My best friend Jenny

You’re such a little idiot. Look at you! Sitting there, waiting for your stupid cliché to come back. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? He’s gone! Life isn’t! You always act like this when your heart is broken. I hate it. You deserve every minute of pain, but no one else thinks so.

Your perfect life has fallen through. You were never one for the movies. You’re that edgy side of life that everyone wants. The one not afraid to drink the first beer and the one not afraid of what will happen tomorrow. You even found a boy just like you. The infamous host, the one with that lovely tasting drink you gave me. The happy powder mixed in, stuff you called ‘E’. He loves it when you’re drunk, drunk on beer, drunk on him. He’s just as dark as you. But what ever happened to that innocent side of you?

Did it disappear with the drugs? Did it run from the darkness you sleep in? Whatever happened to our playground pranks? How can you laugh in the face of pure macabre when I start to balk?

How are we even friends? I’m cold, hiding those emotions you call vital. You live to feel, no matter how painful it is. I can’t do that. You always say your opinion. People listen. But I say mine and you’ve already beaten me to the punch. You cry because it feels good. I haven’t cried in five years. You have friends that will get your back, no matter the situation. I just have acquaintances and you. When I’m in trouble no one will have my back, you’ll be too intoxicated by life. You live every second likes it’s your last and I have plans until I’m forty. I have empathy; you like to see people break. How are we friends, can you tell me?

You fell for the guy next door. You have one of my favorite clichés, but I only have the stories of love that you tell me. You’re so social; I can barely speak to even you.

How is this fucking possible?

Sometimes, in my rare moments of pure anger, I let my jealousy show. I hate how much better you are than me. I hate how every week some other guy is in love with you. I have the utmost distain for how you act on the rebound. You flirt with every guy, no matter who he is. I don’t understand how you’re so comfortable with a stranger hugging you.

I’ve tried to be like you, you know I’m against being like others, but it looked so fun. Your perfect life, no matter the problem. I tried to express myself and my mother tried to send me away. I tried to flirt and I ended up embarrassed and uncomfortable. I’ve tried to make an art of sadism and masochism like you do, but I ended up only feeling absolutely horrible. How can you stand it?

It’s so hard to understand you! I feel like I’m drowning, trying to solve your puzzling ways. Fuck! How are you so confident, so outgoing? I don’t get it. I’ve seen you at your worst, curled on the floor, begging for your pain to end. I’ve seen you slice and scream. I watched you tear every poster that had his name, I felt amused when his name was scrawled on the wall itself behind it. I felt coldly assessing. How was I supposed to react? You’re better at this than me. I can only dream of love, while you find different kinds every day.

Are we better off not friends? Do you only use me to store your secrets, knowing that I have no one else to give them to? Should I leave you to think I’m angry? Everyone cares for you. People hate me, not even knowing if they got my name right, just because I’m not speaking to you. You’re asking everyone if I’m mad. Do you really care that much? Why is it? It’s not as if we even see each other everyday, like most best friends do. I only see you once a week, and that’s if I skip my class. You never do that for me.

You never ask me for my secrets. You never wonder about what I did over the weekend. Is it because you already know? You know I only stay at home. I’m not really allowed anywhere else. You only know the basics of me, what I’d share with anyone. So do you really know me? Why the hell do you care about what I think? You have thirty other people who are dying to be your confidant, but you chose me. Why? Why are we still friends? How is it that we can laugh about stupid things when I’m so emotionless and always in a book and you’re so social, writing poems that everyone loves.

You know those songs that I write? I started writing them because I wanted to try poetry. I wanted to see if I could be as good as you. A tune stuck in my head and suddenly it was lyrics. I stopped because they all sound the same, like our mutual ‘friend’ says.

I’ve always wanted to be as smart as you. I know I’m intelligent, but you get everything. Math, Science, History, English, it’s all so easy for you. I’ve given up on trying to be as smart. I’ll just roll with what I have.

Is that what I should do? Just go with it, hoping it will work out? You’re the one that knows what’ll happen next, so tell me.

Am I ever going to understand? Is it ever going to click? I know I sound jealous, and I am a bit. I look at my life, though, and I don’t think I should.

Your parents all but ignore you, you drink so much that you can’t possibly have any brain cells left, and your heart is open with a sign that says break me. My mom loves me, although she’s a bit overprotective, I have had a drink or two, but I don’t have a taste for it, and I’ve heard people question whether I have a heart at all. My favorite story is that it’s frozen in ice. It reminds me of a story I once read. I’m a contrast to you, and I accept that. None of this helps my dilemma though.

Honestly, can you answer my repetitive question? Can you tell me why we’re friends?