I swore I wasn't going to do this, all passive-aggressive and righteous, as though anything that tumbles from my head and onto this keyboard will not be shrugged off as yet another rant, another wasted effort, another ridiculous outburst in a series that stretches back to the era of "deliberate misunderstandings". Yeah, I got that now. Deliberate and contrived, all of it. And shame on me for fucking falling for it, pretending that it was really all in the past, that I just needed more time to finally let it all go. Oh yes, that's it, it will all go away. It was six years ago, right? Time to move on, forgive and forget, all that shit. But it's not in the past, is it? That's the tricky part. I try to bury it once and for all but the fucking zombie corpse rises once again and I blame myself, right? Because it must be something I'm doing wrong if I can't get past it, right?

No, that's not it, I've finally discovered. That's not it at all.

The fact is it gets thrown at me, in my face, by all of you. Your looks of confusion and bewilderment, the soft glow of condescension in your eyes. How could I possibly be content, satisfied? What are the sinister reasons behind the choices in my life? How could I not want to be doing something else? This seed was planted six years ago and all of you keep feeding it- you want to believe I'm unhappy, you need to believe it, don't you? I've got an answer to it all, and maybe if some of you were actually listening to me when I spoke, you would have understood it by now. Maybe, just maybe, if any of you were actually fucking happy when you weren't drunk off your asses or making fun of other supposedly unhappy people, you'd get it too. Happiness, satisfaction, those real, umistakable emotions come from finding someone to share it with, someone to trust, someone to live it with. I don't need to work at a bank so I can get a hefty paycheck and count my twenties in order to achieve it. I don't need nights out at a club where the music sucks and everyone's pretending they're something they aren't. And I really don't need to leave my apartment so I can take two buses down to see people who really don't have the time nor inclination to share anything sincere or honest with me. It's inside me, it stays with me, it's nothing I need from a job or a friend.

I've changed more than any of you could possibly know.

(When I was fifteen, I was all sharp edges and cynicism, sarcasm and jeering laughter. The world had nothing to offer me and anyone who thought themselves happy was delusional and simple-minded. But, oh, wait, I'm not fifteen anymore, am I? I've got 12 years of gooey grey matter inside me that's altered me, made me realize I was a tad naive when I was pontificating on the state of the world and its inhabitants. We're all supposed to change, aren't we? And the world is so much more complex and fascinating than I ever thought possible.)

I'm a different girl now. I've been through some very serious life-changing chapters in this ridiculous book of my life and I've been changed, altered, transformed. I'm outside of my body and I can travel in your circles and I can smell out the lies and deceit like it wasn't anything special, like I've always known how to do it. But I haven't always known how to do it.

One day, it all came to me, between coffee and cigarettes, like a wonderful present. It's a mixed reward, a gift with consequences- it has its price. I earned it, like redemption in a way. I stepped outside myself and walked into the world. I cracked open its center and stepped through. Did you know that the world is really one big wound? Sorrow and grief and sadness and fear and even joy- joy is a kind of pain when you think about it. The world is a bright, gleaming gash of heartache. But when you fold yourself into it and you accept it, it all becomes clear. There are no secrets. I can see everything, feel everything as though it were my own. So do not think that I am fooled by these elaborate charades. We all drink from the same well, and I can feel it everytime I look at any of you.

You'll probably think it has something to do with the weekend and who your guests were. Wrong. It would all be so simple if that were the case, wouldn't it? It would then be about jealousy or pettiness, some baser emotion not worth defending. But I do admit that it was the last straw for me in an endless cycle of confusion and doubt as to what exactly you have up your sleeve.

You see, things add up. No one ever gets the special privilege of being able to start with a clean slate half way through his/her life. And everything's become absurd, too absurd to be charming, frankly, and I've had enough.

Here it is- the last straw. Ever since we became friends, I always had to chase after you, plead with you to go out to a movie, to come over for dinner, to hang out. You were the elusive prey, the one who had to be convinced that going out was worth your while. Over the years, your reasons for reluctance and evasion changed. At first, in highschool, you had the parent factor to contend with. Fair enough. In college, it was the ever-increasing depression and discontent with the world that would drag you down and make you resist leaving your bedroom. After university, it was the crazy shifts at your jobs, your lack of time, and lack of money. But you have to realize and at least grant me the benefit of the doubt when I tell you how tiring that is.

I loved hanging out with you. I know I had a good time and I thought you did too. But why should I be the one to have to convince you to be with me. It's pretty sick and twisted when you think about it. Me following after you like a lost puppy dog, yelping "Please, please, let's do something!?" So I gradually loosened up on you, realizing that if you had the time and desire, you would call me, seek me out of your own free will. After all, I was under the impression that you actually enjoyed our time together.

But you never really call or make your own plans with me, do you?

And then you have the audacity to softly whisper to me yesterday that it "doesn't seem like I want to do anything, that I don't want to go out". Bullshit. After you moved out, downtown, to your own apartment, we would make plans. I thought finally we could be on some kind of even ground for once. But everytime I left it up to you to call me back and confirm for the next day, you would go missing. Sometimes I would shrug it off, other times I would call only to find out that you were off shopping with one of your friends from work or now had new plans and were seeing a movie with some of them. Whatever. I used to make the effort. The only times I would see you in a month is if I dragged my ass down to your job and sat at the bar while you ran up and down stairs and we had 30 second-long conversations. Do you think I wanted to be there, that I enjoyed the ambience? No, but I was making the effort to see you.

And then, now, you choose who is worth driving the long hour into the city to hang out, to pick her up and bring her back, to have a lovely bbq and a sleep-over.

I don't care that some budding friendship is in the works with her. I realize she came to you all broken and sad, telling you how miserable her life was and all that bullshit. And you know her lies, her attention-seeking devices. Don't you remember?If you need a refresher, just click on the word "remember", okay?

I can't believe all of you still fall for that shit. How do you manage to look past what she really is? Her insides are all broken glass and nails.

She is, and will always be, ARTIFICE.

Whatever. You've obviously found something in common with her, and I really hope it isn't the immature hobby of comparing and evaluating other people's lives and then snickering wildly at what the two of you perceive as inadequacies in other people. I really hope there's more to that friendship than that, but I'm not so sure anymore.

Maybe the two of you can one day have a go at this little kink in the world: please tell me why it is that I have a friend, a girl with long black hair and purple sunglasses, who has accomplished and experienced more successes and worthwile endeavours than the two of you combined three times over (not just academically or professionally, but in real, human factors) but has never once felt the insipid urge to knock me down and put me in my place, so to speak. Tell me why she believes that I'm happy? Please enighten me on this, I need to know. Why did she never think I was a sleaze? Why did she never feel the urge to judge me like you guys did?

You know, I could tell you things that little-miss-i-work-in-a-bank has said that would make your head spin. I debated this for many years, thinking that you should know the truth. But you know what stopped me? I never once wanted to inflict the pain of her harsh and sick words on you. I never wanted you to feel it for yourself. Oh, I know some part of you thinks it's weird and confusing how hurtful she was to me. But you don't know the half of it. The words she spewed at me, almost like a challenge... would I run back to you and tell you what she said? Maybe it was a part of her game, like she knew I could never tell you these awful things, like her theories on ALL of us and how we were all ridiculous and inept. Do you think you are above her wrath and derision? Do you think she actually has a special place in her heart for you?

Again, whatever.

And I can't fucking wait to leave this city.

(There's more, if you're interested in reading it. Don't know if you really care enough to find out, but click HERE if you're tempted. And then click HERE for the second part. I don't think I'm completely finished yet but I soon will be.)