I told myself a long time ago that I forgave you. But I was wrong.
I said I forgave you because I wanted to appear better than you. You had the money, you had the power, you had everything.
I was young, and I was stupid. I shamelessly thought that the one person who finally made me feel great wouldn’t leave me for you.
And he did.
Slowly, you nudged into my territory. You took my friends, you took my thoughts, you even took one of the things that I was really good at and made it the worst part of my day.
You had won.
And you knew it, too.
But I wasn’t any better. I became childish, proving how young I was. For the first time in my life, I almost punched someone I had once called a friend in the face because you felt the need to take everything from me.
You made it a point to show up during summer school gym, with your goonies, to try and taunt me.
I think, in some strange, weird way, we were sort of obsessed with hurting each other.
I felt like “Mean Girls” had been turned into my life, and you were Regina George, while I was Janice Ian.
Except we had never been friends. And you never got run over by a bus.
But you did get cheated on. Or so I heard.
I remember the day everyone found out. I remember you didn’t want people saying anything because you didn’t want me to hear about it. But I want you to know that I never said that I was glad you finally felt the way I did – or maybe you didn’t. But regardless, I was the one who was upset for you.
No one should have to go through what the both of us did. No one should have to lose someone because he was an idiot who, honestly, got bored.
I think it was then that I finally forgave you. Because I had to forgive myself.
My mother always said I had a big heart. And that was probably why I had been so mean to you. Someone had taken my big heart, turned it into a vulnerability, and exploited it.
The difference between us, though, was that you got to keep your friends – the ones you had taken from me.
Maybe they finally saw that neither you nor I was the problem.
But I was still angry for a little bit.
But it wasn’t at you. It was at them. They couldn’t be there for me, but they could for you?
I used to say I didn’t care. I used to say that I was fine. But I wasn’t.
And maybe you’re still hurting. I know I did for a while. I also know that I mean it when I say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the things I said about you because I don’t know what your problems might have been.
We each sail a different ocean. And, sometimes, we sail the same strait and anchor for a bit. Sometimes the current is smooth. And, other times, it’s rough. For us, we anchored when it was rough. It stayed that way for a while.
And, now that we’ve sailed our separate ways, my sea is calm.
I hope yours is, too.