Dear Katherine (Name changed)

We met when we were still kids, but nobody - not even ourselves - saw us that way. We were adults in small bodies who had messed up at going to those schools where all the smart people go. We were both neither popular nor an outcast, we were both interested in the same music, we had similar tastes and similar problems, yet we were not meant to be.

I had bright future, you did not. Our different attitudes marked our differences, not our intelligence. I was an optimistic, naive, motivated overachiever, you were a passive, moody, untrustworthy person. When I always believed in the good, you always took me down. I thought I needed it; I had been told I was too naive.

You were meant to be much better, but you decided to be miserable. I know it was a conscious decision, because I could see you make it. You forced yourself into being that toxic friend that just sucked me in and didn't let me go. You took everything and left me empty. I tried to escape many times but you made me feel like nobody would ever accept the way I was. You had this idealised vision of who I was and I - not knowing who I really was inside - tried to fulfil it just like I did at home with my parents.

I got depressed, you could tell. What you did, instead of helping, was showing off your sadness and pulling me down even more. I'll never forget that day you tried to beat me up and I ended up pinning you to the floor so you'd stop trying to hurt me. I thought you'd be mad or hurt, because I was, instead you told me how much you admired my strength during a fight.

Or that conversation we had, on the rooftop of our school, where I told you I was going to kill myself. "Who cares, life is meaningless anyways", was your answer. When you found out about my suicide attempt, you cried. I cried too. You said things and made yourself to be the victim.

When you saw the cuts on my arms and you explained to me what cutting was, I stopped doing it. Only to fall back into it a few months later, knowing what it was. You said "better watch some YouTube tutorials on how to hide it". When I got into therapy, you started cutting too. Sent me videos of you doing it, sent me pictures, demanded some from me as well. You came to mine and we shared scars and broken hearts, me over life, you over some sketchy stories that supposedly happened to you.

I told you my deepest secrets, you learned how to use them to control me. And I loved you. I truly loved you like I never have loved any other friend again. I depended and relied on you, you shut me off when I most needed you and came back when you had nobody else.

You pushed me away and it hurt. The last straw was when I was a few kilos away from being admitted into a psychiatric hospital because of my eating disorder. You must've seen me on the streets or something, because you texted me and asked me about my weight loss. It didn't take you long to tell me that you were having anxiety attacks and that you had called the ambulance repeatedly, even when you knew what they were and how expensive the ambulance is. I found out later it was all a lie. You admitted yourself to a psychiatric hospital, saying you were depressed. On my birthday. It wasn't the date that bothered me, but the way you did it. You went through life using people and when nobody would give you anymore of their attention, I offered you my hand and you took my whole arm.

I could avoid being admitted, I recovered. You didn't care. Once again, you shut me off when I needed you and texted and called me the second you were alone. You were not the only thing that broke me, it has always been my choice to be with you, but still: I've never met anyone as twisted at you.

This is not something I could tell you to your face. For one because the naive little girl that is so hurt inside of me still loves you. For the other because I shut you off. It was me this time and I'm keeping it. How much I cried that day I realised I was alone, because you had isolated me from everyone else. I had no friends. Nobody to talk to. And you just left me hanging. I realised that that was the end.

Sometimes I think about texting you, just to say goodbye, because our story doesn't seem finished. Then I realise: I don't want the pain and some stories better finish without an end.

I wish you the best, truly. I just know how weak I have been to let you suck me in that way. I just know you're not a good person. You still don't deserve anything but the best.

- Eli