Dear you know who you are,

You know why I’m writing this, and you’re reading it, right now. Have you ever heard the song “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon? That’s you right now. I bet you think this post is about you, don’t you, don’t you?

You’ve been watching and getting annoyed with my fictional tales, maybe it hits a little too close to home, but it’s not about you. It’s fiction. My characters are composites. Several people, some real, some imagined, brought together into a new person. A fictional character. These characters sometimes go through similar experiences to me. Similar, being the key word. They are mashed up experiences made into a new entertaining format. The person you think is you, is many experiences weaved together as one character.

Fiction is not lies. It’s stories. For entertainment purposes.

This may be hard to fathom, but there was no misunderstanding. You didn’t hurt me by accident. You knew how it would end. And I’m allowed to have feelings about losing a friend, someone I actually thought was in trouble. In abuse. Someone I had told secrets to, who knew my life and my habits, enough to critique them soundly in an ableist and body shaming way.

There is no love lost. You have to have love for it to be lost. But there’s still hurt. Shock. Anger. And I’m allowed to express those feelings on page. Maybe this piece is you, but others are not. It’s not you. It wasn’t even shit I talked. More sorrow for losses. How can you not see that? You were my friend! Above all else.

But your actions happened. You did that. You fucking did. You betrayed my trust like a little bitch. Sit in the chaos you created for a minute. It’s your own damn fault.

Sincerely,

Leave me the fuck alone.

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