unsent letter to Drew

Drew,

I’m not sure I want to be your friend anymore. I do not say this lightly, or with ease; I don’t even want to be saying this at all, but I’m starting to realize that I have to.

Today Chris told me I had to do something. It’s too awkward… him being in the middle, me yelling at you, and you not even beginning to understand why. Which makes me so much more angry. He said the difference between me when it was just Chris, Rob, Teresa, and myself compared to when you were added into the mix was like night and day. Without you I’m his wife again… and I have fun and enjoy myself. With you around I become this monster.

You and I have an abusive relationship, and I’m the abuser. I am sorry for that – I am ashamed to say it, even astonished. And I want to try to explain why this is now our relationship.

You’re self destructive. You make insane decisions, unhealthy decisions, and it makes me angry. It makes me angry to know that you do not have enough common sense to keep yourself out of trouble, and that you blatantly ignore advice from everyone – everyone from doctors to Chris & me. I tell you you’re an idiot all the time – I think I’ve forgotten that this may hurt you – because you just simply are. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to move in with that family; I shouldn’t have to tell you not to buy a car you can’t afford and barely fit in. I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’ve had 3 heart attacks now and you should really really really stop smoking. I shouldn’t have to throw myself in front of you to get your car keys before you walk out the door while you’re drunk.

You’re a liability. You have completely lost my trust. You have said things to my coworkers about me that they should never know. Things that I said to you in confidence (or at least within the confidence of our close circle of friends). When I ask you to stop talking about something I shouldn’t have to deal with you asking why repeatedly; I asked you to stop talking about it, so stop. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to go out behind the apartment and take a piss – shouldn’t have to tell you to use our bathroom instead. I shouldn’t have to worry about you making racist comments in public – I shouldn’t have to worry about you making racist and in general terrible comments to my other friends or co-workers, and I shouldn’t have to worry about you loudly saying racist things in my home – especially given my neighbors.

I used to think in some sense you were just joking around; we all like to observe stereotypes and have some fun with it, but there’s a point at which you are no longer saying it all in jest. There’s a point at which I know you’re not merely making observations or joking around without truly believing what you’re saying – you know exactly what you’re saying, and you mean every ounce of it. I don’t agree with it. I don’t appreciate you saying those things around me, I definitely don’t appreciate you saying those things around my other friends, and I don’t appreciate you saying those things around me in public. My friends are a reflection of me, and I quite frankly do not want to be associated with you.

Beyond all of the above serious issues, you just annoy the crap out of me. You always go on about how you’re so classy – if that’s true, stop licking your fingers, please. Stop licking them and then putting them on my furniture. Stop licking them and then putting them back in the peanuts. Use a fucking napkin. Stop wearing your shoes in my apartment after I have asked you NUMEROUS times to take them off. Stop wearing a suit on a random Friday night and keeping your tie on the entire time when you’re just in my apartment with our close friends drinking. It’s ridiculous. And stop wearing flip flops, disgusting white t-shirts and ratty shorts when we’re going somewhere in public. Don’t you have any normal casual clothes!?! And stop feeling sorry for yourself in all of your debt. You got yourself there, you got your ridiculous car, you still go gambling, etc. You still owe me money – so next time you fucking go gambling just think about that.

You can’t drive worth shit, and I refuse to ride with you or let Chris ride with you because I seriously fear for our lives. You have proven to be reckless so many times, and your car is a death trap to begin with. Stop starving yourself. That’s not the right way to lose weight. If you’re going to do it, be healthy. Losing weight doesn’t count for shit if it doesn’t make you healthier. And dear god stop obsessing about past girlfriends. And no I will not take your pictures out of my albums on facebook. And no I don’t really give a shit that you’re embarrassed by how you look in the photos – deal with it. They’ve been up forever now, and you never said anything before.

Chris says I take you too seriously. He’s right, I do. I didn’t used to – I used to be able to just laugh and be light-hearted when we first became friends. But I just can’t do it anymore. Every time you say something ridiculous I know deep down that there’s a part of you that’s not kidding. A part of you that might actually do these things – you’ve proven in the past that you have 0 common sense or concern for others.

And I think I have always in some sense blamed you for what happened with Al. You asshole. You made him choose, and you grouped us all into one. We asked you not to, we said what that would do, and you did it anyway. I don’t blame Al for not wanting to talk to you anymore.

The worst part about this is I know you’ll be incredibly hurt by all of this. You think we’re close, and you think I really “get” you, whatever that means. But I think you’ll see, from this letter, that I don’t get you at all. I will never understand you. And you so clearly do not get me. You were a true friend for awhile – I feel like you have our backs. But you don’t respect me. I don’t think you realize it, but you don’t respect me. And I don’t respect you.

You deserve to get out of this abusive friendship, and I deserve to get me back. I’m not happy with you around – you bring out the worst in me.

I’m sorry…

Erin