Dear Marco,
This is the last time you will hear from me. I am saying good-bye because our friendship was always based on a lie. I knew there was something off when, out of nowhere, you started attempting to be friends with me. We’d been going to the same school for years, and you’d never shown any interest in me before then. And every time I tried to talk to someone about it, everyone said the same thing about you: “he’s so nice!” But despite my suspicions, I liked the attention you gave me. And I let you in because I was afraid of losing it. When the truth came out, whatever friendship we had fell apart.
The worst part of it was, even after my college friends warned me about you, even after they confirmed my suspicions, even after you admitted you weren’t fully honest with me, I’m still doubting my judgments about you. I keep asking myself if you were intentionally manipulative or if you were just a guy trying to be nice. And talking to you about it never gave me any clarity.
I finally realized that, at the end of the day, good or bad intentions don’t matter as much as the end result. I won’t pretend my life was perfect before we met. But it was at least better before you came into the picture.
Saying good-bye makes me feel sad and relieved. After four years of being “friends,” after six years of no contact, after everything that’s been said and done, I wish I could believe you when you say you’re trying to be better. But how can I when I have no evidence to prove that? Now, by saying good-bye, I don’t have to worry about the state of your soul anymore. Maybe I can stop having nightmares about running into you and being manipulated all over again.
I remember the time you invited me to your graduation open house. I was nervous about going because you were co-hosting with your best friend, a complete dick who tormented me and my friends since middle school. But you said you hoped to see me there, and I was afraid of disappointing you. When I was there, I got to talk to you for all of three seconds. I didn’t know anyone else at the party, and I panicked at the thought of bumping into your friend. I spent an hour sitting outside by myself waiting for my ride to pick me up. I didn’t hear from you again until school a few days later, when you apologized.
This was one of many situations where I should’ve walked away from you and saved myself years of heartache, but didn’t. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret walking away earlier. But I know now that I’m not responsible for your actions. Whether you’re a true good guy or a heartless bastard, that’s not my problem. And I can’t live like it is anymore.
Something I learned from you is that I can’t rely on anyone–especially people I have feelings for–to fill a void in my life. It’s important to have friends, but I can’t count on anyone to define my worth for me. I have to do that for myself. My sense of self-esteem and self-worth have to come from me and me alone. If I can’t give my life any meaning, no one will.
I want you to know that I don’t think of you as a monster. There are people out there worse than you. But even if you were trying to be a friend, that doesn’t matter if the end result is hurt, fear, and misery. Being nice doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can be nice. Donald Trump can be nice when he wants to be. That’s not the same thing as being good. Being nice is about charming people into giving you what you want. It’s transactional, it’s based on surface appearances, it comes with a price. Being good is about striving to do right by others without expecting anything in return.
For better or worse, I will always remember the years I called you my friend. I can only hope those memories will make me wiser in the long run.
Have a nice life,
Leah