You know who you are. I don’t even know if you still read here. And even if you do, whether anything I have to say will resonate, let alone have any effect.
But I have to say it, nonetheless, because your behavior disgusts me so utterly, and this is my vent space.
Shame on you.
She needs you, and where are you? So self-involved and wrapped up in yourself that you can’t afford a drop of compassion to send her way.
You, whom she idolized.
You, who could have asked her for the moon, and had her combing the internet for travel agents who flew there.
You, for whom she’d have done anything because that’s who she is. The best friend a girl can have.
Every girl, that is, except you. For you, it’s all too much drama. Of course the drama in your life you swing about you, shedding droplets evenly in a wide circumference. But that doesn’t count, does it?
Over the last 18 months, you have foisted your myriad problems and grievances with the sad little way in which your life is unfolding — oh woe is me! nothing goes right for me! everything is bad for me! — on those around you in the blogosphere, as well as, presumably, in real life, akin to so much fertilizer, hitting any and all who pass your way.
You have attempted to shamelessly milk largely undeserved (so it would seem in retrospect), sympathy from anyone who would pay you even a nanobyte of attention.
But when it comes to someone else who needs you, someone who has been there for you time after time after time — and i actually find it hard to comprehend that this has to be explained in words of one syllable to a grown and highly-educated woman over the age of 40 — and suddenly it’s all “too much drama.”
Shame on you.
Rot in hell, you cold-hearted bitch.