I did a bad thing. When my so-called friend Christina fucked up for the last time back in November, I held my head high and acted like I was cool with it, like it didn’t bother me that she had fucked me over yet again. But it caught up with me last month and since then I’ve run the gamut of emotions. The worst of it caused me to spend my days chasing an appetite and my nights crying on Henry’s shoulder. I emailed her sporadically, and she wouldn’t answer. I knew that she was back with her pathetic girlfriend, that this was why she played the “I’m just too fucked up to be friends with anyone, I need to get my life together” card last November. Her girlfriend would never allow us to be friends, and obviously being in an abusive relationship with a disgusting human being was more important than staying true to herself and her feelings.
Henry actually talked to her last week, said she sounded unhappy. She told him she thinks about me everyday and to tell me that “it’s not over.” Well, la-de-da. Let me sit here and wait for you to murder your girlfriend (would not be surprised if that happened) and then come running back to me covered in blood. Fuck you.
“Please tell Erin not to tweet or blog about this phone call,” she begged Henry. Because her girlfriend Sylvia is so devoid of TRUST that she creeps on every single thing I write on the Internet, checks Christina’s phone and probably reads her emails too. What a great relationship! Where do I get one of those?
Well, that was all I needed. I asked her one last time to talk to me, to give me the answers I feel, after seven years, I deserve. And now? Now I’m just angry. And ready to tell the story. Every sordid detail, starting from the beginning.
Consider this a prologue. There is a lot I have to say, and it will take a lot of time, and there will be times that I don’t come across so favorably. There will be times aplenty where you will want to comment and say, “Why didn’t you just end it?” and I will tell you now that my reply will always be “I’m not quite sure, I guess because I’m a sadist.” I am sure I will at some point receive a barrage of hate mail from the Christina Camp. But I’m willing to risk that for the sake of getting this 1,000 pound hog off my chest. I am done letting this piece of shit hurt me and invalidate my feelings. By writing this, it will forever ensure that this is the end. No more take-backs. No more I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it ‘s.
This coffin has needed a nail since 2004. I’m here now with a few dozen.
So, if you like the stench of dirty laundry and want a behind the scenes look at the emotional luggage to which I’ve been handcuffed for the last 7 years, then this is for you.
I want to thank everyone who has been supporting me and encouraging me to do this.