I fluctuate often between feeling maliciously towards you and pitying you, but I think more often than not I definitely feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for you because you allow yourself to be ruled by your bipolar. You let it define you, it be you, instead of you being you.
Sometimes, I get angry at you for feeding into my own bipolar and dragging me down too. But then I realize, I made the choice to allow you to do that. I could have made a stand, but I didn’t.
I’m still hurt that you let her convince you I was being someone I wasn’t. That rather than trusting our own friendship and coming to me when you had an issue, you hid in your room and let her feed you lies when I wasn’t around. You knew me, and yet you allowed her to shape me into someone I wasn’t.
You often prided yourself on being above childish behaviour, but when it all came to the end, you were just as childish as she was. Neither of you once confronted me about the issues and tried to work them out, tried to put out the fires. You both turned and high-tailed it then blamed me for being legally bound into the contract that you agreed to.
After that ‘meeting’ where you both tried to wash your hands of me, you gave me some speech about hoping to remain friends and all sorts of BS. I knew you didn’t mean it. You knew you didn’t mean it. So why did you say it?
You left, and you never looked back. I never heard from you again. You took all of our mutual friends with you. At first I resented you for that, but then I realized if they left with you without ever giving me a chance, then they never really were my friends to begin with. I tried to get in touch with you once, to reach out and take you up on that offer of remaining friends… you blocked my number, e-mail address and Facebook account.
There are days when I want nothing more than to scream at you, to send you nasty messages pointing out how you ruined my life because you couldn’t stand on your own two feet. To point out how childish it was to try and get your parents to make me sign a legal document claiming everything was my fault. I never signed it, and I never will. I may have been a pushover, but I wasn’t stupid.
I hope you are doing well. I hope you’ve realized that your disorder doesn’t define you, and that pitying yourself is only detrimental to your health. I hope you’re happy, pursuing your dreams, and with friends that care.
But if I can throw in a little bit more honesty here, I hope you know that I don’t miss you. It’s nothing against you. You and I had fun together. But it’s hard to miss someone who put you through hell.
So all the best, my former best friend. May life be good to you, better than it was when I knew you.