I know I write mostly about fashion, but something has been on my mind for months. I am hoping by writing about it, I might be able to relax a bit, and maybe feel a little bit better. I have seen others post open letters to their best friends, partners, and even parents. So now I want to try it, I doubt the person I am writing to will ever read this. On the off chance she does, I hope she understands everything I went through. So here we go.
Dear Ex Best friend,
It sounds so weird saying ex best friend, I thought you were my ride or die. I thought we were inseparable. I honestly thought we would grow old together and get matching tattoos that said “Fuck You!” Now we don’t even talk. All you care about is meth, or the next high.
For a long time I dealt with it, you told me you weren’t hooked to clear, told me it was just a party thing you occasionally do. I wanted to believe you so bad, then I realized people can’t do those drugs with out getting hooked. I carried you home, while you were falling and puking. I wiped your tears and held you when you were coming down. I took care of you.
You told me you would stop for me, that you wanted to be in my life, in my baby sisters life. But you couldn’t stop, you were too addicted, too far gone. I feel as if I failed you. We used to be two uptight pretty girls who had so much in common. Now you can barely keep a job, you won’t go home to people who love you, you steal from everyone, and you get into trouble. You have stolen money from me, you have stolen clothes to sell, and you have stolen from my family. You’re getting so messed up, and driving afterwards, do you know how dangerous that is? Of course you do, you crashed your car and ended up in the hospital.
The funny thing is, even with everything you’ve done to me, everything you’re doing to yourself… I would forgive you. I love you to death and would support you unconditionally if you just went to rehab. Get clean, stay clean for a year, show me commitment and I would help you through anything. But apparently that is impossible. So now the last memory I have of you and I together is of you passed out on a tweakers couch after shooting up, with all of my money.
I’m sorry best friend, I have failed you, I thought you were my ride or die.