My Best Friend Hates Me

Dear Diantha:
Fine, I'm doing what you asked. I'm writing this blog because, unlike you, I'm not going to let my anger destroy me. I can work through my anger. That's your problem, Diantha. There's a formula to a fight with you:

1. Diantha becomes angry.

2. Diantha throws a hissy fit to one of her friends.

3. Her friend offers suggestions to help.

4. Diantha lashes out at her friend.

5. Her friend tries to get Diantha to actually work through her anger instead of building it up inside and self-depreciating.

6. Diantha screams, and blocks her friend.

Alright. So maybe I am wrong in the way that I tried to get you to scream at me, to get it all out, and HEY, MAYBE THIS TIME YOU WOULD END UP FEELING GOOD instead of taking a hundred pills all to stop feeling anything at all. I'm sick of worrying about you. "Is she going to be okay? Is this the time she finally succumbs to the overdose of Benadryl coursing through her veins?"

You've had enough? Alright. So have I. I've had enough of being the friend you continually shoot down, undermine, throw insults at and claim to hate. Hate me, then. Hate my guts. Call me awful. Hate me, will you? At least I've brought something around in you. At least you'll finally feel something again, at least you'll stop whining about how much you hate and love Joe and start whining about how much you hate me. Turn to Frankie, she certainly knows how to nurture a hurting soul. You're a martyr, not because we've all made you into one, but because you want to think of yourself as one. You're afraid to think of yourself, lest the cursing eye turn upon you, lest you be called selfish.

Am I selfish? Sure, sure, I'm a biting bitch and a gashing cunt-wound [I used it, are you happy?] on the face of society, but at least I tried. I tried to help you. And I tried to say what you wanted, but of course, you had to scrutinize me for doing even that. What is it worth? To be the friend you can't stand to talk to. To be the friend you take advantage of. I'm sorry, let me be the one who apologizes profusely, let me be the one who takes fault for something that Joe started. And may the pills you take be placebos.