An Open Letter to the Boy Who Was Supposed to Be My Best Friend

It's been a minute since we've spoken. What were the lyrics from that Flyleaf Song "So I Thought"? "A year goes by, and I can't talk about it". I think I'm ready to try, to talk about it, I mean.
Do I start with how you lied to me? How about with the fact that you weren't just "not there" for me when you promised you would be, but you didn't even try to be the friend you said you were? Or maybe the fact that you blamed the sexual assault I endured on me? I gave you my heart - it was a bleeding, torn mess from my ex already, but when I care about someone I don't hold back my devotion for them. I was there for you at any hour if you needed a friend to listen, I encouraged you in all things you pursued, and I practically begged you to go back out with your ex even though we both knew how I felt about you. I am not a perfect person, but I was a damn good friend to you. And all that I asked in return was that you be the same for me.
You were the one who said you'd had experience with depressed friends, that you wanted to be there for me when I needed a friend, that you would never judge me. But actions really do speak louder than words. Even when a friend of mine killed herself, even when you saw what depression does, you still called me pathetic. You still said I was a waste of time, that I was stupid for suffering at the hands of this invisible illness. You still alienated the very person you swore to never push away.
And the near rape? You told me it was my fault for being drunk. Even when I told you I thought I'd been drugged, it was still "my fault I couldn't handle my liquor", and you still claimed "you weren't actually raped, nothing ended up happening, so you have no reason to be upset".
Do you know how long it took me to write that four letter word? Rape? Do you know how long it took me to be able to say it, to tell someone besides you what actually happened? Because, no, you're right, I did manage to escape before he could do that to me. It doesn't erase that he drugged me, that he tried, the filthy and awful things he said to me, or the fear I felt trying to tell you with a foggy mind what happened and you abandoning me at the party while he was still lurking around. It doesn't change the fact that after I told you, crying, you were more concerned about me waking people up. You still sent me walking home, in the rain, at 4 in the morning. You still said I was overreacting. You still said it was all my fault.
Do you know how much I cared for you? Do you know how many tears I cried over you? I won't bother wasting the space here telling you, because you won't care enough for it to actually impact you. Just know that I loved you and I fought like hell to be your friend, even after these awful things. But part of growing up is knowing how to forgive someone, even when they don't apologize, and move forward a stronger and kinder person. I refuse to let you scar me, I refuse to let you ruin my chances with a future man.
I am not a pathetic, stupid child, like you claimed that I was. I am a victim, but I am also a survivor. The alcohol I drank doesn't make me responsible for what was done to me. Just like the alcohol you drink isn't responsible for you being an awful person - you are an awful person because that's who you are.
As I traditionally like to do with those people who have hurt me, I want to thank you. Thank you for showing me that not all bad men wear their dishonor and bad intentions on their sleeves. Some demons hide who they really are beneath smiles and pretty lies. Thank you for being a lesson. I walked into your arms with fresh wounds, intent on not letting my past ruin my future. I walked in blindly. Now I know to give people the benefit of the doubt but to be realistic. And now I know that just like Satan, snakes will tell you they have your best intentions in mind. Thank you for being another lesson, because it's one that did hurt, but it taught me so much.
Sincerely,
A Survivor of Your Games