Dear Elle,

There is so much I wish I could say to you, but for many many reasons, I can't. So instead I will write you a letter via my blog, which you will never read. Probably for the best.

Okay, so basically, I don't like you very much. I love you, and I always will, but beyond that I find you very selfish, deluded, and self-righteous. Strong criticism I know, but after listening to you whine week after week about your "problems" like you are the only person in the world who matters, I can't help but feel these things about you. And yes, I realize that I am also very selfish, and that I whine about my problems like there's no tomorrow, but the difference is that I acknowledge these personal weaknesses, whereas you boast about how "healthy and well-adjusted" you have become. Yeah f-ing right. You are in denial. And you are nuts. Seriously.

Anyway, the thing is, when we were young and I imagined the women that we would become, I certainly never pictured either of us where we are now. And while I have made peace with who I am (or am in the process of doing so), when I look at you I can't help but feel disappointed. You settled for less than you deserved, and then you lowered yourself to its level. The fact is, I don't like who you've become.

Oh and here's another thing: when we talk on the phone and you are being particularly ridiculous, I put it on speaker and Ryan and I laugh/roll our eyes/mime shooting ourselves in the head as we listen. Immature, yes. But that's what you have driven me to.

There is so much more I want to say, so many more feelings that I have about you, your life, and our relationship, but I will save it for my therapy sessions.

I do love you, and I hope that someday you will become the woman I pictured you to be when we were kids. I wish you well and I will talk to you soon, as always, pretending that none of what I have written here is true.

Love,
Are