Ed’s Note: I spend a lot of time ridiculing people, and trying to right wrongs through these letters. To offset that, I’m bringing you into my world and sharing my real-life issues. It’s only fair, and therapeutic.
To My Ex-Girlfriend:
I know, you want me to stop calling you that. You’d prefer I call you my best friend. But you’re not. Yes, you’re one of my confidants. I likely talk to you too much, and you’re one of a selected few I’d do most anything for within reason.
But calling you that, my best friend, in our state is senseless. It’d be as if I repeatedly pointed at a cat and kept calling it a dog. People would label me loony. Besides, I just — in the last two years — reached the point where I’ll call you my ex-girlfriend, and not “my situation.”
I know. You’ve told me you don’t want to hear this. But you also said you wanted me to write you an open letter. So I’ve made the decision a good best friend would. Now, let me continue.
It would be easy for me to call you my best friend if I didn’t “know your heart” (remember that line?). I mean, if I didn’t know what really makes you tick and why we give each other the time of day after everything we’ve been through. Or if you didn’t so much as tell me … (this content has been deleted because it is NC-17). Yeah, you get my point.
It doesn’t make much sense to call someone your best friend and know that you’d engage in the aforementioned with said best friend, but not be in a relationship with that person, but still talk to that person more than anyone else and the conversation never really falls off to that teenage “fall asleep on the phone because you actually bored me into this slumber but I still tell you I love you nightly” stage, and this may be the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever written.
At this point, I could write “it doesn’t make sense” 100 times over and it would explain how I feel. But that’s not going to make it make sense. So I’ve moved on to realizing that although I know this kindred spirit, we will forever part ways. Stupid, I know. But that’s not my fault. It’s yours.
Just like I declined your many invitations and requests to attend your college graduation because you’d have a guy you called your boyfriend there, I won’t be in attendance on your wedding day. I probably won’t invite you to mine, either. I’m at peace with that because “no ex/quasi-good friend” should suffer through that.
Few people would still be here this long. But that’s neither here nor there.
You want to know why I won’t call you my best friend, right? I trust about 10 percent of your advice because of your skewed perception concerning problem-solving. Besides, you almost never heed the good advice I give you daily. On another front, I can’t even get you to name the people who tell you they think I’m gay. Furthermore, I don’t believe you defend what you know to be true when someone brings that foolishness to you.
(This letter is too long. So I broke it into two. … To be continued tomorrow. Same Bat station. Same Bat time. Blah, blah, blah. That’s about 6:30 p.m. on Tuesday.) UPDATE: Click the link in parenthesis for Part II.