Dead.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something I wrote to get my feelings out after a best friend blasted me on social media and said our friendship was “dead.”

Submitted: January 10, 2020

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Submitted: January 10, 2020

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Dead. 

 

Our friendship “died” because I was tired of being the better friend all the time. It “died” because I realized I no longer wanted to be that gossipy girl that talks about people and makes fun of them. It “died” because you only messaged me when you had no one else to talk to about your problems and I sat up for hours listening. It “died” because when you were having fertility issues I offered to be your surrogate and when I had surgery on my ovaries you messaged me several days after surgery saying “yo bitch how you feeling?”. 

 

Our friendship “died” because I’ve grown as a person. Maybe you didn’t like medicated me. Maybe you liked the bipolar me that made impulsive and bad decisions. It “died” because you never understood my mental illness - you didn’t even pretend to try. You always made me feel bad for bailing on plans even though I was having anxiety attacks. It “died” because everything was always about you and that’s not how friendships work. 

 

Our friendship didn’t die. You killed it. You killed it with your cold callous ways and your “me me me” attitude. Our friendship may be dead but it was no mistake. 

 

And you only have yourself to blame.


© Copyright 2020 Liz Miller. All rights reserved.

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