Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Depression: The Invisible Prison

I used to wish for cancer. 

Pray for it, even, which is a backwards thing for an agnostic to do...but then, no godly person could get away with praying for death. 

I would hear these stories of wonderful, beloved people being robbed of their futures, happily-ever-after with their partners, the chance to see their children grow up....

...and you know what I felt? Envy. 

I was jealous that these people got a free ticket out of this house of horrors - and didn't even WANT it - while I was being forced to stay against my will. 

I know; sickening.

And because it's such a twisted and disgusting thought process, I would feel immense guilt over it. I was ashamed to be frittering away my existence with suffering, while others who actually *wanted* their lives and their family and their friends - who could actually enjoy being here - would not be allowed to stay.   

The guilt may have had less to do with my perverse death wish than the fact that I was not living the life I had been given; I was wasting it.

One day after the next, I wallowed in the cesspool of depression, rejecting life. I would walk by this poem I had pasted on my fridge: "
I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" and feel horrible about how horrible my life was, because that is a depressed brain does.

I was reminded of all of this today when reading a paradoxical post by Adam Alvarado at
The Last Broken Home: What a [Death Row Inmate] Can Teach You About Being Yourself -

"We can piss away one more day being angry, and vengeful, and sad – about crap that’s gone by, and passed by, and no longer a part of ourselves or our future. Another day being afraid of so much, and hurt by so much, and less than our better selves because of it."

Isn't that exactly what I did for 5 years?

I may as well have been in prison. 

Hell, there IS no worse prison than our own minds. We sit there suffering day after day, waiting for someone to come let us out...only to find out one day that the door was never even locked.

A friend of mine once blogged at "The Invisible Prison" (which she has since taken down, much to my dismay). There couldn't be a more fitting metaphor for suicidal depression. From the outside, no one can glean any possible reason for this self-imposed sentence. There are no bars, no chains, no guards...

...yet we're not so much afraid that door will never open; we're afraid that it WILL, and we'll have to face the world once again.

downfromtheledge on Facebook.

Subscribe to downfromtheledge posts by e-mail: Click the "RSS" tab to the right>>>

Thursday, July 26, 2012


You know all that sh*t you keep putting off, and letting slide....
until you're like, sh*t, I can't put this sh*t off anymore.

Well, that's the sh*t I tackled today. 

I was all, "I'm gonna get sh*t done today."

I researched sh*t, and e-mailed sh*t, and looked up sh*t, but couldn't decide on sh*t. 

In the end I didn't accomplish sh*t. 

So now I have just as much sh*t to get done as I did yesterday.

Sh*t, I am sick of this sh*t.

Same sh*t happens when I go shopping.

You go to the store with this whole list of sh*t, f*cking ecstatic that you finally got off your lazy ass to go get this sh*t, and you can't find one sh*tting thing off that piece of sh*t list. 

Then you gotta turn around and go get the sh*t somewhere else aNOTHER day! 

Or you make the sh*t-head mistake of going clothes shopping. 

You look through tons of sh*t that's too young for your old ass, and sh*t that's too tight for your FAT ass, and get so tired of trying sh*t on that you wear your same ugly sh*t back home. 

This sh*t puts me in a sh*tty ass mood.

I thought, sh*t, might as well write a post cuz I ain't getting sh*t done, anyway. 

I spent my whole day working on this sh*t and I don't have sh*t to show for it. 

I don't know about you, but I've had it with this sh*t. 

What sh*t did YOU think you were gonna get done today? 

Follow downfromtheledge on Facebook.

Subscribe to downfromtheledge posts by e-mail: Click the "RSS" tab to the right>>>

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Am I A Coward For Blogging About Suicide Anonymously?

In December of 2009, I bared the first tiny bit of my soul to the universe in "This, Too Shall Pass?"

There was no place in my life where I could tell the truth about what led me down the path of suicide.

So I created one for myself. And for everyone else who didn't have a place, either.

In real life, you can't tell people to STFU when their idea of" helping" you is spouting some clichĂ© like, "God never gives us more than we can handle."

In this blog, I can say whatever I want...because I do it anonymously. Which means I don't have to deal with stigma. And judgment. And rejection.


In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be shamed into silence for my feelings. I could speak openly about what I have been through, what led me to the brink, and how I found my way back.  I could look forward to compassion and understanding ... instead of condemnation.

But that is not the world we live in. It is a world where people believe it is easier to die than to be looked upon with the stigma of mental illness.

It is a world where people internalize the hatred of everyone around them and pull the trigger. 

BUT.  Can I keep hiding forever?

All the lying and pretending that alienates me from myself as much as others … isn’t that precisely what got me into this mess to begin with??? 

BUT.  Can I afford NOT to keep hiding?

Some, like The Bloggess, write courageously about their battles with depression. Others, like JD Schramm, have broken the silence by bravely sharing how they survived a suicide attempt.

But what about people who don't have a well-established career and hefty savings account to fall back on if honesty backfires?

So I brought my dilemma to Penelope Trunk, the authority on blogging about taboo subjects, and she asked if she could publish her advice to me in her Mailbag

"You should blog under your own name. Of all the things that are terrible, doing something this good, that you are this devoted to - doing it anonymously is too close to a metaphor for suicide. So you have to use your name. To do it anonymously is to give up on everyone around you -- their ability to see the site and see you for who you are. Your ability to be yourself in the world and be accepted. All that stuff is really important given that the topic is suicide."

Now THAT, that made me cry.

Because I DO continue to split off (i.e. murder) the parts of myself that I can't quite own.

And I HAVE given up on every single person around me.

When I try to think of 1 co-worker, 1 friend, 1 family member who I would even THINK of telling that I write this blog, I don't anticipate acceptance as the outcome.

I know what I stand to lose: my job, my credibility, future employability, professional respect...and control. Not that I've ever HAD control over what others think of me, but I DO control which parts of myself I share.

What do I stand to gain? It's one thing to play the odds, but when it's all risk and no reward, I can't help but think I would be a fool for rolling the dice.

Fellow blogger Izzy put it to me this way:
"In regards to human nature, most people are incredibly compelled by those that are willing to be authentic. Your blog is an interesting combination because by not revealing your identity you are able to completely hide yourself ... Yet, at the same time, you completely reveal yourself."

Therein lies the conundrum. 

Keep hiding…or come clean?  Could you bear the exposure of people seeing into your soul?

Follow downfromtheledge on Facebook.

Subscribe to downfromtheledge posts by e-mail: Click the "RSS" tab to the right>>>

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Top 10 Reasons Why Facebook Is The Devil

Does anybody like me? 

Does anyone give a flying rip what goes on in my life?

How (un)popular am I?

These are all questions we entrust Facebook to answer for us: from how cool we are (not), to how many people hang on our everyday happenings.  At this point in history, our very worth as human beings comes down to that number in parenthesis after the word “Friends.”

Despite posting recently about us being “the generation with 742 Facebook friends,” my own current number is a lot closer to 7+4+2.  Somewhere there is a rock in Indonesia with more FB fans than me.    

For one, I have deleted my entire Friends-list more times than anyone would probably believe….behavior that was a byproduct of my “no one gives a sh*t about me” suicidal mentality. 

Secondly, I end up removing nearly half of the people I add because I either:
A) accept their request out of curiosity, then spy on them for a day before deciding I don’t really know or like the person 
B) decide this person doesn’t need to know my thoughts or gawk at my profile out of mentally ill paranoia 
C) they’ve pissed me off and can now proceed to go f*ck themselves.  

Third, I don’t participate in whatever competition the world has going to see how many acquaintences-of-acquaintances-of-acquaintences-of-friends (i.e. stuh-RANGERS!!!) I can collect in order to impress people whose opinions I could care less about. 

Lastly, If 1-3 sounded like pathetic excuses for why I am a loser with no friends, I’ll just come right out and demystify the issue: I AM a loser and I DON’T really have any friends.  I’ve chucked them all.

As you can tell, I simultaneously imbue Facebook with both waaaaay too much meaning and no importance whatsoever….what’s that quote to the effect of:

“You wouldn’t care so much what people thought about you if you knew how seldom they did.”  

But then, that’s also precisely the point!  No one thinks about me!  I have tons of shit I want to say, and no one to say it to.  Every time something hilarious or annoying or awesome or disturbing happens, I think of who I could tell and come up with – you guessed it – nobody.  I could always post it on Facebook and then feel more pathetic when nobody bothers to comment on it, right?!?!

Top 10 Reasons Why Facebook Is The Devil:

  1. It does nothing but incite envy.  There will always be people with more good times in their photo albums, more smiling beer-holding friends in their pictures, and more exciting sh*t going on in their lives.
  2. It does nothing but incite fake-ness.  You invest hours concocting the perfect online persona, with carefully selected pictures and quotes and descriptions to make yourself appear happier, cooler, hotter, smarter, funnier, and more interesting than you really are.
  3. It does nothing but incite impulsivity.  In a split second you tell 375 people something you reeeeallly should’ve kept to yourself. 
  4. It does nothing but incite over-disclosure.  You broadcast your least intelligent thoughts to the world.  For some of us, this reveals that we are illiterate backwoods dingdongs who can’t spell or string together a coherent sentence (and by this I mean family).  And I quote: “It is better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you’re stupid, than to open it and remove all doubt."
  5. It does nothing but incite jealousy.  You now have the ultimate spy tool to track every fool your friends and (ex)boyfriends are in contact with and how much more attention they pay to them than you. 
  6. It does nothing but incite rage.  Seriously, that bitch does something every other week with so-and-so but never has time for ME?  Screw her.  “Unfriend.”     
  7. It does nothing but incite picture-taking. I swear to GOD I cannot figure out how a camera is present in every conceivable life situation and WHO the hell is spending every waking moment taking pictures of the dumbest stuff imaginable. 
  8. It does nothing but incite lonelinessDespite hundreds of connections, you couldn’t possibly feel more alone.  
  9. It does nothing but incite hatred.  I fucking hate Facebook, don’t YOU?
  10. It does nothing but incite desperation.  So follow downfromtheledge on Facebook.  Please? 

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Alien-Nation, Part 2: Breaking The Habit Of YOU

Ever stopped to wonder if you’re doing what you’re doing because it’s what you did yesterday (and the day before that, and the day before THAT)?  What percentage of the way you interact with the world is your conscious choice, rather than your programming?  

Some would say we are the sum of our habits, and Keith Clarke is one of those people.  His blog Breaking The Habit of Me challenges us to take back the reigns.  When Keith sat down to read my recent post Living in Alien-Nation, he decided his Representative was no longer going to run his life.  He didn’t just click a link in Google Reader, peruse an article, and go back to doing exactly what he has always done.  Keith instead chose to switch off the auto-pilot and wrangle with some serious questions in today’s guest post.  What have YOU lost by not showing up in your own life?  I hope you’ll join the conversation:

Scared To Reveal The True You? 
12 Reasons To Take Charge Of Your Representative

I read two articles that have had a massive impact on me. And I wondered - could they have a similar impact on you?

I believe that these two articles outline a serious flaw in the thinking habits of many of us. This thinking comes from a fear of being our true selves because of the possibility of rejection by others.

I know you are busy and I am asking you more than maybe I should, but these are profoundly powerful insights that you should hear.

You need to read the two articles first or what follows will have no context

The articles are Living In Alien Nation and My Representative.

My response:
(I have written this as a response to the author, and it should be read in that context.)

I resonate so much with what you are saying but it freaks me out - in a good and a bad way. Firstly, whatever I say following this sentence is NOT meant to be patronizing (THAT is my representative speaking for me).

I have spent my whole life in this place. 

That is why your two articles hit me so hard. Firstly, you are in no way alone [Note from my Representative: Remember earlier caveat]. Regrettably, I see this in many people, including myself.

1.     Ulterior Motives
Every one of us has them, and they are not always nefarious. For example: Am I going to feel better about myself? Gain something from this? Look good in someone’s eyes?  Etc. You included. We are human. We need validation. What is f#%ked up is we don't look for our own validation first (or, we don't trust it).

2.     Personal Dysfunction or Societal Dysfunction?
It doesn't matter! You are self-aware enough to know the 'dysfunction' is there. That is evident. Whether you like it or not, it is up to you now. The door is already open. And yes, you are happy about it now, because it is the comfort of the known. It is the unknown that scares you.

3.     Rejection
Every rejection you received externally was firstly an internal rejection that you just sought validation of externally. You expressed yourself perfectly with: "We all have this dichotomy; it’s the human condition (though of course we are convinced otherwise).  What’s even worse than being unacceptable to others…is being ashamed of your own feelings, and the mask you hide behind." So I know you know this, but bear with me :)

4.     Our Representative
What we hate most is that they are good at their jobs. And that disgusts us. We have this twisted admiration for them and hate them at the same time. Why? Because the better our representative is, the less we are ourselves. The name of my representative is Keith. He currently has more entitlement to my name than I do because he has been stronger and more in control than I ever have up to now!

5.     Being Fake
Every time we feel we are being fake (and we know when this is) our representative gets stronger. Every time they get stronger we feel safer behind them. It is a downward spiral that the "I" needs to break before we become lost and end up inserting ourselves back fully into the Matrix. Sorry if the reference is too 'geeky,' but it is the most fitting I can find.

6.     Trust
I have never truly been able to trust anyone, because I can't trust myself. I know this. As you said, I know my own M.O. now. This is merely awareness, however. It truly has to translate into action before it becomes useful. And most action  - I am coming to learn - takes risk.

7.     A Representative is NOT a Bad Thing
We do have to remember, though, that the Representative works for us. And we call the shots. What has happened with me is I have let the Representative become the leading entity. The creator of my identity. From now on, he’s allowed to advise, but I need to make the final decision on how he portrays me. And not how he portrays him.

8.     Perceived Threats
The threats we feel every day are part of our spiritual journey, and our growth. Or else they are just another way of giving unilateral power to our Representative. But it is up to us.

9.     Is Our Representative Truly Representing Us?
For some time the Gandhi quote, “One man cannot do right in one department of life whilst he is occupied in doing wrong in any other departments. Life is one indivisible whole” has kept coming into my head. This is where the 'representative' f#%ks us up! We get caught up in being good at what we are doing, rather than being good at who we are. Yes, our Representative can do stuff that we can't. But do we like what they are doing? Have we sanctioned it from the core of who we are?

10.  Dissociation
I think we all use dissociation as a defense mechanism. I don't believe that this is a bad thing in and of itself. There are times when it is critical to our survival through periods of serious trauma. It enables us to get through, function and survive. But if it becomes a habit, and distances us too far from who we truly are, then I think we are more dangerous with our representatives than we are without them. Every heinous act in the world by a human being - I believe - is founded on the strength of that dissociation. It is a way of finding validation in something other than ourselves that gives us some kind of respite from our own fears. From our own self-doubts and self-recriminations.

11.  Reality as Illusion
There are many religions that talk of the illusion of reality. And it is possible to adopt that perspective through periods of our life where it works for us. But I think the universe, the natural laws or way of things has a way of bringing us constantly back to ourselves. We cannot avoid ourselves. We have to be faced. And we have to embrace our dark side as well as our good. We have to accept the whole. Only on that acceptance, of the good and bad in us, can we see what really is illusory in our lives.

12.  Accepting Ourselves
I thought long and hard about whether to start blogging under my real name, or to go anonymous, or use a pseudonym. In the end, I chose to come clean. This in no way is a judgment on you (and I understand your personal reasons for this). I decided to take the risk and crawl out of my cage (against the advice of my representative). In fact, this comment is probably more soul-baring than any of my posts so far (and I can hear my representative screaming in protest). But, if I am to let go, and to be me, then I need to push the boundaries. To shake things up (as Vishnu says).

Your final line is probably the most hard-hitting:
"What it tells me is that ‘I’ feel soooo unsafe in the world that ‘I’ can't bear to show up."
I don't know about you, but I am tired of this. Are you with me?

[Note from my Representative: Please do not take any of the comments above personally. These are the expressions of my client at this moment in time - and I am concerned at this time for his well being and understanding of how to play the game that every sane person 'should' be playing based on society's rules]

Thank you for a deeply personally inspiring couple of posts (that is ME speaking).


So, there you go. This article started out as a comment that has actually turned into a guest post.
(Thanks Bri for the opportunity to write for your inspiring blog)
Some questions for you now: Do you show up? Do you have a Representative running the show? Where are YOU in all of this? And how is that working for you?

Saturday, July 7, 2012

My Representative

As I was writing a guest post for The Unlost 2 weeks ago, the irony of ME writing about Alien-Nation smacked me in the face.  Why’s that?
My number one pet peeve: Fake-a** people.
My number one flaw: Not being my real self the majority of the time. 
A tad contradictory.  There’s the me who writes this (anonymous) blog, the me I send to work, the me who interacts with friends or family, and the me I am when I’m alone. Soooo….which me is the real me?  Any?!  All????  Won’t the real me PLEASE stand up…

Instead of being who I actually AM, I instead feel everyone else out to see who I’m dealing with.  Then, if anyone can pass my CRAZILY-high-standards-of-sincerity-test, I consider the possibility that I might not have to hide so much in front of this person.  Not right away, mind you (no chance of that), but WAAAAYYY down the line, after they have convinced me over and over that they aren’t harboring ulterior motives.  I pretend my little “screening process” is some sort of guarantee that said person won’t end up screwing me over.  And it doesn’t escape me that I’m requiring far more authenticity from others than I am offering of myself. 

In some ways this is a commentary on my personal dysfunction, which I happily (happily?) own, but moreso it’s a commentary on our society’s dysfunction.  Because I didn’t get this way by accident.  Time and again, people showed me – in a hundred thousand ways, big and small – that my REAL self wasn’t welcome at the party.  That I was TOO serious-idealistic-intense-sarcastic-fill-in-the-blank.That I was insufficiently cool-mainstream-status-quo-upholding.  That something about me (namely…..ME) was unacceptable, and I was going to be punished if I didn’t cover it up.  You step one foot outside that box, and they will chop that f**ker right off.

And so, in order to even think about how I could not feel estranged from others, I have to get my head around how I became alienated from mySELF.  From the parts of myself that I disown, not just in the company of others, but in the privacy of my own being…the not-me that I, myself, reject.  We all have this dichotomy; it’s the human condition (though of course we are convinced otherwise).  What’s even worse than being unacceptable to others…is being ashamed of your own feelings, and the mask you hide behind.  

But I think I finally figured out my M.O.

How I operate in life is "I" send my representative out to talk for me.  For demonstration's sake, let's call her Hobag, cuz I do hate the bitch, after all (plus, it’s just plain fun to say the word hobag).  Hobag is fake-me, whereas "I" am real-me.  

As words come out of my mouth, I occasionally find myself asking, WHO is this talking?  It doesn't sound like me.  Do I sound fake as fu*k?  Cuz I sure FEEL fake as fu*k.  

That's the best way I can describe what it’s like...as though I'm looking through a window into the world - out there - while "I" stay hidden deep inside.   I have thus solved the mystery of our Alien-Nation, for if I am disconnected from my SELF, how could I possibly feel connected to another human being?  How do I know that when I sit down with you, you're not sending your own hobag out to greet me?  It’s doubtful I’m ever talking to you at all!  Rather, MY representative is chatting it up with YOUR representative.  

And so, in every instance where I feel threatened for some reason or another (loosely translated: every social encounter I have), out she goes.  Public speaking?  Get out there, Hobag.  Scary group situation?  Hobag.  Work consultation?  Ho.  Chat with my friend?  Sadly, probably her, too.  The nice thing about her is that she can do stuff “I” can’t.

In complex psychological terms, the depersonalization of “feeling detached from, and as if one is an outside observer of, one's mental processes or body falls under dissociation.  Whether we're daydreaming our workday away, numbing ourselves to deaden the emotions we don't dare allow to come out, or all-out fragmenting parts of ourselves, we all use this defense mechanism at some level.  

What it tells me is that "I" feel soooo unsafe in the world that "I" can't bear to show up.

I form words, and I hear them coming out of my lips, but I don't feel like I'm really -there- saying them.  

Sort of like I'm sitting off in the corner watching the encounter take place.  Despite the fact that I've become increasingly cognizant of the phenomenon, "I" don't seem able to shut Hobag up long enough for my real self to come out.  

So here I am, a splintered human being, unable to assimilate all these different personas I’ve created just to get through life.  Our individual lack of integration is causing complete societal disintegration. 

Do you have a representative (and what’s his/her name)?
Leave a comment or e-mail me:  downfromtheledge at yahoo dot com

Check out the follow-up post:
Alien-Nation, Part 2: Breaking the Habit of YOU

Follow Bri on Facebook.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

1 AM

It’s 1 AM; my sleep is fucked

Inside my bed, no longer tucked

I'm squinting at this laptop’s glare

I thought I’d blog; instead I stare

Debating on which thread to start

To spew my anger? Spill my heart?

Imbue my days with some great point

But by the end they disappoint

It isn’t love or hope I find

No peace inside this grand design

You give and give and give to all

Receiving nothing great or small

Then slosh around in bitterness

You wanted more, but you got less

Then wake up, do it all again

It’s all the same by that day’s end

So you trim down your expectations

Start making accommodations

Give doubt instead of benefit

You only give back what you get

Leaving much to be desired

Find it makes you fucking tired

At least now maybe you can sleep

Rolling in a different deep

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

The World’s Too Effing Small.

My friends from high school married their high school boyfriends, moved into houses in the same zip codes where their parents lived, but I, I could never follow….okay, okay, that’s a Dixie Chicks song, but that doesn’t make it any less true, right down to the zip code part.  They’ve never lived on their own, much less outside of the city where they grew up, and have had but 1 single relationship with a man in their entire lives.  They’ve never known heartbreak, or independence, or all the other crap I used to wish I’d never know, either. 

This post was written in my head Saturday evening at 5 pm as my family and I sat down to dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, only to see my ex-best-friend parade in with her husband, toddler, and infant….landing at a table 4 feet diagonal from me.  This is the kind of bullsh*t that happens to me all the time.  I can’t leave my house without being punished with a bitch former co-worker I never wanted to lay eyes on again, a former screwoff classmate who’s now rich while I’m poor, or basically any human that knew me before this day today.  I don’t want to see any of them.  I want to pretend that was all nightmares, or science-fiction-esque life memories implanted into my brain to terrorize me.  But apparently I am doomed to literally run into my past at every instance I believe I’ve outrun it. 

So there she was; the girl I went to summer camp with, the friend I watched SNL and Mystery Science Theater 3000 with until our stomachs practically broke from laughing so hard, my best friend from age 13 to 29…who I stopped speaking to three years ago. 

In all honesty, our friendship was over long before that.  When I left my fiancĂ© at age 23, she wasn’t there for me, and I never really forgot it.  She didn’t ask me what happened, or rally support, or do basically anything you would expect a friend to do at the worst moment of your life.  When I quit my job and ended up unemployed for 4 years, she was nowhere to be found.  When the second most important relationship of my life ended, she was mysteriously absent once again.  And when I was in Nashville carrying out a plan to kill myself, she didn’t even know I was gone. 

Writing all of this makes me wonder how I still considered her my “Best Friend.”  Is it because she just always was, and I never thought to re-title her?  Or because I was maid of honor at her nuptials?  Maybe it was because I was the one she called when her baby was in the hospital with pneumonia.  I don’t know what I was hanging onto for so long, but I eventually DID let go.

I let go of the idea that she was going to one day become the friend that I needed.  The friend who would be there for me.  The friend who is there in good times…or bad times…or either, really, cuz she sucked at both.  It’s not that I didn’t give her chances.  Many.  It’s not that I didn’t tell her how I felt; this was my reward for doing that:

“The fact is, that like most adult friendships, I don't have a lot of time to give.  I'm sorry, but my job consumes 90% of my life during the school year.  What little energy I have left I have to give to my son and my husband. I feel incredibly guilty that my son spends 9 1/2 hours of his day at daycare.  I want to give him every free moment I have.  So, unfortunately, dinner every once in awhile is all I have to give.  I don't think this is all that uncommon among adult friendships.”

And STILL I gave it one more year after THAT!!!  God, I am such a doormat.  The final straw had to do with Austin, the place I moved to in the first place because none of my friends back home gave two fu*ks about me.  At my little going-away get-together, my 2 high school friends basically invited themselves to come stay with me over Spring Break.  Come November, one backed out; whatever.  Then a month before she was set to come, my ex-bestie tells me she can’t afford the trip. 

Bulllllllllllllshit, is what I say.  $300 bucks to come stay at my apartment for free, a luxury beyond her grasp?  As she posts on Facebook about getting a mani/pedi with the friend she’s blowing thousands to go on a Hawaii couples’ vacation with, forking over hundreds to do Ferrell’s and dye her hair blond in preparation for?  The same friend she goes to midnight showings of Twilight with, you know, who couldn’t be bothered for an hour dinner with me once a year? 

And why am I still angry about this sh*t?  I haven’t seen her in 4 years, and I would have been content for it to have been much longer.  A friend-ship is like any other relation-ship: there is the person who is actually before us (who we are usually incapable of seeing), and the person we wish-want-hope would be before us.  And there comes a day of reckoning when we accept that the image is hollow. 

Her last e-mail to me stated, Now you've decided to shut me out for whatever reason, but I feel I deserve one last communication.”  SHE deserves?  She never got that last communication. 

I don’t mind being the petty one, or the stone cold bitch; I’ll be the one with the problem.  Cuz you know what, I don’t have to sit around wondering why she doesn’t give a sh*t about me anymore, and she doesn’t have to come up with excuses to blow me off.  Win-win.