Sarah Letter

Goodbye, old friend.

We’ve had a lot of years together, good times and bad.

But it’s over now. Goodbye.

Sometimes I think the bad times were all my fault. I mean, everyone loves you. You’re so relaxing to be around, you’re fun and chill, the life of the party.

You’re always there after a bad day, the first one to offer a shoulder to cry on.

There must be something wrong with me that I’m not having fun anymore. That the good times make me feel bad, and the bad times are getting worse.

It hurts a bit to say this out loud, but I never want to see you again.

Yeah, I’ve said it before. I’ve been scared and hurt and angry and sworn I’d bury our relationship for good.

And yeah.

I’ve come crawling back to you as soon as it got tough.

I’ve invited you back, joyfully, in moments of celebration. Moments where I was so happy I forgot how awful you’ve been.

(The moment my guard is down, the moment my back is turned, the real you comes out, doesn’t it?)

Not this time.

This time it’s different. This time I mean it.

No, of course you don’t believe me. You never do. You’re always the first to dredge up those niggling self-doubts and insecurities. I see it now. You need me to feel that way. You need me to feel like I’m not enough.

I’m angry that I believed you for so long.

But it’s not me, after all, is it? It’s you. It’s always been you.

You’re the broken one. You’re the toxic friend. You’re the poison in my life that holds me back and beats me down.

I let you in. I let you do this to me. And now I’m standing up and saying NO.

Yeah, it hurts. It’s going to be hard. Forever is a real long time.

But it’s all I’ve got. It’s all any of us get. And I’m not going to waste any more of my forever with you.

So, goodbye, old friend.

Goodbye to the longing, and the promises, and the wishful thinking.

Goodbye to the half-remembered conversations, the fights with no meaning, and the unlived dreams.

Goodbye to the headaches, and the upset stomach, and the sour tang in the back of my throat.

Goodbye to the self-hatred, and the 2:30am anxiety attacks, and the lingering specter of depression.

I’m moving on now.

But don’t worry.

I’ll never forget what you did to me, or what you let me do to myself.

Goodbye, and good riddance.

–S.C. Jensen


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