Dear Alyssa,

 

You would think that after two years

You would have lost your hold on me.

That the chains which you used to bind me

in a dark place of hatred and misery

would have been dissolved at the same rate as our friendship.

You would think that someone known for her strength and independence

would no longer cry, no longer writhe in pain

at memories of words you uttered in spite so long ago.

You would think that as I grew,

as I shed the skin of my past

that your presence in my mind would be cast off

as just another unnecessary burden.

You would think that I could peel away the residue you left on my skin

to reveal the person that you suppressed beneath the surface

without a second thought.

With your lies and manipulation, you became my executioner

and held me at gunpoint while I dug my own grave.

As I held my own damning spade, and your weapon bore it’s mark into my flesh

you whispered words of encouragement, promises of a better life.

You would think that as I lay mutilated on the ground

the steel toed boot of humiliation and degradation ramming into my ribs

shattering bone and crushing my sensitive interior to dust

I would see you for who you truly were.

Instead you sat by my bedside

and nursed me through the sickness you induced

secretly slipping more of your deadly poison beneath my skin

when you thought I wasn't looking.

You made me need you like a drug.

I begged for your lies and pumped them through my veins like an IV.

You stood there watching as I helplessly clawed at the needles in my body.

The tube down my throat fed me deception and false truths.

You watched in disdain as I wept for your help.

You stared in disgust ad I vomited little parts of myself onto your shoes

all the while I chanted like a holy mantra,

“I’m sorry”

“I’m sorry”

Sorry for what? I never knew.

But the look you gave me in return to my own adoring gaze

proved beyond a doubt that I obviously wasn’t good enough.

My knees were torn as I pitifully crawled

grasping at your feet, begging for the approval that you gave

only in rationed amounts.

Only when it suited you to throw your dog a bone.

You would think that after years of observing healthy friendships

I would begin to realize that the person I worshiped like a God

was really the one in red, binding me to a purgatory of self hatred.

I knew I was drowning, I just didn’t look up.

If I had, I would have seen that it was you holding my head under the water.

Rather than face the truth, I shut my eyes against the oppressive sea of my own tears.

And suddenly, I would be gasping

pulled from the salty depths by my angel

You stroked my hair and purred your rehearsed comforts into my ear

promising vengeance and retribution for all those who had wronged me.

You dragged a match across my raw skin

igniting a fire of hatred and rage

directed at an entity known only as “they”.

“Look Shannon! Look what THEY did to you!”

“Do you feel that? THEY caused that pain.”

I listened as you preached to your one lowly church member

one so desperate for something to believe in

she would have followed the devil, had he promised her peace.

And maybe, in a sense, she did.

Your words were gasoline

allowing the flames inside me to lick at my soul and hollow me out

until nothing was left but a slowly beating heart.

Then you sat back and watched.

You watched as the monster you created wreaked havoc on her own life.

She set her relationships ablaze

burning her bridges until she was trapped on her own solitary island of sorrow.

You became her savior, her protector, her one and only friend.

She saw you smirking at her defeat, but turned the other way.

She saw your face among the crown of nameless piers

throwing jagged stones at her, laughing along with the rest.

But she pretended, played along, and prayed.

She prayed that someone would give her a candle to find her way out

out from under the stifling weight of YOU.

But there was no candle, so the one inside of her burned even brighter

until one day it glowed a piercing blue, ice cold as it was hellishly hot.

It kept burning until one day, it reached her heart.

My heart.

In an instant, it froze over.

I was so cold.

My light extinguished, my flame burned out, you had become my respirator.

Your kick to the stomach every once and a while

was enough to keep me breathing.

The crippling pain of it enough to remind me that I was alive.

But barely.

I forgot how to function, how to eat, how to sleep.

So I became nothing.

I was a shadow of you

a dark haze that could be seen trailing you

but only if you really looked.

You moved right, I moved right.

You told me you hated me, I hated myself.

You took a knife to my heart, I took one to my skin.

And you watched

And you laughed.

You chuckled mildly as the girl in front of you visibly deteriorated

Bit by bit, slowly becoming unrecognizable to those who really loved her.

You threaded wires through my skin

pulling on each in turn

making me dance to your sadistic tune.

Until one day, you got bored.

Your little pet wasn’t enough to amuse you anymore.

So with one final swift punch to the face, you left.

There I was, a shadow without a body.

People walked on me, only to be annoyed

when I dirtied their shoes with my blood and dark tears.

You would think that I would have just killed myself.

Well I tried.

Apparently 10 aspirin is only enough to make you purge your stomach violently.

It seemed that ending my life was only a mere step away

from the façade of living that had become my routine.

Suicidal thoughts clung to me like small, scared children

begging to be nursed and tended to.

So I did, for months.

I couldn’t walk past a building without gauging the height

from which I could most easily break my neck.

I couldn’t bake a cake

without contemplating pouring bleach into the batter.

Soon the trembling children on my ankles morphed

turning into ugly caricatures of you

pulling me down, farther and farther

until the pressure in my head was like a huge anchor crushing it into the ground.

Everyday when you walked past me, I wanted to rip your heart out.

Not for the pleasure of seeing you torn and bleeding

but for the hope that if I put yours in the place mine used to be,

maybe I could feel happiness again.

Maybe I could feel the contentment that I saw on your face

as you sauntered past me, perfect friends in tow.

Maybe I could feel the laughter and enjoyment that you did

when you tripped me down the stairs

or whispered my secrets to any open ear.

You would think I would be over it by now.

That’s a perfectly fair assumption.

But it’s wrong.

You would think that I would be able to hear your name, or see your face

without getting the kind of butterflies

that crawl through your blood

and squirm into every pore in your body

until you are immobilized with wide eyed terror, screaming for a release.

But you would be wrong.

You told me you loved me.

You told me you cared about me.

You told me that you wanted to help me.

You would think that I would see now what pitiful lies those were.

And for once, you would be right.

I don’t miss you

I miss the part of me that you didn’t earn the right to take.

I don’t forgive you

I’m still struggling to forgive myself for not listening

when my mother warned me that addiction comes in many forms.

I didn’t lose you

I survived you.

The rage and hatred that I feel towards you

Can almost be matched by the pity.

I feel so sorry for you

Because one day, it will be you laying crippled on the ground

succumbing to the black death that you inflict upon others.

The tables will turn.

And when they do, it will be me who is laughing.