(no subject)
Here’s the thing. It’s not about a damned game. It would be simple and I would’ve had my angry and gotten past it if it was just about a damned game and a bunch of characters owned by somebody else to begin with.
(There’s an irony to where you ended up, you know, since exactly one year ago you disowned Vicki for the mere *thought* of going there to game because it was a personal insult to even consider it. What a difference a year makes, hmmm?)
It’s never been about the game. That’s not what hurts and that’s not what made me decide to say to hell with you. I trusted you. I cared about you and worried about you and honestly thought, despite what happened this spring that you cared about me, too. That you would never, ever go out of your way to be intentionally hurtful or cruel. But that’s exactly what you did. I stood by you, defended you, supported you, was there for you, for seven years and you repaid me by throwing me aside without a thought. I was that inconsequential to you. I am less than shit as far as you’re concerned and just as easily scraped off the bottom of your shoe and forgotten.
Do you know what it’s about? What it’s really, truly about? I would never do to you what you did to me. I would never treat you with as little care and thought as you treated me. All you had to do was say something. All you had to do was come to me and say “Hey, this is going on, I need to do this.” But you could not even be bothered to give me that. I wasn’t worthy of five minutes of conversation before being cut out of your life with the precision of a surgical scalpel. I should’ve learned my lesson before, I guess. It’s not like this is the first time. That makes me a masochist, coming back to be flogged by you over and over and over again, but I mistakenly thought our friendship was worth it. I won’t be making that mistake again.
This time I lashed right back out, yes. Do you know why? Because I am tired of taking it and then crawling over to beg for your forgiveness for sins I never committed in the first place. I have never used you. Have never taken advantage of you or your kindness. Have never manipulated you for my own entertainment or gain. I have also never plotted against you or set things in motion to deliberately hurt, upset, or frustrate you. But you’ve somehow decided I did all the above. In the past, there would have been groveling emails begging you to talk to me so I could know what I’d done and how to fix that, apologizing for things I’d never done. I can’t do that anymore. As I said in that last email, I am in too many pieces to sit back and let you shatter me any further.
Did it hurt, my lashing out? Even just a bit? A cruel side of me hopes it did. The more logical side of me says you didn’t give a damn enough to even notice.
The really sick thing? I feel *bad* about having done it. Isn’t that hilarious? You stabbed me in the back and kept twisting the blade in deeper and deeper and I feel guilty for retaliating. It felt damned good in the moment, but now it’s all just hollow. I guess that’s the fundamental difference between us. I actually regret the people I hurt.
The even sicker thing is, I wish you well. How damned pathetic does that make me?