Dear Friend, I want to send a heartfelt apology for simply not being good enough to be your friend. It must be true, you tell me every time we meet.
I apologize for not being thin enough, pretty enough, or posh enough. I am sorry I don’t read ‘worthy’ books and prefer novels I can lose myself in. I am ashamed that - according to you – I hate classical music (which is not true, but you don’t want to know that) and that I don’t eat my evening meal at 9 o’clock at night (what a crime).
Once again I send apologies that my house is too small for you, my garden is not big enough (though how a garden that is 4 times the size of yours is too small I haven’t worked out yet), that my grass is not as green (seriously?) as yours. I weep that my wind swept garden offends you: it must, you bring the subject up at every opportunity.
I cringe when I think of the times I have let you down: when I lent you my car when yours was being repaired, bringing supplies to make sure you had what you needed for a fantastic Christmas, listening to your woes about, well, everything.
Why have I let you down so badly? I’m not evil, though I am opinionated. I’m not a thief or a bad person, though I am a Northerner. I’ve known you for nearly a decade, and with each year that passes I have sunk so far down in your estimation you cannot bring yourself to talk to me.
This sad state of affairs was brought about when I asked you to stop mentioning my weight. Now, I am not unaware that I carry a few extra pounds, and you know the health reasons behind this, but it doesn’t stop you belittling me. Constantly. That fateful day a few months ago, after repeatedly explaining to you that your comments made me feel sad and that I often left your company crying and feeling worthless, I asked you politely but passionately to desist. No voices were raised, no aggression shown. I left and presumed that would be the end of it.
However six months of silence was broken - by me – and a stuttering attempt at continuing our friendship was re-commenced. After a few stalled emails I belatedly realize I had seriously offended you. I offended you so much you took to sulking for 6 months. Now I don’t sulk and I wonder at the reasoning behind why people do. I had asked you to stop mentioning my weight, and as far as I was concerned, that was it: you would understand how upset I was and it would end there. But it hasn’t.
So, I apologized to you, in a lengthy email, and you accepted. You turned my sadness in on me and made yourself the victim, the put on one, the one who was hurt. You even mentioned you thought I would physically attack you. How the hell did you get to that thought? Because you think a slightly raised voice is indicative of a knife attack? You astounded me with that little throw away comment.
But that’s not the truth is it? You have bullied and belittled me for years now and I have had enough. So here is the truth. I say it here – anonymously - because although I am in the middle of ending this ‘friendship’ I will walk away without making you feel as wretched as you make me feel.
Here’s a taste of your own medicine: things I would never say to you, because I thought you were a friend, and friends accept faults as well as all the nice things.
You are fat, and fatter than me. You need to look into yourself before mentioning my ‘enormous’ (your words) size 12, when you are yourself much bigger. I would not tell you as I don’t care what size my friends are.
Stop being nasty about my fashion choice. I don’t care where you shop, but you sneer at my clothing choice. Remember when you turned your nose up at my shoes, commenting how Kurt Geiger shoes were what your mother would wear, or commenting that you would never be seen in Clarkes’ shoes? Did I make derogatory comments on the footwear you bought from the market? No, because I don’t care. You’re lucky you can wear cheap shoes, I can’t. Yet I wouldn’t draw attention to your shoes at a party, letting everyone know you disapprove, I would say only nice things. This sentence could be repeated for every item of clothing: my cardigan – not good enough by your standards –was Phase 8, yours: market. Jeans; mine M&S, yours; BHS. Do I care? No!! Yet you still managed to sneer at me when we turned up at a party wearing similar clothing. And I do mean sneer. Do you have any idea what you are doing when you scowl at me? Why are my almost identical clothes inferior to yours? You exhaust me with your warped thinking.
Leave my reading choice alone, I don’t care that you feel it necessary to read heavy-duty books whilst my choice is more relaxed. At the end of the day it IS my choice. I don’t expect you to learn Latin as I did, you should not expect me to read War and Peace.
Stop commenting to all and sundry that you don’t like my house, that it’s too small, to windy, and what ever else you find appalling about it (sometimes it’s difficult to tell why you speak to me). I know it’s small and needs work, but it’s MY freaking house, not yours. I don’t mention your dark and dingy kitchen, your terrible 1980s curtains, or the fraying furniture. Why? Because you are my friend and it does not matter!!
Please stop with the personal comments about my features: I know I’m not pretty, I am happy with what I’ve got. But oh no, you have to put the knife in and twist the blade. Once, when I said I knew I wasn’t pretty but had a few redeeming features: kind eyes and good hair (and it IS good, thick and curly), all you said was, and I quote “well, I suppose your hair is a good colour” (in that condescending evil way you have). It’s out of a bottle! You know that! Could you not have said something remotely nice? Do I ever make sarcastic comments that you look like Sandy Toksvig (or whatever her name is)? Or your hair needs a proper style, or your teeth need dealing with? NO! Why? Because you were my friend!
I thought friends supported each other, cared for each other, backed each other to the hilt. You collect ‘friends’ that enhance your status. You don’t like it when someone challenges that position, do you? I don’t care if you have 4000 friends, what I do care about is how you treat me. And it is dreadful: you don’t believe how unwell I am and make fun of me; you hate that I have higher qualifications than you; you hate that my husband earns more than yours; your eyes glaze over when we speak of things not related to you to the point you fall asleep; in reality you must hate me for simply existing in your space.
Your diva-drama queen behavior has to be seen to be believed. Your psychotic take on the world is bewildering. You over emphasize unimportant things, dramatizing the minutiae to world ending proportions. You screech at me “did you hear about so-and-so? It’s dreadful” when it turns out nothing actually happened beyond a broken fingernail. “Drama Queen” is a title you have won with great aplomb: it’s all yours: it’s exhausting listening to it, being part of it. Keep it. It’ll comfort you when you’ve upset your other - very patient – friends.
There are so many more things I could mention the list is endless. Snide digs, little sneery comments, niggles and doubts that you plant in my mind. Worst still, when I am with you, when I think about you, you make me a bad person. I spend hours, days even, wondering what I have done wrong, why I am so ugly/fat/stupid/not good enough. So enough! You are free from my friendship. I will never be good enough. Go and find yourself a lovely middleclass, snobby, thin friend to whine at. See how long they’ll last when they have to cope with your constant droning about how bad everybody in the world is. Find another person who would drop everything to dedicate hours listening to your nasty comments about your lovely husband. Oh and the comments about my mother you made as she was dying were reprehensible.
Have fun. I am FREEEEEEE! I am SO much happier without you draining my soul.