Diary of a Survivor
We weren’t friends in high school. In fact, if I had to classify our relationship it would have been adversarial. You were my nemesis, my tormentor. You’d laugh at me, poke me, hit me, destroy my belongings, all for a laugh. I tried to ignore you, but you made it impossible. How can someone ignore being shoved into the lockers or being hit. How many times can a person ignore being called a loser? How many times can a person ignore being called fat ass?
So imagine my amazement when you requested my friendship. Did you want to see if I was still a loser? Were you trying to see if I fucked my life up as much as you have? Or were you curious if I had found a woman who would marry me and bear my children? Gawker. Were you satisfied or surprised? When you requested my friendship, you didn’t even give me the courtesy of a “Hi, how are you?”. You just clicked Add Friend and started stalking my profile. What you should have done is post this message on my Facebook wall, “Hi Wade, how are you? I’m happy that your life has turned out OK. You know, I was a real jerk to you growing up, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Just like you I stalked your profile. You know what I found? You’re fat, your relationships just didn’t work out, you’re unemployed, and you live in the world’s anus. Me? I turned out OK despite all of the hell you put me through. Yea, I have issues, but who doesn’t. I have a family, a good paying job, and I live in one of the most beautiful places in the country. Are you satisfied or contemptuous? Do you still scoff at me? Meh, fuck you.
It turns out that I didn’t need you or your validation or your empathy or your compassion. I’m OK and despite everything I’ve been through, I’ll always be OK.
You have a nice life now, ya hear? Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.
