have never said you love him. In fact, half the time you say you hate him. Yet you won’t put him in jail even though he’s given you a million reasons. You just don’t want anyone else to have him. I don’t, either. I want him to be in a hole in the ground. I won’t be the one to put him there but I’ll smile if someone ever does. I just hope it’s before he does it to you.

You claim I don’t understand because I’m not in an abusive relationship. You’re right. I don’t understand how a woman can belittle herself so much for someone who may end up killing her. I don’t understand how a woman who can have any man she wants can lower herself to bragging about her latest bruise and crying because the son of a bitch is out sticking his STD ridden dick in any willing bar fly. I don’t understand, and you know what? I don’t want to. Not anymore.
The next time he steals and takes the pills you bought off the street to help deal with the pain he causes you… the next time he makes you run, screaming, for your car from you own apartment at 3 AM because you’re terrified of what he’ll do… the next time you pick up the phone and you realize you don’t have a friend left in the world… remember, he didn’t do this to you. You did this to yourself. You let him completely take you over. I wish I hadn’t wasted almost two years trying so hard to help someone who doesn’t actually want help.

You know we’ll all be here if you ever decide to pull your head out of your ass and be the good mother and the good friend you used to be. Maybe when you have no one to complain to, no one to show your scars, you’ll come around. In the meantime, the rest of us are going to go on living our lives and having the experiences that you should’ve been having all along. How much of your life will pass you by before you decide to reclaim it?

Sunday brunches aren’t the same without your pretty, smiling face and your sweet laugh. But Sunday brunch talk should never involve showing off bruises and bragging about your latest fight at a bar. Enjoy your life of misery. Just remember, you chose it for yourself. And when it seems like I don’t care, remember that it’s really because I cared too much.


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