Friennemies.

After reading everyone's blogs about "friennemies," which I'm assuming we discussed in class today or yesterday, I was inspired, and decided to do my little letter to my own "friennemy." Enjoy.


Dear Kristen,

Yeah, weird, I know, that I'm writing to you. But it isn't really me that I'm writing to. I'm writing to you. Because with each passing second, I am a different and changed being. Every little thing that goes on in my life has an impact on me, no matter how small. So I'm writing to my 8th grade self. Here goes nothing.

I hate you. Yeah. That's correct. You heard me right, sister: I didn't stutter. I didn't slip up or say that to be funny. I honestly do hate you. I hate the way you talk to people you don't like, and I hate how you pretend. I hate the way you press your tongue against your cheek when you're annoyed. I hate the way you dress, and I hate the way you shake your hair out of your eyes when you're nervous or when you're anxious. I hate your teeth and I hate your weight. I hate the way you giggle quietly to yourself when you think about your old jokes, that you used to giggle about with him. I hate the fact that you're still thinking about him, I hate the fact that he's been gone for a year now, and I hate how it's all your fault. I hate when you cry and I hate when you laugh. I hate what you look like in the morning before you shower, and I hate what you look like in the morning after you shower. I hate how you talk too much. I hate how silence makes you uncomfortable. I hate the way you react to people's pain, and I hate the way you attempt to make other people react to yours. Your perfume doesn't cover up how disgusting you smell after you've worked out for three hours straight, and I hate that smell. I hate how fake you are and I hate you for setting me on the wrong path for the rest of my life. You bother me to the point of exasperation, frustration, and ferocity. I hate you for saving me.

I love you for saving me. I love your strength, and I love your vulnerability. I love the way you bat your eyes at your mother and pretend to have a halo above your head when you want something from her. I love the way you carry yourself in front of people who don't like you. I love how people don't like you: it means you actually stood up for something, or that you actually made a mistake. I love your smile and I love your handwriting. I love your mind, and the way it works, even if it's sometimes a little cloudy up there. I love your capability, and I love your passion and talent. I love how you walk with ease down a hallway crowded with people you don't like. I love your weakness for men with long hair, and I love your weakness for men who don't care. I love the way you smile at children and watch them grow and change. I love your silhouette in the doorframe, watching the sky turn and curl. I love the way your hair sticks up in different directions after you're done showering. I love the way you sumo wrestled with that old boyfriend of yours, in the moonlight and in the rain, back in the summer. I love the color of your eyes when you're happy, and I love the way your cheeks and forehead flush when you cry. I love how you try too hard to change yourself for other people, and I love how they all see who you are anyway. I love you for what you're worth: not for what you will become.

I hate you, because you are a part of me. You ruined my life.
I love you, because you are a part of me. You saved my life.

Yours,
Kristen.