Dear Bitches,

Are you shocked? Do you remember when I heard a girl say to her friend at lunch in the 9th grade, “[redacted], I love you … but you’re a BITCH!!”

And I was STUNNED. I NEVER thought I’d call y’all by that name. How could somebody even say that? To an alleged friend, even?!
I never thought I’d say that to y’all. But here we are…

I feel so fucking pathetic even writing you this letter. But you have controlled me long enough, so I’m going to try to put that onto paper, and then put it aside forever. I don’t expect you to feel any guilt. You’ll probably print this letter out, put it on your fridge, and lol at it every day.

But I don’t care any more.

I have something to say, and I’m going to say it. And frankly, you cunts, I don’t give a flying FUCK what y’all think.
My thoughts are jumbled, but I’ll try to make it make some sense. YOU OWE ME THIS MUCH:

Hey, did you know you gave me PTSD??!! BECAUSE YOU DID!!

I didn’t think people who didn’t do something gallant like survive war or horrendous abuse could get PTSD. But it turns out, that’s not the case! It’s all about how our brains process shit.
And I was fucking depressed when the fallout happened. Which made it make an even greater impression.
I know depressed people are no fun to hang out with. I have been a depressed person. More importantly, I have loved depressed people, and I have been there for them, no matter how exhausting they are, or how tired I am. Because that is what friends do.
I guess I was just naïve to think that people I’d been friends with for 7 years and who I considered sisters would be there for me.
Fuck me, right?!?!

And right now, what’s fucking me up the most, is that I don’t know if it was real. Was any of it real? Did you EVER like me? Did you ever enjoy my company? Were you just in it for the vacations with my family, the gifts, and the meal ticket?

Your parents reached out to my parents and apologized.
They hardly had a horse in this race, and they apologized.

… Where’s my apology …?

Why did my mom get a tearful, heartfelt, “I’m so sorry,” from your mom in the bakery section of SuperTarget while I was just expected to carry on with no closure?

Why did I get nothing?

I gave y’all the best years of my life.
I blew off friends who actually matter to me now. They’ve actually been there for me. I will NEVER forgive myself for choosing y’all over them.
I guess some people just waste perfectly good years of their lives.
I guess I’m one of them.

I guess things ended up being OK. I grew closer to people who ACTUALLY care about me. I got married. I found a band that I relate to so very much, and my fellow fans and I are there for each other and love each other.

And if you hadn’t viciously “friend dumped” me. I might not be here.

…But I want to go on record as saying I could drink you BOTH, COMBINED, under the table. Just not outside. Not in a goddamn cemetery. Because I’m a fucking lady, and I will not get drunk outside.

I really don’t wish ill on others. I think it’s unhealthy. But I hope you both die old, scared, and alone, and wild boars feast on your corpses. And then street urchins steal your hair for lace before the undertaker shows up. And I hope the undertaker desecrates your useless, rotten, worm-ridden corpses.

I hope you reincarnate as just the most destitute of people in the most war-torn countries on Earth.
That’s what y’all deserve! Falalalalaaaa LaLaLaLaaaa .... ahhh go die bitch!!

With so very much love!