Stop. Just effing stop. Stop messaging me. Stop wishing me a very happy birthday. Stop sending me occasion-specific greetings and STOP calling me ‘girl’ (I am not a girl, I am most certainly not YOUR girl). Just stop.
I suppose it is partly my fault. I shouldn’t avoid confrontation. I should’ve told you a long time ago that I did not want to be in touch. I should’ve told you to just please, please leave me alone. See the thing is, I kind of assumed that if I didn’t reply to your texts or take your calls, you would, eventually, get the message (it’s been, what, two years?). Now I know you’re not *dumb* (you may be a slimy bastard occasionally, but you’re not dumb) and it can’t be that you don’t get it. So you know I don’t want to stay in touch, you know that I‘d rather have a root-canal without anaesthesia than meet you, but for reasons known only to you, you persist.
By the way, what kind of reply are you expecting to yesterday’s “Hey whassup” message? (On an aside, have you heard of this sweet little thing called punctuation?) What’s up? I’m avoiding you like the plague, is what’s up. And have been doing so for the past two years is what’s up. And stop effing acting like you’re catching up with a buddy with whom you haven’t spoken in ‘absolutely *ages*’. We are not buddies, we never were. We were two people filling in for two other people. We were the two-month equivalent of a one-night stand for each other and for the love of god, M, who keeps in touch with one-night-standers??
And now that I’m done with foaming in the mouth, M, here’s what’s really up. We met when I was at possibly the lowest phase of my life (Maybe I should add a ‘so far’ to that phrase. Not tempt fate and all). Think about it, I was willing to *sleep* my way to a higher sense of self esteem. *Head-lice* do better than that. And you remind me of that time. Is that fair? No, I’ll be the first to admit it isn’t. But come on M, since when have we done fair?
So you can understand why I’m completely baffled by this strange let’s-get-in-touch-with-CS mission.
I don’t resent you, I don’t. Most times, I forget you exist. In the few times that I have heard about you from friends, my reactions can be largely described as lukewarm. Except maybe when S told me about your wedding. She showed me your wedding card, in fact. It’s odd, possibly a sign of my advancing years, that my first thought when I saw it was almost disgustingly maternal. “Awww…M’s getting married!” I believe, was the phrase that flashed in my head.
Excuse me while I throw up.
I’d be lying if I said I wished you happiness. The truth is, I don’t wish you anything. It’s hard to wish someone well (or ill) when you’re actively avoiding thinking about them. So, apart from the occasional bout of nausea (at my behaviour, not yours), all I really really want, is for you to leave me the hell alone.
Do you think you could do that? For old times’ (as they were) sake?