Hey there, pathetic-loser-whose-self-involvement-knows-no-bounds, how’s it going?
I hope you’re well.
Not really, because I basically hate you. Although, I’d like you to be the first to know that I hate you a little less with each day.
We’ve come a long way. I realized, as I got older, that you couldn’t help being such a bitch. You just weren’t mature. It’s not your fault. I want to say, honestly, I think that you’ve grown a lot over the past few years. Still doesn’t change the fact that you really screwed me over.
Number 1: You always held the stupid things I’ve done over my head. Like how I once — ONCE! — told a date his major sucked and blew my chances with a Total Hunk. But I always found ways to turn it right back around onto you. Like the time you hooked up with that guy at the party just to make that pasty guy Kyle jealous, remember that? I got you back by spreading it around school the next day. I know, that was mean, but it taught you a lesson, didn’t it?
Number 2: You sabotaged everything good I tried to do for myself. You would not shut up about how much my personal essay sucked, and so I never did apply to Emory. I could’ve had a school that people freakin’ know on my resumé. And remember the time that I really wanted to apply to that major art festival? You made me sit up with you all night fretting about how some crappy friend of yours bailed on you again. What, like I didn’t matter? And I didn’t end up applying because I was busy taking care of your crap.
Number 3: You tell me I’m ugly, all the time. Doesn’t matter how cute I look. It’s like you’re threatened by me, honestly, which really doesn’t make sense when you think about it. You are constantly ragging on me for my hair, my skin, my boobs, my butt, my …. Knees? I mean really, where does it end?
I’ll never forget the first time we realized how much we hated each other. You refused to listen to my advice about your baggy clothes and poofy hair and then you went and asked out a cute boy to the school dance. And for some crazy reason, he said yes, and then you dorked out in y’all’s photo. Oh my god, you totally embarrassed yourself, that boy, the photographer, the pigeon in the rafters…everyone. And then you had the nerve to blame me when he told everyone he just went out with you “to be nice.” Hey, if he didn’t want to go out with you, that was his loss! Come on.
And of course, from then on, you just kept messing up your life. You didn’t listen to my or anyone’s advice. You kept people who care — like me! — at a distance. You lashed out at people who tried to help you.
It all hurts me to witness it, I’ll be honest. But here’s the thing. Despite the fact that you’re a raging bitch, I care deeply about you. Sigh. I don’t want us to fight anymore.
Truth is, I really appreciate that you stuck around despite my attempts to get rid of you. It helped me a lot to have you there to listen, even with your eyes rolling and lips pursing.
So, thank you, bitch. Thank you for showing up when I really needed you, even if you just had to get in a dig at me. Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in you. And thank you for, you know, being a pretty honestly fab bitch. I’ve never admitted this before, but I actually think you’re pretty awesome.
After all, you are me. And I am you.
Rachel Wayne is a writer and artist based in Orlando, FL. She earned her master’s in visual anthropology from the University of Florida and runs the production company DreamQuilt. She is an avid aerial dancer and performance artist, and also dabbles in mixed-media. She writes nonfiction stories about herself and other awesome people, as well as essays on feminism, societal violence, mental health, politics, entrepreneurship, and whatever cultural topic strikes her fancy.