I know that it was hard to be my friend all those years. Especially those years that you used me as your fuck buddy, while you were dating the supposed “love of your life.” I know it was hard after that whole thing, when we tried to date, but ended up with you fucking a lot of other “beautiful women” at the same time. It sucked after that when we were just friends, one that you liked to blow off all the time. It sucked when you realized that you loved me, but still wanted to date other people. It sucked for you a lot, when i started dating someone else, and fell in love.

I know it sucked for you. I was there, remember? I saw the whole thing. I know who you are, and i know what I am. And all I ever wanted was love, and for the first time in years, I didn’t want it from you anymore. But I thought, “fuck, why not? Why not be friends?”

But I forgot the main component of our relationship revolved around the use of the phone at 2am, when you’re drunk as fuck, and I am sleeping, or even on occasion, the other way around. And maybe some things can never change.

So, when I am laying next to the man I choose to be with, while watching a late night “Family Guy,” and eating peanut butter off a spoon, don’t text me that you miss me. No. Please don’t. If you missed me now, you would call me at 6pm after you finished work, and saw something driving home that reminded you of me. It would not happen when you’re drunk, because God knows that the next part of your drunk texting would be in response to my telling you that drunk texts are now inappropriate.

You might reply and say that I am bad in bed. Or, you might even go into detail saying that you are not into me sexually. Not because you are not a sexual person, but because you will never find me sexy, because I am horrible in bed.

And so I will tell you to delete my number. Because as much as I know that you sending me something like that is your insecure, attention retardation disorder, and you only wanted a rise out of me–because it would mean that I still cared about you and your fleshing eating diseases. But, sadly (really, sadly), I don’t. And it is not my fault. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. I stopped caring. And that was only by some gracious act of the energies of dead people that decided I needed some release from you. And if you were amazing, why would I need to stop caring? And if you weren’t such a sad man, do you think I would still call you even this far into the story? No. I FELT BAD FOR YOU. But, I will not feel sorry for someone who disrespects me and my boyfriend.

So go ahead, delete me from facebook too. show me how much I upset you, and how crazy I am, because I no longer appreciate you taking my much-too-high-self-esteem, and crushing it on the cheap vinyl floor of your moms house, (the one you lived in until you were 27).

Honestly, you suck. You suck a lot. You suck so much, you lost me as a friend. And you lost me because you never called me when you were sober.

You blew me off. You stopped talking to me. You treated me like shit. So I let you go. I changed my number. I walked away. But it was hard. Because I am a dumb chick that let a man treat her like shit, just so she could experience some good times.

So imagine my frustration when you emailed me four months after i hadn’t talked to you. You didn’t say you missed me, you didn’t apologize for blowing me off, no. You told me that I was crazy and pathetic for telling everyone I had a restraining order against you.

Obviously, I would never say such a thing- restraining order? Honestly, I wish I could be so mean. Obviously, you would believe anything that would come out her mouth. Obviously.

So obviously, it is no surprise that you also emailed my friend, and told her that “The more you get know her, the more you will come to realize just how emotionally disturbed she is.”

Yes. So I am emotionally disturbed because it kind of hurt when you lied to me a thousand times, fucked 15 different girls while you were with me, and then threw me away with your garbage.

You suck because you told everyone that I am emotionally disturbed.

You are white, and you sample hip hop tracks and then proceed to sell them to black rappers. And this is your dream job.

You do a great job.

You suck because you’re white and you create hip hop.

No one can possibly get that involved in my really pointless small talk. It throws me off- You listening so intently to me describing the details of my upcoming schedule- It’s kind of disgusting.

I have no idea what goes into the opelousas sauce, and I don’t really care, so we really don’t have to talk anymore about it.

We work together, so I understand being cordial, but this? This regard for the futile is kind of killing me.

You suck because you are too interested in the meaningless.

To block someone on facebook, you would either need to be very immature, or actually have a real problem with said person knowing you exist over such a medium.

I have blocked one person in my entire life from being able to know I exist on facebook, and that would be the man that sexually assaulted me.

So for you to block me after I decide to stick up for a friend, because I have a problem with how you selfishly throw her around, while you’re trying to date your best friend’s sister, is foolish.

For you to block me, because you are afraid that I will tell your best friend that you are cheating on his sister, is not anyway to go about it. I have not told anyone that you are a bad a guy. I’ve only told you to your face. Oh face. What a fucking concept, big guy.

Blocking me does not cover your tracks. All it does is help your conscious deal with the fact that someone in the world knows you suck, and has a problem with it. Maybe you had a problem because one inglorious week, we made out, and you became a stage 5 clinger- But I’m sure it’s “oh so much more than that.”

You suck because you blocked me on facebook.

You like to remember the times when we were doing really well. You know when I first let you have it all. When we went out every night, got sloshed and went back to your place.

I don’t remember these times as fondly. Because I seem to remember a girl you took with you to our mutual friend’s show. You held hands with her as she stroked your back.

You didn’t say hi to me. You ignored me. I stood there in disbelief. I was so taken aback, I didn’t say anything. It felt as much like a stun-gun as anything I could imagine would.

Later you called me drunk. You told me she showed you some of the goods. I hung up on you.

It’s not even like you cheated on me. It’s kind of like you dangled it in front of me to see what I would do. And I did nothing. No one expects to be treated that way. And I was not strong enough to snap out of it long enough to tell you to fuck off.

And these were our good times. Fuck off.

You suck because you cheated on me.

Multiple times.

The first time I ever became the other girl was with this bartender. He lived with his girlfriend and their dog. To pretend I didn’t know, was more of a defense mechanism than stupidity. But looking back, I know how ignorant it actually was. I had a crush on him for a few years, and I kind of thought that hooking up with him might make him like me more than his current live-in.

I was wrong, and vowed never to do that again.

So imagine my frustration when I found out that the night we hooked up in the back of your best friend’s Honda, you actually slept with your girlfriend, while I was out with your friends at Denny’s. Imagine my confusion when you called me the next day, yelling at me for taking advantage of you.

This story could have ended there, but it didn’t. I found myself at your house many times after that. You bought me drinks. You invited me over. You built me a fire. You invited me over. You put in a movie alone. You invited me over. And I came over every time.

I wondered for a little while why she hated me so much. But then it became clear. Too bad you failed to mention to me that you were taken. Too bad I knew nothing for sure, until you two broke up about three months later. Too bad I’m an idiot, and kept doing it even when I had suspicions. Too bad I honestly thought that you would leave her for me.

Again, stupid me.

You suck because you cheated on your girlfriend with me.

Okay, so kissing and telling never seems to be an option that looks good on paper. But is it really wrong to tell people that you kissed/fucked/blew someone? I mean, you can do whatever you want with whomever you did. But then you do have to understand that sometimes blurting out all your sexual conquests is not the best idea, unless you want to end up like Paris Hilton.

But here is the thing: I liked you. You came over to my house. You jumped in my bed. You gave me the huge hickey, so I gave you one back. It’s not my fault that it happened to be bigger than the one on my neck. I would have stopped, but you bit my wrist so hard, I couldn’t stop. You drew blood, and now, a year later I still have a scar.

So yeah, in the morning, when I so graciously drove you back to your car, and cleaned up your broken beer bottles on my floor- you had the nerve to tell me not to tell your ex that the mark on your neck was from me- I was no longer going to be nice.

So, I hope you weren’t mad when I told everyone that the “razor burn” you received earlier that morning, was actually from my mouth and teeth last night. I hope you weren’t mad when your ex-girlfriend asked me who gave me the horrid bite mark on my wrist and I told her it was from you.

I would never have told anyone, had you been a little bit more of a man. A little bit more aware of feelings. And a little bit less selfish.

So how did that work out for you? She fucked you again. I know. But I’m glad I could have put an obstacle in the way.

You suck because you told me not to tell.

I’m not a sap. I do not need the long goodbye letter, with the roses and the nine hour conversation before you leave. But don’t treat me like I don’t matter to you.

The truth is I do matter. Whether or not you would ever be willing to deal with this fact, the actuality of the situation is that at some point in your life, you loved me more than I loved you. I say this with certainty, because I know you. Like it or not, I do.

I know that you are a fucked up individual with daddy issues, and a low self-esteem. But that does not mean you get to pack up and leave without so much as a phone call telling me that you will not see me for a few months, and that you will miss me.

I don’t care if you had too much on your mind, you could have called when you arrived. I don’t care if I honestly didn’t cross your mind for a month, you could have called then. I may not have wanted to hear your voice, but you know better than that. You know I would have been relieved.

You can’t just play with people feelings. You can’t tell them you love them one day, and just leave the next. I don’t care at this point where you are, if you almost died from MRSA, or lost your job. You are dead to me. And I’m so glad you came home, so that I can ignore you now. And you can miss me on the days you normally would have invited me over, and I’ll miss you everyday.

But that’s the pain I will have to deal with- I will remove you from me, knowing you couldn’t have cared less when you left me. And tell me that this shouldn’t hurt like hell.

You suck because you left without saying goodbye.

As bothersome as ditching can be on any occasion, I do not think you need to be a scientist to understand that a birthday ditching is the worst. For some reason, birthdays always suck a little bit more than the average day.

The day is yours, so you always feel the need to do something special for yourself, and if you are like me, that means going to Starbucks four times, and waiting around for phone calls from your best friends, so that they too can remind you how special you are. If someone forgets, you notice, and the day is ruined.

So please, don’t say you are going to take me out. Don’t plan an over the top extravaganza just to hear yourself talk. I don’t want it. I want you to be there, and if that means to not make plans, but just to spontaneously sweep me off my feet, then that’s what I want.

I didn’t like waiting around for you to tell me when you were going to pick me up. I did not like getting off work early so that I had time to look extra pretty for you, when it turned out, you didn’t even care.

And if you are going to blow me off, how about at least telling me it’s not going to happen so that I can make other plans. Don’t put me in the position to doubt you. Don’t wait for me to text you, and tell you that you’re a dick before you throw out the “happy b-day” text back.

If you had broken my heart a thousand times before, I cannot even recall. I was dead to emotion that day. Congratulations, it was all because of you and your stupid, “Oh baby, I want to take you downtown and buy you a drink. I can’t wait… we’re still on for your birthday right? I mean for real, I really want to take you out.”

The day you blew me off on my birthday is equivalent to the day I met you. The new worst day of my life.

You suck because you ditched me on my birthday.