Now, the person I am addressing may never see this, nor may they neccessairly recognise that I am talking to them, as the incident I reference happened years ago. It may also be that I have placed more importance on this incident than they have, which would not be the first time something like that has happened. But first of all, I want to say one thing. I am sorry. I started the argument. I continued the argument. Things for you were worse than me at the time; money was tighter for you than me, even though I tried to argue otherwise. I also am very stubborn, and refused to be anything other than right, so much so that I continued a little argument, leading to the larger argument that eventually ruined our close friendship. I accept that. However, I must also maintain that it takes two to tango. After all, who else was arguing with me but you? We were both right on that smaller argument, but you refused to back off just as much as I did. Then we get to what you did to me. Now, I suppose I should blame the others equally for what transpired, but, in my eyes at least, you were always the ringleader of our group. Things began to go awry when you picked on and teased Bergine, and when she decided to leave the group, you lost a great source of amusement to you. That’s when you started on me. I became the butt of the group’s jokes. Whenever I got characters chosen for me, you would intentionally give me ones you thought were bad or worthless. Everybody got human characters whilst I would get the dog. You would also insult my intelligence, calling me stupid as a joke, but it made me feel awful, unwanted even. I told you this at one of our gatherings, but you just shooed it away and told me that you weren’t doing this, even though I felt terrible about it. Why wouldn’t you listen to me? When the argument started, I knew I was right, but you insisted I was wrong just as much as I insisted the same. Yet I was the sole one accused of being argumentative. The following day, I admit I shouldn’t have said that I had checked to make sure I was right, though I doubt the outcome would have been any different even if I had held my tongue. When you had told us to write down the parts we disliked about each other the day before, I had written a piece about all three of you. Fair’s fair after all, and we had agreed that we would work on these parts to reduce the friction. That day, I believe I read out my piece first. Then it was you, followed by the other two. Maybe my memory fails me on the exact order and the exact words said, but we all said our bit. When it came to you three, I was expecting something about everyone. But that didn’t happen. Everything was about me. You picked me to pieces, only me. Why did you do this? Perhaps it was just an extension of me being the butt of jokes, but I want to tell you something. It hurt. Bad. You were blaming me for everything, effectively, while you all viewed each other as perfect. Especially you though. You led the proceedings after all, while I was just your little sheep. Hurt me all you like, and I’d still wander back eventually. I stopped hanging out with you at break and lunch after that, and I started instead returning to my old group that included Bergine. Then you suggested that we hang around after school one day in order to sort things out between us four. I wanted to be close again, but I was legitimately stupid when I accepted this proposal. There, I told you why I refused to back down in an argument. I told you that I was stubborn. I told you that I was a perfectionist, and had a deep-rooted fear of being wrong. I said how people looked up to me as being smart, and as this was one of the only reasons I thought people put up with me (years of bullying does that to a person), I had to be right lest I lose this reason. That is also why I hated being called stupid and having my intelligence insulted. But instead of offering your help, you told me to change. Even when I told you just how much those lists of yours hurt me, you maintained that I had to change. When I told you how I didn’t like being the butt of your jokes, it was me who had to change. When I told you that the reason why I cried during every argument was not to make you feel bad, but instead oversensitivity that I had been to councelling over, no help was offered, just that I had to change. When I told you that I had bought up the subject of my treatment at your hands before, you said that you didn’t remember a conversation like that. But I remember, because you were on the bed that time, and I was on the floor. The other two weren’t there either, and the conversation had stopped before they came back in. The curtain was drawn, and the light was on. It did happen. You didn’t want to help me. You wanted someone else instead, and that I cannot forgive. Can you tell that I am plagued by this? It has been 3 years now, and this still haunts me. Yes, I was polite when we spoke to one another at college, and I felt the same sense of warmth that I felt when we were still friends. Yet I cannot forgive you. You hurt me, and you never apologised for your actions. I want you to give me a reason, an explaination, and an apology. I’ve given you my side of this story, so why don’t you give me yours? In the end, I have admitted that I was at fault, but why could you never do the same?
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